And I fucking love it.
It’s a reminder that this really happened. I was hunted in the woods and taken against my will, whichwasmy will.
I may have cried and begged for him to stop, but that was only my instinct kicking in. No matter how many times I told myself to calm down, every fiber of my being screamed that I was in danger. In a way, I really was.
The sex didn’t feel super great, but all the feelings around it did. Like I was watching from above my body instead of feeling the penetration myself. The soil beneath my gripping hands. My strangled screams. The way hisbody looked as he so selfishly used mine. He ripped me wide open like he promised, but not just my vagina. He ripped open everything about me. He ensured the woman who left the woods was not the same woman who walked into it.
When we planned out the details in the chat, I’d told him I wanted him to leave as soon as we’d finished, but he wouldn’t. He’d reached down and helped me up, and then he’d walked me back to my car without speaking. I thought it would ruin a bit of the illusion for me, but it didn’t. I drove home feeling safe for the first time in days. Who knew that driving home in a puddle of come that was forced inside me would be so therapeutic?
Speaking of come, I probably shouldn’t have let him fuck me raw and come inside me. Internet dating 101. But I didn’t want him fumbling with a condom before he took me. I wanted it to feel as real as it could.
Mission accomplished.
Still, that choice probably wasn’t my shining moment of intelligence. I’m on birth control, but it’s not one hundred percent effective. What would I do if I ended up pregnant? Would I just scroll the chatroom for the mystery man? How embarrassing would that be?
My mind shifts to the first time he found me in the woods, when he made me masturbate in front of him. No matter how hard I try, I can’t merge the two encounters in my mind. I didn’t enjoy the first nearly as much as the second, but I can’t put my finger on why. Maybe it was the knife. I was glad he didn’t use it again. It wasn’t part of the deal, and it nearly crossed a line for me. If he’d brought it up when we’d hashed out the details, I might have been okay with it.
“Bringing the garbage out!” I yell to the front as I gather the trash bags.
I step outside and stick the block in the path of the heavy metal door. I shuffle toward the dumpsters while wielding a heavy black bag in each hand. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I stop and look around.
The aroma of soured milk, molding coffee grounds, and decaying food scraps turns my stomach, but something else lingers in my gut as well. A feeling, as if I’m being watched. I can’t help but worry that my stalker hovers somewhere out here. Watching. Waiting. It’s the same feeling that compelled me to enter the chatroom, but there’s no one to fuck the fear out of me here.
“If you’re going to watch me, the least you can do is help me bring out this fucking garbage!” I say.
I don’t know why I’m standing here and expecting him to jump out and help me like a gentleman. All he does is lurk now. He’s a passive entity with a constant presence, even when he’s not there.
I scoff and push onward, making my way to the fenced area behind the shop. I lift the unwieldy metal lid and toss each bag of garbage into the dumpster’s gaping mouth. One snags on the side, and ruined milk splashes onto me, coating my apron.
“Fuck.”
Nothing smells quite like this, and it’s not the sort of perfume I want to wear for the remainder of my shift. With a groan, I turn to go back inside, but a figure blocks my path.
Sam.
He stares at me without speaking. His hands form fists at his sides, clenching and unclenching as he continues to glare through me. My heart quickens its pace as I step back to put distance between us.
“You won’t text me back,” he says.
And you won’t take a fucking hint, I want to say, but I don’t know what state of mind he’s in. There’s no sense in waving a red flag in front of a bull.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m really not interested.” I stare at the back of the building with hyper-focused vision. I need to get back inside, where it’s safe. Where Sam isn’t.
I try to step around him, since he’s blocking the only exit out of the fenced area surrounding the dumpsters, but he doesn’t move.
He licks his lips. “You may not be interested, but I am.”
Now I’m annoyed enough to bite back, smart or not. “It takes two, dude.”
“Not necessarily,” he says, throwing his arms out and gripping the sides of the doorway.
“Does your boss know you’re a creep?” I ask, raising my chin. Because honestly, fuck this guy. Olé, motherfucker.
His hand whips up to my throat, and he steps into me and backs me against the fence. It rattles behind me as my back hits the metal. “Sarah knows about everything I’ve done. She’s my sister.”
Everything he’s done? So there’s more? The realization that I’m not the first of his victims sends a cold chill through my limbs.
“Let go of me!”