Page 27 of Saving Little Lina: Part One

The memories of Finn's manipulation that I thought I had banished came rushing back. The room suddenly felt too small, too enclosed, my heart pounding a panicked rhythm against my ribs. The ghosts of the past had invaded my present, filling my mind with haunting echoes of angry shouts and bitter tears.

"Hey, hey," Mike's voice penetrated the veil of panic. His brows were knitted together in concern as he reached over, placing a steadying hand on my arm. "Breathe, Lina. It's okay. What’s the matter?”

"I thought I smelled Finn’s cologne," I began, my voice trembling slightly as I spoke his name. "Finn is my ex-boyfriend. He had this way about him. He seemed so caring, so attentive. But the more time we spent together, the clearer it became that his attentiveness was a mere guise, his affection nothing more than a tool to exert control."

The silence in the room seemed to stretch on forever.

"He would always say he knows best" I said, recalling the seemingly benign phrase that hid a darker reality. "'I'm just looking out for you, Lina,' he would say, 'I know what's best for you.'" The memory sent a shiver down my spine, a chill mirrored in Mike's wide-eyed expression.

"During the early days, Finn was quite the charmer," I admitted, trying to keep my voice steady. "He was attentive and caring. He made me feel like I was the only person in the world that mattered."

The lines on Mike’s forehead deepened and his grip on my hand tightened.

"But he changed," I continued, biting my lip, "and it was so subtle. It was like the shift from summer to autumn - you don't really notice it until the leaves are all gone. His loving words, the ones that used to make me blush, turned into leashes. He began to pull me into his world, making me doubt myself, my friends, everything. I felt trapped. I could barely sleep amidst the sea of anxiety and fear. He used to say, 'Lina, love, you're not like other girls, you're just a little slow, a little naive.' and he'd follow it with a smile. Or, 'You can't trust them, they're just using you, Lina.' He would say this about my closest friends. And then there was this, 'You don’t need anyone else, Lina. It’s you and me against the world.'"

Mike's face hardened. "Lina, those are not words of love. Those are chains."

"I know, Mike, I know," I reassured him. "I’m scared. That scent… it's Finn’s cologne. What if he was here, in my apartment, when we were gone? What if he has returned?"

He reached out, gently taking my hands in his as his calm gaze met mine. "Lina," he began firmly, "You're not alone anymore. I'm here with you, every step of the way. Even if Finn has really come back, we'll face it together. Tonight, let me stay over. We'll make sure he doesn’t sneak up on you.”

A bubble of relief popped within me. I let out a weak laugh, "You mean, you’re going to fight off Finn if he breaks in?"

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with humor, "Well, I'm not exactly a kung-fu expert, but I've got a mean right hook, and if push comes to shove, I can always use the pepper spray you keep in your purse."

I found myself giggling despite the circumstances. As he dialed Joe to inform him about the sleepover plan, a sense of calm washed over me.

After hanging up, Mike wore a mischievous grin. "Let's make it a fun sleepover event. We could order pizza, watch a comedy. What do you say?"

His efforts to distract me from my fears, to transform a traumatic situation into something enjoyable, was not lost on me. Gratitude swelled in my chest.

In the following days, life seemed to take on a dark palette. I'd find myself pausing, heart racing, at the slightest sound, a whispering wind or a creaking floorboard escalating my paranoia. My gaze would often drift over my shoulder, imagining a phantom lurking in the shadows. Each time, I found only empty space, but the stark absence of a visible threat only served to heighten my fear.

Mail took on a menacing aura as anonymous letters began to appear in my mailbox. The scrawled words within mirrored the taunting tones I used to receive during my days with Finn. The sight of the envelope, the inky black handwriting, the peculiar scent of the paper – all familiar, all terrifying.

Gifts began to arrive, unexpected and unwelcome, placed at my doorstep like ominous warnings. A velvet box holding a necklace I never asked for, a bunch of roses whose thorns seemed to mock me, a bottle of perfume I hadn't worn in years. All echoing the sinister gifts Finn used to drown me in, their presence a chilling reminder of a past I thought I had left behind.

My world had morphed into an eerie stage, where the line between reality and nightmare was blurring. And all I could do was wait, the anticipation of the unknown worse than the haunting known.

In the comforting quiet of my apartment, things began to warp. I'd wake to find my meticulously ordered world subtly distorted. Little things at first – a coffee mug on the left side of the sink instead of the right, a couch cushion slightly askew. It was the oven door though that truly unnerved me. Wide open like a yawning mouth, its metallic interior gleaming in the weak evening sunlight, it stood in stark contradiction to my habitual precision. Each day, I was sure I had closed it, yet here it was, blatantly open.

Uninvited relics from the past started to worm their way back into my life. Items linked to Finn, things I was sure I'd thrown out years ago, surfaced in the strangest of places. The ticket stubs from our first movie date, the glass dolphin souvenir from our vacation, the locket he’d gifted me on our anniversary.

Everywhere I turned, it was as if Finn’s echo lingered. A song we used to dance to, the haunting melody wafting from a passerby’s headphones. Even the scent of his cologne seemed to follow me, not just within the confines of my apartment, but in the most unexpected places. A whiff from a passing stranger, the scent lingering on an elevator button – the sudden ambushes sent shockwaves of paranoia through me.

My apartment, the once comforting space had now turned eerie. It felt like being stuck in a never-ending nightmare, yearning for daylight yet dreading the new horrors it might bring.

Was I losing my mind or was my past stubbornly resurfacing to haunt me? Each was as terrifying as the other.

One afternoon at work, I sought refuge in the familiarity of Mike’s workspace. His desk was a cluttered mess of creativity.

“Mike,” I began, my voice hardly more than a whisper, “I think Finn is messing with me.”

Mike looked up from his design sketches, concern quickly replacing his initial surprise. “What do you mean?” he asked, the humor in his eyes quickly fading, replaced with a stark seriousness.

With each word, my fears came pouring out. His eyes reflected a growing apprehension as I detailed the strange occurrences.

“I would normally be skeptical, Lina. I mean, it's hard to believe that someone would intentionally torment you this way,” Mike confessed, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on his desk. “But I know how rational you are, how good you are at assessing situations at work. If you think something's up, then I believe you. I think we should go to the police.”

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