4
Monroe
Iwake up with the oddest feeling. It's like a sixth sense telling me that something is not right. I open my eyes and stare at the familiar white ceiling of my bedroom. A brown water stain is the only thing standing out, but that’s been there since I moved in.
Frowning, I push the thin blanket off my body. Cool air washes over my heated skin, and that’s when I feel it. Something is on my face. My hand flies to my cheek to touch the spot. I run my fingers over the dried substance that’s caked onto my face.
What the hell?
I sit up in haste, eager to figure out what this stuff could be. My eyes fall onto the mirror sitting on my dresser, and my heart stops when I read the words.
I'll be watching you. -A
I gape at the bright red lettering covering my mirror. Blinking slowly, I hope that they will somehow disappear each time I close my eyes. I must be dreaming. Yes, I’m still asleep.
Only, I’ve never felt like this in a dream before. I’ve never felt this kind of terror, no matter how bad the nightmare got. My heart has started beating again, but it settles in an unnaturally fast rhythm, pumping adrenaline through my veins.
My gaze zeros in on the A it’s been signed with. I know right away who he is. The man from the club. I don’t know how or why, but I know it’s him. He found me.
Frantically, I scan the room, half expecting him to jump out from the closet any minute. Oh my god, what if he’s still here?
I briefly entertain the thought of calling the cops, but then I remember what Lucian said. The guy is in the mob. I don’t know much about the mob, but if every movie I ever watched about organized crime is true, they have people from the police department on their payroll.
Pushing myself off the bed, I stand on unsteady feet and look around for a weapon. The lamp on my nightstand is small and made of cheap plastic, but the hardcover romance novel is thick and heavy. I grab it with both hands and hold it above my head, ready to throw it at the intruder.
On tiptoes, I sneak across the room, inching my way toward the open door. I come to a stop next to the dresser when I catch my reflection in the mirror. The dried substance on my face is a creamy white, and only then does my brain connect the dots.
It’s cum. He fucking came on my face while I was sleeping.
The pure shock has the book slipping from my hands and landing on the floor with a loud thud. Startled, I jump half a foot in the air before spinning around like a maniac. My pulse is racing as I ready myself for some kind of attack.
When nothing happens after a few moments, I relax slightly, but not enough for my ragged breathing to even out. My whole body is tense as I make my way through the rest of the apartment, checking inside every closet and around every corner for him.
Only when I’m one-hundred-percent sure that I am alone do I sigh in relief. He is gone, at least for now.
Taking a butcher’s knife from the kitchen —just in case— I lock myself in my bathroom. As I strip out of my nightshirt, I notice more dried cum on the fabric and my thigh. Jesus, did he do this more than once, and how in the world did I not wake up?
Turning on the shower, I let the water turn hot before stepping under the spray. As I scrub my body of the evidence of his visit, I keep my eyes trained on the knife lying on the counter within reaching distance. I scrub until my skin feels raw, but I still don’t feel clean.
I give up when the water runs cold and the shivering gets to be too much. By the time I get out and dry off, my teeth are rattling together, threatening to crack my molars.
In record time, I get dressed and ready. Not bothering with makeup, I grab my phone, purse, and keys on my way out the door. There is only one place I’ll feel safe right now. Even if it’s just for a few hours. I need to feel safe, need to shove this mind-altering fear aside so I can think about what to do next.
I take three different buses to get to the Haven Senior Center. I might be paranoid, but the last thing I want is to lead a psycho to my grandma.
Doris from the front desk greets me with a smile, completely oblivious to the disturbing things going on inside my mind at the moment. Rushing past her, I head for the stairs, taking two steps at a time until I’m on the second floor.
My grandma's room is the last one at the end of the hall. For every two steps I take, I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is following me. The hallway remains empty as I stand in front of my grandma’s door for a moment to gather myself. I don’t want her to realize something is wrong.
Taking a deep, calming breath, I lift my hand and gently rap my knuckles over the smooth wood.
“Come in,” her muffled voice yells through the door a second after my knock.
Turning the brass knob, I push the door open and step inside. The familiar scent of fresh linen and lavender fills my senses, putting me at ease right away.
“Well, hello dear,” Grandma’s sing-song voice meets my ear and another wave of calm washes over me. She is sitting close to the window, the rays of sunshine turning her gray hair shiny like silver. A book is perched in her lap, and a steaming hot cup of coffee sits on the side table next to her.
“Hi, Grams,” I greet her, closing the door behind me. I set my purse on the floor next to the door and move in to give my grandma a hug. Leaning down to where she’s sitting in her wheelchair, I wrap my arms around her shoulders and hold her close.