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10

SHILOH

Without a single warning, I’m being yanked out of my nightmare and thrust back into real life.

Waking up in the morning, to light instead of darkness, doesn’t comfort me one fucking bit. My heart hammers in my chest. Panic swarms over me like a swarm of bees.

A drop of sweat rolls down my temple. Fingers clutching onto the pillow that I hug tight to my body.

My sticky lips part.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here, my brain screams at me.He’s beautiful and dangerous, and he’s here to hurt you.

I should give in. In the recesses of my mind, I know I was wrong to lock him out last night. To deny him anything he wished for.

At the very least, I should stay very still and let him come to me. Violate my body. Watch his lean muscles ripple as he fucks me brutally. Mercilessly.

Murder me after the fact.

I do just that and pray. I pray to a God who never answers that no one followed him here. That he won’t get caught.

The longer the silence in the room stretches, the more adrenaline rushes through my veins. Anticipating the worst is horrible.

It has my body moving in ways it shouldn’t.

Panicked and breathing hard, I snatch the knife I put under my pillow. I roll over, dropping to the floor. The blade glimmers as I point the tip to the darkness under my bed.

“Kaleb.” Last night, I double and triple-checked that the locks were in place. But there’s no telling what he might do. He did break out of a secure psychiatric hospital, after all. Besides, how else could I explain the stickiness on my lips? “Get out. I don’t want to hurt you. So. Just get out. This silence, how mad you are, I—Stop. Stop it. You’re scaring me. I’m tired of my life being such a fucking mess. So—Fuck, no more of this. Do you hear me? Do you?”

I don’t even know what I’m asking of him. All I know is that this guilt and fear that keeps hitting me hard is making me crazy.

“Kaleb?”

Silence. No movement. No flash of a white mask.

He isn’t here.

And I can’t stop talking. My heart brings the words out of my mouth.

“We’re not going to have a repeat of yesterday. We’ll—You know, start over? We could talk. Apologize to one another.” I lick my lips, tasting salt on them. He’s definitely been here. How? “Then, we could have a conversation. Liketwo grown-ups. If you still want to kill me, fine.”Sigh.“I guess you’ve earned the right to do it. Just—this touching me without my consent. While you hate me. No more of that. We need to talk.”

I’m lying to myself. Yesterday, I got hot in the shower, thinking about his fingers inside me. I clenched my thighs during my classes, because I remembered him moaning and coming for me.

As I stare into the darkness, as I say those things, heat pools at my core. My panties dampen.

I don’t want this. It’s impossible to get turned on by violence.

With my hand firm on the knife’s handle, I edge the knife farther into the dark space under my bed. I poke at the air.

My chest caves in then expands anew as my body alternates between disappointment and relief.

The roller coaster of emotions doesn’t end there, though. I get up, and a metaphorical fist locks around my throat. Squeezes the air out of me.

There’s a new severed finger on my nightstand.

The digit is small and delicate. Different from the others he left for me before.

“Is that a woman’s finger?” Terror raises the hair on the back of my neck. The empty bedroom doesn’t answer. “Is that a message? That I’m next? Or are you trying to hurt me again? To make me jealous? It isn’t working.”