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Summer

O nce I’ve collected myself, I go back up to my room. Connor is where I left him, completely immersed in the show.

I walk past him, going straight to the window and peering out into the black of the forest. There is nothing to see, nothing to feel. The only thing staring back at me is my reflection in the glass, my eyes a little glazed with fear.

“You okay, babe?” Connor asks. The laptop goes quiet as Connor pauses the show and focuses on me. I keep looking out the window, unsure what I think I’ll see, uncertain what I’m afraid to see.

“Babe?” Connor prompts. The mattress springs groan a little as he shifts on the bed.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” I finally reply, closing the curtains. I turn to face Connor. His eyes are shadowed with concern, but his lips are curved in a small smile. He shifts, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding his hand out to me. I walk to him, sliding my hand into his. Connor pulls me between his legs and wraps his arms around me, looking up at me. I tunnel my fingers into his soft blond locks and look down at him.

“Hi, big guy.”

“I missed you.” Connor tightens his arms around me.

I giggle softly, any unease melting away. “While I was out at the trash can?”

Connor presses his face into my stomach, inhaling me. “Almighty, you’re sexy.”

I tighten my fingers in his hair, smiling.

He looks up at me. “Can I sleep over?”

“Yes, big guy.”

While I’m still not fully comfortable with the idea of sleepovers, I’m trying. Plus, with the odd things happening on campus, I’d rather he didn’t walk home alone tonight. I nod and tug his hair, tilting his head back a bit more to brush my lips over his.

“Good, because I’m still feeling boneless after you rode me into another realm.”

I laugh, and Connor pulls me down onto the bed. Connor tugs me close, and I curl into his side. I wave my hand, and the covers move up and over us. The lamp switches off, leaving us in complete darkness save for the soft glow emanating from Connor’s halo.

Connor yawns and buries his face in my hair. He inhales deeply, and soon his breathing evens out as he falls into a deep sleep. I kiss his chest, about to drift off myself, when my phone vibrates on the nightstand. I carefully reach over Connor to grab it and open the message.

I frown when I see the new message is from 1015. How? I blocked that account. My thumb hovers over the notification. How could they be messaging me again? I’ve been keeping an eye on my Nexus page, and they hadn’t viewed my stories when I checked earlier today. It should be impossible, yet there is the message, sitting mockingly at the top of my inbox with the large blue dot in front of the username, indicating a new message. I take a deep breath and then tap on the box. The previously empty thread now has one message sitting at the bottom, and my stomach clenches as my eyes skim over the words.

I worry my lower lip, reading the message over and over. Now I wish I had taken a screenshot of the last messages 1015 sent before I deleted them and blocked the account. It would be proof of them and a reminder of how threatened I felt. Similar to how I feel now. There is something so domineering about the words.

You are reckless.

Reckless. That is hilarious.

The last time I was reckless was with Torin, and I have never been again. I have never had the freedom to be. In order to keep myself out of Torin’s hands, every single one of my moves had to be planned carefully. Yet this person has reduced me to nothing more than a careless, silly girl, diminishing me within a three-word sentence. I feel like a child being admonished by an angry parent. Not that I know what that feels like.

Three little dots appear in the corner of the thread. They’re typing. My stomach knots as I watch the circles bob up and down as they type their next threat.

Yes.

I type out the message before I’ve considered my actions. Maybe I am becoming reckless. Perhaps this new sense of comfort is turning me careless.

I frown, reading the message. Does this person think they are being forthcoming while I’m being the difficult one? That they didn’t threaten me last time we spoke?

I try to remember what they said before. It was something about watching my back. It definitely sounded like a threat.

Warnings?

Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact you told me to “watch my back” and the predatory “little fae” tagged onto the end that makes me feel like I’m being stalked by an unidentified predator like I am prey.

There is a pause before the three little dots appear again, and they bounce for a while before the message is sent.

I read the message once, twice, three times. The knots in my stomach seem to fray a little. When have I ever enjoyed the chase? I am so fucking tired of running, but I’d be lying if I said this stranger did not intrigue me. 1015 rouses something inside of me, something I want to oust as soon as possible.

I read the message over and over, and he continues when I don’t reply. I realize that I’ve started to think of 1015 as male, and I’m unsure why. There is just a sureness in the tone of the messages that can only come with the arrogance of a male.

I snap when he mentions Connor.

I can practically hear the cruel smirk in his message.

I stare at my phone. My stomach clenches with fear, but there is that flicker of something I don’t want to identify.

I swallow the lump in my throat, and it feels like sandpaper as I choke it down. My hand shakes a little as I tap on the little gray blob of a profile photo and hit the large red block button.

There is no sense of relief as I do it.

Because deep down, I know this is far from over.