Page 116 of His To Erase

I swear I threw them off the side of the bed.

It was late. My head was a mess. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and I told myself it was just to relieve some tension. By the time I’d slipped my hand between my thighs, I was too far gone to pretend it was anyone else.

I’d been soaked.

Disgusted with myself, I’d shoved the panties down my legs and tossed them off the bed like that could somehow separate me from the truth of it.

Now they’re gone and I know I didn’t get up to throw them out or tuck them into the laundry bin. I barely made it to sleep. Dizzy with guilt and something worse.

I throw my legs over the bed, and see a single white notecard, propped against the nightstand. I grab it, and turn it over. It’s blank, there’s nothing written on it.

My throat tightens as I throw the card onto the nightstand. The worst part isn’t the fear. It’s the way part of me reacts to the fear like it’s a fucking love letter.

My phone buzzes behind me, and I flinch. When I turn, the screen lights up, letting me know I have three unread messages. A few from the same unknown number and Sarah.

Unknown : Have fun last night?

My stomach flips. I read it again. And again.

Unknown : That little black dress was stunning on you. You look even better out of it.

My skin crawls as I reach down and tug the hem lower, even though I’m alone.

Unknown : Your so-called boyfriend can’t keep you safe.

It’s not even the threat that gets me. It’s the tone. That smug, mocking little twist in the words—like they’re not just watching, but laughing.

I don’t even hesitate this time. If he wants to play games, I’ll give him a better one—one where he’s not the only monster in the room.

Me: If you were really watching, you’d know I wasn’t alone last night. So how about you fuck all the way off.

The silence after I hit send is loud. Like scream-into-a-pillow, check-the-door-locks-twice kind of loud. No typingbubbles. No dramatic three-dot pause. No retaliation that confirms I’ve poked the bear.

I don’t know what I thought would happen. Another threat? A riddle in blood on the wall? A whisper through the vents? Instead all I get is—radio silence. And somehow, that’s what gets under my skin. The nothingness.

I read the message from Sarah next.

Sarah: Please tell me you’re alive… Or have you been arrested? Or are you in the middle of some kinky sex? If it's hot, then send pics.

I huff a laugh through my nose and shake my head, the tension bleeds off my shoulders enough to remember I’m still alive. Barely.

My chest is tight, but I try to breathe through it.

I count backwards, but the adrenaline won’t fade. It just simmers, coiled under my skin like a fuse waiting for someone to light it. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet as I walk to the front door.Just to check.

I know I locked it. I remember the click. I remember flipping the deadbolt after I got in the house like I always do. I lean against the door with my eyes closed and my forehead pressed to the wood like I could keep everything out if I just held it shut.

My lungs are pulling in air too fast, my breathing is shallow and panicked, and I clamp a hand over my mouth because if I start screaming, I might not stop. All I want to do is cry lately. I’m fucking exhausted.

My eyes scan the apartment now—really scanning the shadows. Every creak of the building settles like a new threat in my bones. I don’t even know what I'm looking for. Fingerprints? A message scrawled on the mirror in steam? Blood?

Something to prove I’m not crazy.Or something to confirm I am.

Everything feels like a lie. Every memory feels warped, but I don’t trust a single thing—not the lock, not my instincts, and definitely not the people around me. Well except for Sarah.

Unfortunately life doesn’t stop just because you’re spiraling. If I don’t get my ass in gear, I’ll be late to the one place I actually feel safe.

I’m halfwaythrough my granola bar when my phone buzzes again. ‘I’m tired of this, grandpa!’