Chapter 4
SUMMER
Today was … fun. Pancakes and books. Pretty close to perfection.
I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to relax around strangers, not after … everything, but Mira made liking her easy, and I think I can safely say I have a new friend.
I smile as I turn out the lights and scooch down into the soft blankets, settling into the king size bed. So much space. I could sleep sideways and still have room to spare.
A girl could really be thrown around on this mattress.
The man from the bookstore this morning pops into my mind. I clench my thighs as a pulse of liquid heat throbs between my legs. He was … intimidating, but oh so yummy. He was tall, with a built body that wasn’t too muscular like some of the people you see at the gym lifting absurd amounts of weight. No, his build was … how can I describe it? A practical strength. Like whatever he does day to day has built his physique.
And his eyes. The throbbing between my thighs grows more insistent. They were a grey that turned silver depending on the angle. He was … I wish Mira hadn’t dragged me from the store. I nearly dug my heels in as we exited into the late afternoon summer heat. I tried and failed to come up with an excuse to go back in. I wanted bookstore man’s name. I wanted to experience that flutter in my chest again when he looked at me. I wanted …
The blue light from the screen of my phone snaps me out of my thoughts, all the sexual buildup draining away in an instant. I hate that my fingers tremble as I reach for my phone. I have to be stronger than this. He can’t win. I won’t let him.
I sigh with relief when the preview bubble pops up on my lock screen. It’s just an email from the townhouse rental company to make sure I’m settling in okay. I open my new email app, reading through the message. I don’t bother with a reply since one isn’t needed, and I delete it.
I’ve turned off all my other notifications, so there are no little red dots to tell me how many likes and comments I have waiting for me. Like the addict I am, my heart rate speeds up as my finger hovers over one of my social media app icons.
I’ve made a name for myself. I make good money, and I like what I do. I’ve received plenty of troll comments and messages telling me that being an “influencer” is a young person’s game, but at thirty-six, I like to think my maturity and life experience helps lend weight to my curated content. It’s a lot of work coming up with and executing what I hope are engaging and informative posts, but to actually get paid for doing something I love … it’s the dream, right?
I thought so. No, it is. I enjoy my work. I did until him. All it takes is one asshole …
Instead of opening any of my socials, I go back to my new email app and bring up the message chain from the man I hired to help me. I scroll past the introduction message and past the application letter. Slowing down at the welcome email with its attachments, I open the one I’m looking for. I’ve read it several times, but it’s become something like a meditation for me. It makes me feel more in control when I can mentally check off items he recommended I do.
I got a new phone and number and purchased an additional burner number from one of the services he listed. This way, I never have to use my actual number online. Check.
I’ve deleted all my email accounts and set up three new ones through one of the services he recommended. Check.
When I read over the next line item, I frown. I couldn’t delete all my social media accounts. They are my livelihood. I’ve worked hard to build my little empire. I can’t just start over, but I did get rid of one that I wasn’t using all that much anyway. And to be honest, it felt good hitting the delete account button. Check.
I followed his advice on how to better secure the accounts I’ve kept, making sure to turn on every setting that gives me the best possible privacy. Check.
While I have my phone open, I double check the new security apps I’ve downloaded, including the VPN. Check.
Opening his latest email to me, some of the tension drains from my bunched shoulders. It’s good to know I have someone on my side, even if it’s someone I’ve only communicated with via email. This last message suggested I take a break, that I cross-post to my socials to let my followers know I’d be unplugging for a while. Check.
The email is simply signed, Max, with his company slogan under his name … Here to help protect your biggest asset - your identity.
I close the email, dropping my hand in my lap.
My identity.
I’ve put so much of myself out there. I believe that being genuine and sincere is the only way to really make a connection over the internet. I’ve prided myself on being authentic, but with everything that’s happened, I realize I’ve kept very little of myself just for me. I left myself open for this kind of thing to happen.
I don’t blame myself, though. Yes, I should have been more careful, but no matter what, no one has the right to do what that creep has done. He’s in the wrong. Not me.
I stare at the dark screen of my phone in my lap, my grip tightening.
It started innocently enough with a few comments on my posts on one of my social media accounts. No big deal. Comments are great for engagement. But then he began commenting on every single post. And if I didn’t respond, he’d comment again, and again, and again. Then he found all my other accounts, commenting on everything and sending me DM’s.
It was so frequent, I began to feel uneasy, so I started ignoring him. That only made it worse. Pictures started coming with the messages and DMs; a styled plate of food at a fancy restaurant, a sunset, a painting at a gallery … with comments like how he’d love to take me to this restaurant, how the sunsets would be that much more beautiful if I was there with him …
Then he sent me a picture of himself, from the neck down, with the comment, “Do you like this outfit? I think it goes well with that dress you wore last week.”
I blocked him so fast, my fingers couldn’t move any quicker. But the next day, he was there again under a new account name. Over and over I blocked and reported, but he kept showing up.
And then I got an email. Luckily, it was close enough to one of his social account names that I recognized it before opening it, and blocked and deleted it. It was frustrating and a little nerve-wracking, but honestly, this kind of thing happened every so often.
But a couple of weeks ago, I realized I might be in actual danger. I was leaving the grocery store when my phone buzzed. As I opened the text, my bags fell to the ground. I nearly vomited there on the sidewalk. It was a picture of me in the grocery store from just a few minutes prior. In the image, I had my basket slung over one arm, and I was holding a bunch of bananas in the other. The text read, “I like that you are taking care of yourself and eating healthy. Such a good girl for me.”
I deleted the message and turned off my phone. I never turn off my phone—at least I didn’t use to. I was so disgusted; I was shaking with fear. That man was in the store with me. He took my picture, and he somehow had my number.
That night, I didn’t sleep. Instead, I spent hours getting angrier and angrier. Despite my rage, I jumped at every little noise as I talked to the authorities, who did absolutely nothing. In my country, to get a restraining order, I’d need to provide evidence of the existence of violence or serious threat. Which I didn’t. All I had were the messages my stalker sent me, and a bunch of his social media account names, half of which were no longer being used. I didn’t even know what he looked like since any pictures he sent of himself were cropped so his face wasn’t showing.
I’d never felt more alone.
All night, I played the ‘what I should have done game.’ I should have run back into that grocery store and found him. To do what? Punch him in the face? Throw a watermelon at him? Cause a scene? Slap him? Kick him in the balls? Something.
But I fled. And while that was probably the right answer, I still play out fantasies of swinging my grocery basket into the side of his face, then standing over his laid-out body, my foot pressed to his throat.
But I’m not that brave. Obviously. My fight or flight apparently leans heavily to the flight side.
Early the next morning before The Divide fell for the day, I was on my way to check my mailbox when I noticed a letter stuffed in my door. With shaking fingers, I opened the folded paper. Tears blurred the words, and I had to blink a few times to read the note that said, You shouldn’t push yourself so hard. You didn’t sleep at all last night. You need your rest.
I stood there, resisting the need to slam the door and hide inside. Instead, I forced myself to look around. It was so early, none of my neighbors were out. Soft birdsong floated on the breeze, and the golden light of the impending sunrise would have been beautiful if it wasn’t tinged with my fear. And outrage.
There was no movement, but to my imagination, I was sure every shadow hid my stalker. I could feel him watching me, and it made my skin crawl.
I crumpled the letter, ready to throw it out as I stormed inside my house, slamming the door behind me. I wanted to burn it, but I flattened it out, putting it in a file as evidence.
After that, the deliveries began. Two, three, four times a day. Flowers, takeout from my favorite restaurants, lingerie … One afternoon, everything off my Amazon wishlist showed up. Every single thing. The note read, Your wish is my command.
I refused delivery and canceled my account. And yes, looking back, I know I should have reached my limit before that point, but I was finally angry enough, and scared enough, and tired enough. I was done. I needed help.
I went on a deep dive on the internet. That’s where I found Max and his identity protection services. After our initial email, I confessed I didn’t feel safe in my home, and he immediately sent me drafted proposals from several security companies in my area. I had cameras in and around my house the very next day. That’s also when Max recommended I take a vacation, literally as well as from social media. He said it would be good for my mental health, which I agreed with. He also promised to dig into my stalker’s identity.
So, here I am.
Why here? I’m not sure. When Mira asked why I didn’t pick a more touristy place, I fumbled for an answer, because honestly, I just sort of ended up here. I wanted to leave all that fear and anger behind, if only for a little while. I could afford to travel, so I did, purchasing the soonest available airline ticket I could find. Once at my destination, I purchased another ticket right there in the airport. Upon landing, I bought another ticket to … I don’t even remember where. I told myself this was the only way to fight back—to remove myself from my stalker’s proximity. I was like a bartender, cutting my stalker off.
He’d had enough of me, and I wasn’t going to give him any more.
And so, I didn’t stop.
My mind was spinning darker and darker scenarios. I told myself I was being irrational, but I was sure he was still following me, and because I didn’t know what his face looked like, he could have been anyone in any of the several airports I went through. My imagination was in overdrive.
I took three more flights, staying in airport hotels while The Divide was down, until I was too tired to keep going. Using an internet cafe at the airport in Quebec, I found this townhouse rental in the States. It’s comfortable and though it shares two walls with the neighbors, it’s quiet. I like being sandwiched in. It’s morbid, but at least I know someone will hear me if I scream.
Thinking about my house back home, I realize I don’t want to go back. The thought of returning makes that echoing loneliness spread through my chest. But my life is there, and I just spent a small fortune to have that security system installed. Though I can always have the cameras shipped here, or somewhere, anywhere. I hate how scared I am to return home, but even more, I hate the idea of my stalker winning, of him chasing me away.
I shake my head, easing my grip on my phone as I say to myself, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Summer. Let’s wait and see what Max finds. Maybe there will be something he can dig up on my stalker that will help me get a restraining order or something. Forget about that loser. Enjoy your vacation.”
With that thought verbalized, I reopen my phone and tap on my new messaging app. Reaching for the napkin on the bedside table, I type in Mira’s number and send her a quick text.
“Hi. It’s Summer. Sorry. I know it’s late. It was so nice meeting you, and I hope we can get together again soon. I’m here for a few weeks, and I’d love for you to show me around if you have the time.”
A second later, the little three-dots bubble pops up, and her reply comes through.
“Text me whenever. I silence my phone when I go to bed, so you don’t have to worry about waking me up. I had a great time as well. I’d love to show you around! I’ll come up with a few things you might like. I’ll text you tomorrow after I get off work around noon.”
I type a reply with a smile.
“Sounds good. And thanks.”
She ‘hearts’ my message, and I close the app before turning off my phone. It’s not as much of a struggle as it was at first to watch the screen go dark. Do I want to check on my socials? Hell yes. It’s like an itch deep in my brain.
Instead, I lay back, pulling the covers to my chin. Closing my eyes, I start my nightly meditation, but find my thoughts wandering more than usual. It’s not worries over my business, or fearful thoughts about my stalker. No, my mind keeps conjuring the man from the bookstore. I do my best to acknowledge my thoughts and go back to my breathing, but my brain won’t let him go. My meditation turns into a game of striptease, and with every slow exhale, I peel away a piece of his clothing.
I fall into a vivid dream/meditative state where I find myself pressed against a bookshelf in the back room of that bookstore. His giant bronze wings that I swear I saw in the bookstore flare wide, blocking out the rest of the world. My legs are wrapped around his waist, and his lips kiss and taste my collarbone, my neck, my ear. I groan, not sure if the sound actually came from my lips or if it was just in my dream, but suddenly, I’m naked, and so is he. He grinds his cock between us, and molten fire pools in my belly. He leans forward, his words eliciting a shiver of excitement as he whispers, “You are mine, Summer.” His cock lines up with my soaked entrance, and my head falls back, anticipation screaming through me.
He grunts my name as he thrusts into me, the force driving me painfully against the shelves. A book tumbles to the floor with a loud thud, and I snap awake. Sitting up, I grip my sleep shirt over my chest, feeling my racing heart against my fist. I pat my lap, realizing my phone is gone. Leaning over, I see it where it fell to the floor. That must have been what woke me.
Damn it. And just when it was getting good. And why, oh why, didn’t I think to bring my vibrator?
I finally get my heart to slow down when the first warning siren goes off outside. I startle, pulling the blankets tighter around my body. Just a few more minutes until The Divide falls.
Last night on my first night here, I was sure I’d be kept up with the sounds of monsters growling and screeching outside, but there was none of that. I wonder if it’ll be just as quiet tonight. I have the urge to leap out of bed and double check all the thresholds and sills. Maybe I should add a little more of my blood to the carvings?
I tsk at myself, settling back into the fluffy blankets as the second siren goes off outside, the automated voice saying, “One minute until The Divide breach.” Shifting to my side, I close my eyes, but a few seconds later, they pop open. I kick off the blankets with a huff and stand, saying to myself, “You’re being ridiculous, Summer.”
Still, I make my way around the house with my little safety pin in hand. The final siren blares. I prick my finger, letting a few drops of red blood plop to each engraved windowsill and threshold. For a moment, it feels like I’m being watched. My skin prickles and the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The sensation goes away as quickly as it came.
To calm myself, I make a cup of herbal tea. The scent of peaches and green tea wafts around me as I head back to bed. It remains quiet as I wrap a band-aid around my finger. I take a few sips of the tea before setting it on the stone coaster on the bedside table. I’m sure I’m too wound up to sleep, but I force my eyes closed and count my breaths.