Luna
I push the blend button on my bender and turn to find Binx patiently waiting for me to fill his food bowl. “Hello, sweet boy. Did you sleep well?” I ask as I pop open a can of cat food for him. I pour his food into his bowl and pet him along his back.
Binx is a fluffy, long-haired, all-black, green-eyed cat I found outside my apartment when I first moved in.
In my book, Vera’s Vengeance, I wrote that Vera has a cat just like Binx, down to the green eyes.
I took it as a sign that I needed a companion, and Binx was more than happy to move in with me.
He’s a pretty chill cat and spends most of his time sleeping on the window bed I got him, or next to my pillow on my bed.
He’s not the biggest cuddler yet, but we’ve only known each other for a short time, so I can’t expect him to be, but Binx is precisely what I need right now—a distraction.
Taking care of him has been my sole focus, but that changes today.
This morning, when I woke up, I signed up for a membership at a gym near my apartment, and after finishing my yogurt bowl, that’s where I’m headed.
I need to get out some built-up aggression, and the only healthy way I know how to do that is by murdering people in my books or going to the gym and running it out.
I’ve already done number one, so I’ll give the second option a go.
I open my phone and immediately get a notification from my news app. The title of it reads, ‘Notorious Pedophile Edward Slithers Presumed Dead.’ I scoff and shovel more yogurt into my mouth, “Good riddance. The world is better off without you, old, nasty fucks.”
I swipe away the news app notification and open VidTok.
I have 200+ new followers and more than 99 notifications.
I weed through the comments and tags, replying to some people, and then move on to my inbox.
I get at least a few messages a day from followers showing me love, or from haters telling me how horrible a writer I am or how much they hate me.
It’s mostly men in my inbox calling me every name in the book because my female main character, Vera, is an unapologetic man-hater, so they assumed I am, too.
But in real life, I don’t hate men at all, even after everything I went through. I just wish they were better humans—a pipe dream, I know.
My inbox is unusually quiet today, with only one message from a person called ‘Sir,’ and their message reads:
I reply, thanking them for reading, and send well wishes for their inspiration to write.
It’s my general reply to these types of messages.
I click on their private profile, which has no profile picture or posts, but that is not unusual—most people on this app don’t post—they just consume it.
I close out the app, finish breakfast, rinse my bowl, and say goodbye to Binx.
I leave my apartment on the third floor, locking the door behind me. I head down the stairs to the parking garage to get in my car, and I blast Sleep Token as I drive to the gym to scream my heart out to.
When I arrive at the gym, it’s empty except for one other person on an elliptical. As a courtesy to the other person, I pick a treadmill at the opposite end of the gym. I turn on my music, do some stretches, and hop on the treadmill for some light cardio to ease myself into the gym life.
An hour passes before I know it, and I finish up my workout.
The gym is busier now, and I think I’ve hit my social quota for the day.
I wave goodbye to the front desk attendant as I exit the building, and as I walk to my car, I pull out my grocery list to double-check it before heading to the grocery store to finish my errands for the day.
I walk up and down the aisles, getting what I need for the week and what Binx needs.
“Box of mac and cheese, check. Yogurt, check. Canned cat food, I can’t forget it.
Binx would eat my toes in my sleep, check.
Milk, eggs, lettuce, ham, chicken, salad dressing, and cheese, check.
” Staring at my cart now full, I silently thank myself for bringing my car, because there’s no way I could have carried all this back to my apartment.
I wait in the long checkout line since only two cashiers are working today.
I'll be here for a minute, so I pick up a magazine from one of the front displays and start reading. I get two pages in before this sinking feeling washes over me that I’m being watched.
I try to ignore the feeling, since I’m in public and can’t control who stares at me, but this feels different.
It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before, and I don’t know if I’m scared or just paranoid about Greg finding me.
I look up from the magazine, slowly looking over my shoulder, not drawing attention to myself.
I act as naturally as possible, given my inner feelings.
I saw no one looking at me. Everyone’s either busy on their phones while waiting for the lines to move or looking elsewhere that wasn’t in my direction.
Get it together, Luna. You’re a paranoid mess.
I place the magazine back on the rack, move forward with the line, and try to shake off the feeling.
I need a bath and a giant glass of wine tonight. Before I head home, I'll stop by the corner store near my apartment to pick up some essentials. I take a deep breath to calm myself, and the feeling soon fades as I enter the checkout.
I hit ‘post’ on my video, and my stomach immediately sours.
I decided to take a break from social media, and I just posted a video to my followers letting them know I won’t be online for a while.
I know my followers will understand, but I feel like I’m letting them down.
I’ve built a strong community on the app, and I hate it when I can’t give one hundred percent of myself to them, but when the comments start pouring in, all full of love and support, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I close the app and set my phone to do-not-disturb mode. I get up from my desk in my room to go to my kitchen, and I grab the jumbo wine glass I bought for my first night here, pouring about half the bottle of my favorite Riesling into it, and head for the bath.
I set the wine on the sink counter, turn to face my tiny shower-tub combo, and turn on the water, adjusting the temperature to scalding.
I remove my clothes and turn back to the pedestal sink adjacent to it.
In the mirror, a cathedral-style stained glass window across from the tub catches my attention.
The walls around the window are painted black, with wood accents scattered throughout, lending the room an overall Gothic feel.
The window sold me on choosing this apartment.
It was all I could think about after touring the place.
It’s three crows sitting on tree branches with a blood-red background that swirled to the pointed peak of the window.
It’s a murder.
The realtor who showed me the apartment mentioned she had trouble leasing it because of the issue, but I think it’s perfect.
The stained-glass window's edges are transparent, letting in natural light during the day, but the room is cast in a blood-red hue at sunset. I decorated it with fake plants and little knick-knacks I picked up at thrift stores when I first moved here, adding my own touch, and it’s quickly become my sanctuary.
It’s the spooky, gothic, dark romance bathroom of my dreams.
I toss my clothes into the hallway, grab my glass of wine, and step into the boiling water.
I’m going to be red like a crisp Maine lobster, but god, it feels good.
I set my wine glass on the side of the tub, leaning forward to grab my lighter to light the candles I keep in here for nights like this. I lean back slowly, letting the hot water soothe my achy bones.
I bring my glass to my lips and sip the sweet wine as I sink lower into the tub. I look out my window, watching the sunset; the blood-red atmosphere in my bathroom slowly fades, and the only light in the room comes from the candles I have lit.
Peace.
I take another large gulp of wine and set the glass down again. I swirl the water with my arms, sinking into the tub.
That is, until that same fear-inducing feeling I had at the grocery store today washes over me again. I pause my movements and lie still, waiting to see if I can hear anything.
When the silence of the room drags on, I feel safe enough to move again, and that’s when I hear a sound from my window. My head snaps over to it, and I catch a glimpse of an eye peeking in between the clear edge of the stained glass window.
I scream, sitting up so fast that I slosh water all over the floor, knocking my glass of wine over. I grab my towel from the rack and run into my bedroom, where I grab my phone from the nightstand to call 911.
“Hello, 911; please state your emergency and your location.” The dispatcher says.
“Hi, I live at the Ozark apartment building on 48th Street. Floor three, apartment twenty-three. I think I saw someone peeking at me through my window.” I whisper, afraid the person outside can hear me.
“A Peeping Tom, Ma’am?” The dispatcher asks, sounding annoyed.
“Yes, a Peeping Tom! I only saw their eyes, but I saw someone.” I bite my nails nervously as I hear the dispatcher over the phone typing.
“Okay, Ma’am. We are sending an officer out to you now. They should be there in twenty minutes. Do you need me to stay on the phone while you wait?” The dispatcher asks.
“What if they break in? Do I call back?” My heart’s racing, and the thought of being alone, even if the only comfort I have is a person on the phone, makes me want to cry.
“I can stay with you on the phone. Just sit down in a room away from the windows. Lock your door, and when the police arrive, I'll disconnect the call. Is that okay?” The dispatcher's tone of voice softens when they hear my panic.
“Yes, thank you,” I say in a shaky voice as I lock my bedroom door and sit on my bed, waiting for the cops to show up.