Seventeen #3
My own GQ: Please tell me you are joking!
Lyssa: Nope, sorry.
My own GQ: You have just ruined Victoria’s Secret for me, thank you!!
Lyssa: So, you don’t want me to buy anything?
My own GQ: Babe, you don’t need fancy lingerie. You know I’m just going to rip it off anyway. But yes, buy red, lots and lots of red! Please.
Me: Mmm, since you asked nicely and all, I’ll see what I can manage. Got to go, I’m heading into the changeroom now.
My own GQ: Cruel, you are being cruel!!! FaceTime???
Me: Not a chance. Have fun doing whatever it is you’re doing… love you.
My own GQ: Right now, I’m trying not to let it be obvious that I have a fucking hard-on in the middle of Mercedes, because apparently all I have to do is think about my gorgeous girlfriend in lingerie for him to be at attention. Love you too, babe.
Putting my phone away, I pick up random pieces of red lingerie.
“Ah, Lyssa, not to burst your bubble or anything, but do you really think Zac is going to let some guy take photos of you in lingerie?” Bray grumbles behind us.
“Well, he won’t know about it if you don’t tell him, right, Brayden?” I glare at him.
“Sweetheart, if you think he won’t find out, you’re out of your damn mind.” Ignoring him, I head for the changing room.
I’ve just sent Sarah out to get a size larger for the last lacy red teddy I want to try on.
I hear footsteps outside of the dressing room and someone comes to a stop in front of the door.
Thinking it’s Sarah back with the teddy for me to try on, I’m about to open the door when I look down and see the shoes under the bottom of the door and freeze.
Whoever is standing on the other side of the door is not Sarah.
I can hear heavy breathing of someone who sounds as though they have been running.
I watch as the combat boots shuffle against the floor.
I’m reaching for my phone, about to call Bray, when a piece of paper floats under the door, landing at my feet.
I watch the boots disappear as fast as they appeared.
I’m frozen in place, standing in a Victoria’s Secret dressing room in my bra and panties.
I don’t know whether to bend down and pick up the paper, or ignore it and leave it there.
Curiosity gets the better of me. Picking up the sheet of paper, I turn it over, a blood-curdling scream escaping my throat.
I’m huddled in the corner of the dressing room on the floor.
I can hear Sarah and Reilly banging on the door, attempting to open it while simultaneously attempting to coax me into opening the door for them.
But I’m frozen. I can’t seem to move. I stare at the photograph in my hands, a photo of my mother’s headstone, only next to her headstone in the photo stands another headstone, a new one.
One with my name and birthdate on it. Underneath the birthday, the tombstone reads:
Died too young, because she touched what didn’t belong to her.
Why, why is she doing this to me, to us?
What have I done in my life to warrant this kind of treatment?
How does one person attract two psychopathic stalkers in one lifetime?
Not even a lifetime, in the span of just three years?
Is the relationship I have with Zac worth putting up with this kind of torment?
Am I prepared to face the devil with the possibility she may just be crazy enough to find a way to end my life?
I mean, she got past all of my friends and Bray without being noticed. Bray… With my breathing coming back under control, I can hear him arguing with Sarah and Reilly on the other side of the door.
He knocks lightly and coaxes, “Sweetheart, I need you to open the door for me, okay? Can you do that, Lyssa? Please open the door for me. I can call Zac for you; he will be here before you know it. But I need you to open the door.”
It’s at his mention of Zac that I’m able to answer my own questions.
Yes. Yes, I am prepared to endure whatever kind of torment this bitch throws my way, because he is mine.
And in this life, you fight for what’s yours; you don’t cower on the floor of a dressing room.
With that resolve, I stand up and unlock the door.
Bray takes one look at me before barging into the small dressing room, shutting the door behind him.
Sarah and Reilly are both on the other side of the door, arguing with him to let them in. He ignores them as he picks up my tank top from the bench,
silently putting it over my head and threading my arms through. He then bends and pulls my shorts up my legs. There is nothing but genuine care in his eyes.
Once I’m clothed again, Bray pulls me into his arms. “What happened?” he asks.
Still unable to find words, I show him the piece of paper. “Fuck.” He scrunches the paper in his hands, “I’m going to fucking kill her, I swear. Shit, I have to call Zac.” Just as Bray is pulling his phone out of his pocket, I stop him.
“Bray, wait, don’t call him yet. I’ll call him and have him meet us at the wine bar.” Taking in a shaky breath, I can do this.
Bray shakes his head no at me. “Lyssa, we have to tell him; he will want to know. Fuck, it’s possible he will kill me if I don’t tell him.”
“I’m going to call him. I don’t want him to worry or rush back to get here.
I’m not letting this bitch ruin our day again, Bray.
” Then I smirk at him, needing to lighten the mood.
“If you think he’ll kill you for not calling him, what do ya think he’ll do when he finds out you were in a dressing room with me while I was in a state of undress? ”
The look on his face is hysterical—he looks tortured. I can’t help but laugh out loud at his torture. “Don’t worry, Bray, I’ll make sure he doesn’t kill you.”
He shakes his head. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
Smiling, I say, “Simple, I’ll just ask him really nicely to spare you.”
Bray opens the door to all the girls on the other side. “How the fuck did I get lumped with you all. This is bullshit. Hurry up and check out, Lyssa. We need to get out of here.”He storms off to the front of the store.