2. Stood up. Officially
Stood up. Officially
Bree
Eight Months Ago
Unknown: You look beautiful tonight x
S taring down at my cell phone, I turn to look around the bar. I know everyone here. Returning my attention to my phone, I feel confused by the unknown number in a room of people I’ve known my whole life.
Me: Um, who is this?
Unknown: You’ll know soon enough x
I swallow, my eyebrows knitting together, unease settling in the pit of my stomach.
Me: Ok, you’ve had your fun. Don’t make me trace your number and arrest your ass.
Unknown: Princess, you can try tracing the number, but you won’t get far. You don’t need to worry. I will never hurt you, Bree x
Six Months ago
Unknown: Sleep tight, princess x
M y watery eyes try to focus on the screen in my hand. Blinking away the tears, I swallow hard and squeeze my phone in the dark and quiet of my bedroom. It’s been two months of this, and I have no idea who it is. It’s not every day, not even every week, but every time I drop my guard, there’s another message. Always unsettling and menacing in a way that twists my stomach. Always with a kiss at the end as though that will take the edge off the way it makes me feel.
Me: Stop this, please.
Unknown: I can’t stop until you understand. I need to show you what you mean to me x
Five Months ago
Unknown: You left your kitchen window open. That’s not very safe, Breanne. Anybody could get in x
I ’m at work, sitting in my office while he, at least I assume it’s a man, is at my house or has been. He could be inside. I don’t know what to do or where to turn, and I freeze, my rapid heartbeat the only part of me that’s moving as I stare at words that feel as though they’re jumping out of my phone, and my emotions rush at me. Fear, anger, frustration. So many feelings, spinning like a roulette wheel that isn’t stopping or choosing what to settle on.
The cell numbers change with each set of texts, and they’re never traceable. I can’t talk to anyone about it. Both my sister and my brother have babies on the way, my mom just got engaged, and my best friend just had her fiancé move in with her and her son. I can’t burden them with my shit when I’m the one who should be able to fix all of this.
I’m a cop. I can figure this out.
I can.
I will.
I have to because I have to go home alone to a house that’s being watched, and I have to do that with a weapon in my hand and my senses on high alert, knowing there could be somebody hiding in the darkest corners, waiting for me, and I can’t live that way. I’m the person trained to catch the bad guys, and I’m going to catch this one.