TWENTY-SIX #2
After a back and forth about who he could call to get me to safety, I managed to deflect everything he offered. I couldn’t bear strangers’ eyes blaming or pitying me for my predicament. That’s why I left home in the first place.
When the call ended, my erratic heart threatened to jump straight through the bones of its cage. Memories surged like floodwaters – Travis’ fists, his rage, the way he had made me feel so small, so powerless.
I pressed a hand to my face, trying to steady my breathing.
It wasn’t working.
Before I even realised what I was doing, my thumb moved towards Cain’s name in my contact list. The thought of calling him felt so natural, so instinctive, that it startled me.
He’d become the only thing keeping me afloat without me even noticing, the one person I wanted to turn to when the walls felt like they were closing in.
Because I knew he understood me. He could see the shapeless chains around my neck.
My finger hovered over the call button, the temptation almost unbearable.
I pressed it.
The phone didn’t even ring once, and my heart already jumped into my throat. Just as quickly, I ended the call.
What the fuck was I doing? We set boundaries, and though we agreed to be each other’s ‘knights’, I couldn’t just call him for every single thing. Cain had looked exhausted, drained from the weight of his own burdens. He didn’t need mine on top of that.
The screen went dark, and I stood there in the quiet, my phone still clutched tightly in my hand.
For all the terror Travis’ name had brought back, it was Cain I had thought of first. And that fucking scared me.
The phone felt heavy in my hand, the call to Cain glaring back at me, a reminder of my weakness. I set it down, inhaling deeply to steady myself.
My stomach growled, a sharp contrast to the tension winding tighter with every passing second. Food. I needed food. Something grounding, something normal.
My fingers brushed against the cool wine glass, and I set it on the counter with a soft clink. The action gave me a brief sense of accomplishment, but my mind betrayed me, pulling me back to the name: Travis James Harris.
A chill ran through me. Travis had been my nightmare. But now he was here, closing the distance.
What did he fucking want from me? Why now? The questions spiralled, dark and endless.
Twisting the corkscrew into the bottle, the faint pop broke the quiet. Then I reached for the phone, opening the camera app to review the footage from earlier. It was a habit I’d developed after moving here – paranoia, maybe, but one that had always brought me peace of mind.
I leaned against the counter, sipping my wine as I swept through the clips.
There was nothing unusual, the silence of the rooms like an ointment to my soul.
At first.
But then, something made me pause. My finger hovered over the screen as I replayed the footage.
Earlier tonight.
A man in a hoodie had appeared, his movements slow. He’d lingered at the door inside my flat, glancing around.
My stomach dropped. My blood turned cold.
The next clip made my heart seize. The man had been in my bedroom. He’d been rummaging through my clothes, holding them to his face, inhaling.
It couldn’t have been Ghost – this man looked thinner, wrong somehow. My throat tightened as bile rose. Then – oh God – he was on my bed, his movements obscene, a violation even through the screen. Horror gripped me, freezing me in place as I watched him desecrate my place of rest.
The doorbell rang, snapping me back to the present. My head whipped towards the sound, pulse pounding so loudly it swallowed reason.
The food – as if I could eat at all. My brain lagged behind my body.
The only instinct left was to grab the always-ready duffel bag in the wardrobe and get the fuck out of the country
I stumbled towards the door, still keeping my eyes on the videos. My hand shook as I turned the lock and opened it, my eyes still wide with lingering terror from the footage.
‘Sorry, I—’ I began, looking up.
The words died in my throat.
Travis’ face twisted into a sick smile, his blue eyes gleaming with an unsettling mix of familiarity and malice.
‘Miss me?’ he drawled, his voice as cold and sharp as the memory that cleaved through me in that moment.
He’d changed since I last saw him. His face now bore a litany of tattoos, his platinum canine catching the faint light of the hall. His body looked to be honed to perfection, bulkier than I remembered – scarier for it.
I couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to tilt, everything slowing as I took an involuntary step back. The horrors of the footage, my nightmares, they all blurred into the reality that suddenly took shape at my doorstep.
My mind screamed for me to run, to fight, to do something.
As panic hit its peak, my body went into overdrive, my fight-or-flight response snapping to life.
I turned sharply and made for my room, my bare feet skidding against the cool floor, but a sudden, searing pain yanked me backwards.
My scalp burned as Travis’ fist twisted into my hair, jerking me off balance and dragging me towards him.
The sound of the door slamming shut behind him cracked through the flat like a gunshot.
My eyes darted to the kitchen island – the hidden panic button beneath its edge mocking me with its cruel proximity. If I could get to it – just one press, one desperate move – it just might be enough to save me.
I lashed out, kicking backwards with everything I had. My heel connected with his knee, the impact reverberating through my foot as he let out a guttural roar of pain.
His grip loosened, and I wrenched free. But his palm smacked the surface of the counter – just above the panic button – as he steadied himself.
Veering the other way, tumbling towards my bedroom, I heard him shuffling behind me.
‘You fucking, ungrateful bitch!’ His voice thundered venomously, but I didn’t look back. My hands shook as I threw myself into the room, slamming the door and locking all three bolts into place with shaky fingers.
My chest heaved as I hit the panic button hidden behind the photo frame on the wall adjacent to the door. The click of the mechanism was faint, almost drowned out by the sound of his body incessantly pounding against the door.
Each crash against the wood made the walls shake, each impact more violent than the last. My breath sawed through me when a cold realisation spat itself out: the police would never get here in time.
I scanned the room, my gaze falling on the bed, the pillow where my gun should have been.
The gun…
Fuck!
It was in my goddamn purse – and the purse was in the bloody kitchen!
A strangled sound escaped my throat, half a sob, half a scream. How could I have been so careless? How could I have let myself feel safe for even a second?
I grabbed fistfuls of my hair, the panic consuming me as my vision blurred with tears. My lungs seized, my thoughts spiralling, and I realised… I realised I was still clutching my phone!
My hands trembled violently as I unlocked the screen, my thumb fumbling to the recent calls as it hovered over the name of my uncle.
The banging stopped.
Silence followed – thicker and crueller than the earlier noise.
My head snapped up, my ears strained, every muscle in my body coiled like a spring, waiting for the next strike. My shaky finger hovered over Zio’s name, and I pressed the call button just as the tension became unbearable, my eyes darting towards the door.
The phone rang twice before the click of the answer broke the rhythmic tone.
The words spilt from my mouth in a frantic torrent before he could say anything.
‘Travis is here! He’s in my flat. He—please, you have to help me!’
But then the door exploded inwards. Brutal force tore through the room, ripping the phone from my hand.
The frame cracked and splintered under the weight of the small coffee table Travis had thrown against it, sending me tumbling backwards over the edge of the bed.
The air knocked from my lungs as I hit the floor.
I scrambled to get up, my limbs shaky and uncooperative.
When I looked up, he was there, stepping over the broken door with a terrifying calmness. His wild eyes locked onto mine, gleaming with triumph, his chest heaving as though the destruction had fuelled him. He straightened to his full height, the room seeming to shrink around him.
‘Well, now,’ he drawled, his voice low and mocking, ‘that’s no way to greet someone you were supposed to be bound to before God.’
He took a menacing step forward, each movement measured and heavy with intent. The malice in his smile twisted my stomach into knots.
‘School’s back on,’ he said, with the kind of delight that froze me in place.
The words landed like a verdict – a promise of the hours to come.
And what awaited at the end.