11. Briar #2
“If I wanted to hurt you, you’d already be bleeding for me.”
I should drive off. I should go straight to the police station, then to Lucille’s. But some dark, fucked-up curiosity roots me in place as the fog curls thicker around my car.
“You enjoy making me afraid of you.”
“I do enjoy it. Your fear tastes fucking delicious.”.
“Is that why you are sending me toxic flowers? To hurt me?”
“Everything I give you can hurt you, my love.”
My pulse is racing for an entirely different reason now. I feel a strange heat going up my spine. “My love,” I murmur.
“What do you want?”
He doesn’t reply right away. My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel.
“You. Every fucking piece of you. Until there’s nothing left that doesn’t belong to me.”
My heart slams against my ribs so hard I feel it in my throat.
“You’re insane! Why me?”
This time the message fails to send.
Shit.
Lucille texts me again, freaking out because I’m taking too long.
I’ll go to her place. Then I’ll figure out what the hell to do next.
The truth is… I don’t really feel threatened.
I feel seen, and some sick, twisted part of me, the part my therapist warned me about, is quietly and shamefully excited.
One last deep breath and I drive to Lucille’s. She lives in a small complex with security at the gate, so I know no one can follow me inside. The guard waves me through, he already knows my face.
The moment I park, she bursts out the door and pulls me into a fierce hug. I let myself melt into her for a second. She’s the only person in the world who really cares about me. The only one I care about.
“What took you so long?” she asks, voice tight.
“Sorry… I needed a minute to calm down enough to drive.” The lie tastes bitter but I can’t tell her I was texting my stalker. She’d lose her mind, and she’d be right to.
“I was about to drive over and call the cops on the way!” She mutters, leading me upstairs.
Her apartment is a pure gothic lair, deep red and black walls, heavy silk curtains that swallow the light, and a massive black leather couch.
But what I love most is how she’s made everything hers.
Old fabrics turned into art, reclaimed wood from abandoned furniture, flowers sewn from the remains of ripped-up jeans.
She taught me how to do the same, how to take something discarded and breathe new life into it.
Thrifting isn’t just shopping for us; it’s a ritual.
We hunt for pieces, cut them apart, and remake them into something ours.
She’s been fully gothic since she was fourteen. I only fell into it three years ago.
We settle on the couch and she looks at me seriously.
“We need to call the cops.” She begs.
“What would I even tell them?” I shake my head. “That some mysterious person is sending me texts and leaving flowers? That he might have walked through my open window?”
She doesn’t look convinced.
I lean back against the cool leather, trying to steady my breathing. The twisted excitement is still there, humming under my fear.
“We are not going to that party,” Lucille says firmly as she returns with two steaming mugs of tea. The fruity, sweet scent wraps around me like a warm blanket, familiar and safe.
“I’m not letting some piece of shit dictate my life,” I reply, taking the mug. “I’ve done that before, Lu. It almost destroyed me.”
I take a slow sip, fighting back the burn of tears behind my eyes.
“Briar, you can’t go back to your apartment. It’s too dangerous. And that party, what if he shows up? What if he tries to take you—” Her voice cracks. I reach out and squeeze her hand, offering her the most convincing smile I can manage.
“I think this person is just messing with me. Having fun.” I squeeze her fingers. “If he really wanted to hurt me, he wouldn’t have left a polite little note telling me to close my windows. He would’ve been waiting inside with a knife, ready to watch me bleed out on the floor.”
“Oh my God, Briar!” She groans, lightly slapping my arm. “Don’t say shit like that!”
I laugh, but the sound feels thin. The truth is, that image did flash through my mind. And some sick, whispering part of me didn’t flinch.
“I’m joking,” I lie softly. “But think about it. The two men who assaulted me? I never saw them coming. Never felt them watching. This feels… different. Probably just some lonely neighbor with too much time on his hands.”
She stares at me, still frowning, searching my face for cracks.
I take a deep breath. “Please, Lu. Let’s still go on Friday. I’ll stay in crowded areas the whole night. I won’t leave with anyone. Deal?”
She studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “Fine. But you stay where I can see you, and you don’t go anywhere with any fucker, you hear me?”
I nod quickly.
She picks up her phone. “My dad’s already arranging for an alarm system in your apartment.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the look she gives me could cut glass. I raise my hands in surrender. “Fine.”
Honestly… I’ll feel safer with an alarm. Still, a small voice in the back of my head wonders if the stalker even came inside, or if he simply saw the open window and left his little gift.
Hellebore. That flower is darkly beautiful. Poisonous. Elegant. The fact that it could kill me somehow makes it even more appealing.
God, I really am getting more fucked up.
“They’ll install it tomorrow morning, so tonight you’re staying here,” Lucille says, standing. “We can order whatever you want for dinner. Do you want to watch a movie?”
“Of course. I can make cookies if you want.” I reply, forcing a smile.
As she heads to the kitchen, that strange feeling settles deeper in my stomach, the weird flutter you get when something dangerous excites you more than it should. My mind knows it’s reckless. My body… doesn’t seem to care.
What if my stalker goes to the party?
The thought should terrify me.
Instead, it sends a dark, electric thrill racing down my spine.