A raindrop rolls down the back of my hand, beading on my fingertip before falling to the carpet.
“Such a stupid girl.”
“I’m not stupid!” The shout is out of me before I realize what I’ve done.
A large, weathered hand shoots out, gripping my throat. Cutting off my air.
Stop.
I think the word, but I can’t say it.
I can’t speak.
My fingers claw at the hand, nails scratching at flesh, catching on that damn gold pinky ring he wears. But it’s useless, I’m not strong enough to break his hold on me.
“Not stupid, huh?” the man sneers.
Darkness starts to spot my vision, my eyes rolling wildly, looking for help. But the only other person here is my mother. And even the small unbroken parts of me aren’t naive enough to think she’ll step in.
The hand tightens. His sneered words blurring in my mind as my brain begs for oxygen.
Tears streak from my eyes.
Maybe I am stupid.
Worthless like he always says.
Finally, weakness softens my limbs, and my knees give out.
His fingers release my neck as I collapse to the floor.
“Fat and stupid.” He wipes his hand on his jeans like he’s trying to wipe away the disgust of touching me.
My impact with the thin carpet knocked the last breath out of me, so I can’t reply. Not that I would. I learned my lesson.
Fighting for breath, I watch as he turns his back and walks away, like nothing happened.
My body jolts as I gasp for air.
“Sweet Girl.”
The murmur doesn’t sound like the voice that haunts my nightmares. But I can still hear it. I can still feel his hand on me, fingers around my neck.
Blinking back the dream, my hands blindly reach up to push him away even though I know he’s not here. It’s just a memory. No one is touching—
My fingers collide with warm flesh.
Panic flares back to life and I try to scramble away, but I can’t. I’m in the corner of the couch.
My couch.
I’m an adult. It’s not him.
My brain adjusts to the sight in front of me. To the man from the balcony.
Oh my god, did I seriously fall asleep with this stranger in my home?!
“Breathe.” The hand that I thought was trying to choke me presses against my breastbone. The warmth from his palm seeps into my chest, causing my lungs to stop seizing. “Just breathe, Sweet Girl.”
I’m going to blame exhaustion and confusion for the tears that fill my eyes, not the kindness in his voice. Not hearing him call me sweet after the vivid and vicious memories of being called stupid.
“Hush.” His hand slides a fraction lower, his standing body bent over my reclined form. “You’re fine now.”
My lungs fill with another shaky inhale, and I nod.
Fabric shifts underneath my fingers, and I glance down to see I’m gripping his forearm with both my hands.
I let go as quickly as I can, moving my hands back to my blanket. But his palm prevents me from being able to lift the blanket back to my chin.
Our gazes are locked together, and I startle when he speaks again.
“What’s his name?” His voice is still quiet, but it’s also different. A little menacing.
“Wh-whose name?”
His head tilts, and it reminds me of the nature channel when they show a wild animal stalking its prey. “The man who laid his hands on you. Tell me his name.”
I suck in more air. My heart continues racing, but the reason for it is shifting. Morphing from fear to… something else.
“Why do you want to know?” I ask.
The tip of his tongue swipes at the corner of his mouth like he’s thinking; then his lips tip up, the smallest amount. “Call it morbid curiosity.”
When I don’t reply, he leans closer, applying a little more pressure where his hand is touching me.
“I bet you’ve never told anyone. I bet you did as you were told.” I can feel his exhale against my lips. “Break the rules for me, Sweet Girl. Put yourself first and give me a name.”
There’s a part of me that knows I should stay silent, but I ignore it. “Arthur.”
He makes a humming sound before slowly straightening, his thumb drawing a line between my collarbones, before leaving me completely when he stands.
“Now, let’s make a deal.” He breaks eye contact with me when he looks down to fasten his suit coat.
I swallow, but don’t say anything as I wait for him to continue.
“I won’t tell Arthur you’re the one that sent me, and you don’t tell anyone about tonight.”
I blink up at him.
Did he…? Did he just say what I think he did?
“Tell me you agree, Payton.” His voice is firmer now and hearing him say my name sends a burst of electricity down my spine.
He knows my name.
How does he know my name?
Looking into his beautifully haunting eyes, I whisper, “I agree.”
He takes a step backwards. “Good.”
I steel myself, knowing I’ll hate myself later if I don’t ask. “What’s your name?”
He pauses, and for a moment I think he’s going to tell me. But then he turns away from me and heads toward my front door. “It’s safer if you don’t know.”
“Safer for who?” I ask.
“Both of us.”
He’s reaching for the handle when he pauses, and I follow his gaze down to the basket of laundry I left by the door.
I sit up and watch, eyes wide, as he bends down and picks up a pair of my underwear from the top of the pile.
“Those are dirty,” I choke out.
The man smirks at me over his shoulder, as he shoves them into his pocket.
My mouth pops open, as is becoming my habit. I don’t know what to say.
He unlocks the deadbolt and pulls the door open, the light from the hallway spilling in, lighting up his features as he turns just enough to look at me.
“Keep your doors closed, Payton. Leaving them open could be seen as an invitation.”
Then, just as silently as he arrived, he leaves.
