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NOT AGAIN
Rose
I’m still smiling from the high of teaching my first yoga class as I ride the subway back home, not to mention imagining the paycheck I’ll get in two weeks. Even part time, the pay is going to be more than what I make with Dr. Winchester. If I can just hold down this job, my internship, and classes in the spring, I’ll be golden.
The subway grinds to a halt and I jump up, throw my backpack on my shoulder and race through the sliding doors. I’m starved after that workout. And to celebrate, I’m going to defrost my credit card and hit up Tandoori Express right below my apartment. I pull out my phone as I resurface in midtown and search the delivery app. A text message catches my eye, and I click on the blue bubble.
Maisy:How was your first day?
Smiling, I type up a response.
Me:It was fantastic! Thank you so much for getting me the job.
Maisy:I didn’t do anything. It was all you Want to celebrate with a drink?
Me:Hell, yes. I’m almost home so I’ll run in and get changed, then we can meet up?
Maisy:Perfect, I’ll text you the details in a sec.
Closing out the delivery app, I race up the steps to my apartment. Happy hour is way better than Indian takeout. With Stella gone, I missed having a girlfriend. Maisy seems perfect. From the little I’d discovered about her, she was twenty-three and recently divorced. Apparently, she’d married a total dickhead when she was only nineteen.
And since I am now Rose 2.0, I even checked with Dr. Winchester to make sure it was okay for me to hang out with a patient. She’d agreed as long as I no longer consulted on her case. Luckily, the doc had more than enough patients for me to help out with.
By the time I reach the third floor, I get another text from Maisy confirming the trendy spot in the West Village, and now I’m super excited. This day is getting better and better by the minute. If it wasn’t for that awkward encounter with Dante at Palestra, it was really quite perf—
My happy thoughts grind to a halt when I reach the door to my apartment. Theopendoor. The wood is splintered, and the lock is all scratched up, like someone tried really hard to jimmy it before resorting to a crowbar and forcing it.
I peer through the opening, and my heart smashes against my ribs. My chest feels too tight, like my lungs have suddenly tripled in size. I suck in a haggard breath and force my feet forward. “I’ve got a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it,” I shout through the crack. I freeze, listening for any sign of the intruder. Every nerve ending is on edge as I wait an endless moment.
Nothing.
Releasing a breath, I fumble for my phone and dial 911. I pace the quiet hallway as I wait for a response from the dispatcher.
Ten minutes later, I’m finally off the phone and still waiting. Where the hell are they?
I shoot another message to Maisy with a lame excuse about period cramps. There’s no way I’m telling my new friend about my possible stalker. If this is Mark, he’s gone too fucking far. With every lap I pace, I grow angrier. How dare that asshole break into my apartment? He’s not going to scare me. I refuse to let him get to me.
I’d never let any man have that power over me again.
Steeling my nerves, I march back to my door and slowly push it open. I expect to find the place ransacked, but instead, my little living room seems untouched. My sorry little Christmas tree stands in the corner, the colorful throw pillows are all in place, the remote control sits on the coffee table just where I left it, and— a familiar sickly odor fills my nostrils. My head spins toward the kitchenette and the tiny island. A single dead yellow rose sits atop the counter.
No, this isn’t happening. My stomach clenches, and fear wraps around my lungs and squeezes. A clunk from across the studio freezes the blood in my veins. I creep toward the wood partition that separates my bed from the living area, my pulse hammering across my eardrums.
“Is anyone there?” I shout, instilling venom in my tone. I grab the umbrella by the door and hold it up like a baseball bat.
I round the white wood paneling and peer into the dim room. My bed is unmade just like I left it, my closet door closed, but my armoire… The top drawer is open. Had I left it like that in my rush to get out this morning? No, I don’t think so.
My fingers squeeze around the umbrella handle, and I inch inside. The framed picture of my family sits atop the dresser, our smiling faces giving me an added burst of courage. Standing on my tiptoes, I peer over the top of the drawer. All my underwear and bras are neatly arranged by color.
Shit. Now I know I didn’t do that.
A sharp creak stops my heart. I spin around, and a gloved hand covers my mouth. I stare at the freakyScreammask and jab the umbrella into my attacker’s stomach. “Bitch!” he growls, something off about his voice, and a biting sting races across my face.
He squeezes my hand so hard I drop the umbrella. I try to scream but his hand is back on my mouth again, and my voice is muffled against the fabric. A hood drops over my head, and panic shreds into my heart. I scream and cry as strong hands shove me onto the mattress face down. “Let go of me!” I kick and squirm, but he’s too strong.
Darkness edges my vision, and I’m hurtled to the past. Two firm hands holding me down, a familiar voice telling me it’s okay as a hand moves between my legs. No, no, not now. I couldn’t let the past drag me under. I had to fight.
I buck against the mattress, but the man’s hold only tightens.No, not again.
