Page 17 of Framed Obsession

“N-no. P… please, stop,” I grunt desperately. This is not the masked man from the parking garage. He is not my stalker. My body goes numb, feeling his fingers meet my core. His touch is rough and violent, sending searing pain through my body. My sobs turn into rivers of surrender. This is it. There is nothing else I can do. I tried. I tried my best, and it wasn't enough.

The hardening of his dick on my thigh has my stomach acid stirring. He’s panting and groaning, getting off on what he's doing to me. I turn my head, trying to put any distance I can between us. I don’t think I can fight anymore. My body is exhausted. I start to count the bricks on the wall.

One, two, three, four, five…

If I just let him have what he wants, it’ll be over soon. I feel the top of my pants being lowered. The roughness of his jeans rubs against me, chaffing my skin.

Six, seven, eight…

A sudden gust of wind brushes over me, and I no longer feel a warm, revolting body weighing me down. Somewhere in my mind, I know I’m being saved, but my mind slowly fades away into nothingness. All I can do is lie there, numb.

Large hands grasp my cheeks, turning my head straight. My eyes follow behind and meet familiar ones. I should be grateful. I should be relieved. I’m being rescued, but it doesn't feel like it. I hear a distant voice.

“Dahlia. Dahlia, baby, are you okay? I’m here,” he says repeatedly. I can’t bring myself to say anything. His eyes search mine in desperation. He leans forward, picking me up, and cradling me in his arms. I let him. I stare at him, taking him in. He is enraged; I can see it in his eyes. But when he looks at me, it’s with softness.

My hand comes up touching his mask. It’s the only gesture I can make to let him know that I’m glad he found me. He looks at me like I’m a broken piece of china.

I’m not sure if being in his arms is any safer than where I just was, but a feeling deep within me knows that I am. If I wasn't, he wouldn't have saved me, right? It’s the only thought I have keeping me from breaking apart right now. I’ll hold on to it a little longer.

He carries me to my apartment. This is the first time I haven't felt frightened of him being here. All the lights are off. Looks like Zoe is still out with her guy. What am I going to say to her? I have to tell her what happened to me. She is the only person who I can confide in. I’m not ready for a conversation like that yet, though.

I wince as I’m lowered onto my bed, my body aching in pain while the room fades in and out. I see the masked stranger disappear into my bathroom and return with a wet cloth. I’m dazed. Confused. Defeated. What is he doing?

He sets the cloth on my nightstand before approaching the end of my bed. I watch as he grabs my shoes, removing one after the other. I don't have any will within me to move, so I don’t. The skin on my ankle is met with brisk air, as my socks are no longer hugging my feet. I rub them against one another anxiously.

The masked man looks at me; he doesn't have to say a word for me to know he's reassuring me that everything will be okay. His fingers graze the top of my leggings and my body stiffens. His deep voice absorbs the quiet dreariness of the room as he removes his touch.

“If you don’t feel comfortable, I won’t.” I meet him in silence as my brain runs a million miles per minute. The thing is, I don’t even think I can help myself. I’d probably just lie here in this filth for the next day or two without his help. He’s patient as he watches the war in my eyes. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have already. I give him a gentle, but hesitant nod.

He slowly and very gently lines the seam of my leggings and clasps them. Little goosebumps wake at the brush of his knuckles. I feel the material slowly start to lower, exposing me, but this time, not for pleasure. A tear spills out unwillingly, and I begin to sob again. I can’t control it. My hands come up, covering my face from embarrassment, but they're quickly removed.

“Look at me, Dahlia. Look at me. You are safe with me. I can stop if you want me to. I just want to help,” he says, as his tone begs, pleading for me to give him some sort of reassurance. But I can’t. I can't look at him. I feel disgusting. I feel violated. I feel useless.

The bed dips as he sits next to me, still holding my hands. He stays with me in silence while tears of defeat leak down my face, wiping them as they fall. He probably thinks I’m disgusting now too. I wouldn't be surprised if he never came to see me again. He just feels sorry for me. I can see it when he looks at me. At least I won’t have to worry about him breaking into my apartment anymore.

Minutes go by without a sound. He sits until all the tears are drained out of me. I’m ashamed. I couldn't fend for myself, and my stalker is now cleaning the aftermath because I can't.

He leaves my side, and I immediately feel empty. He takes the damp towel from the nightstand in one hand, and takes my chin with the other. The rough fabric feels like a betrayal as it grazes against my broken skin, cleaning the grime unsympathetically. I let out a whimper at the contact.

The masked man eases some of the pressure as he continues to wipe my cheeks clean. My eyes scan him for a moment. Noticing how gentle he is caring for me, as if it's his purpose. His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, it feels like the world has paused, and I’m no longer in my own living nightmare. I no longer feel pain. I no longer feel anything. I only feel him here with me.

Chapter 16

The Stalker

Falling Into You - Beneath Our Ashes

My lungs start to spasm the longer I’m holding my breath. I don’t know why, but not breathing makes me feel like I'm being gentle. As if a small breath would cause her pain. I have three emotions running through my system right now. One that I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. Sadness? Heartache? Or some sort of empathy? I can’t seem to pinpoint exactly what the emotion is. All I know is that I feel some sort of mournfulness about what happened to her.

Another odd feeling I have is guilt. That if I hadn't been busy, I could’ve gotten to her sooner. It’s unlike her to walk home after her dance class. She and Zoe typically ride together.

The tracker I have on her phone notifies me whenever she travels. Knowing where she is at all times is a top priority for me. I noticed the little blue dot was moving slower than normal, indicating she was headed home on foot this time.

I had a few late photoshoots today, and the second I noticed how slowly the door was moving, I rushed in my car and drove straight to her location. I turned onto the street the tracker led me to, but she was nowhere in sight. I remembered there was a shortcut through the alleyway that leads right behind her apartment, so I took an educated guess and pulled near it. When I scoped down the dark street, all I saw was red.

A small light, attached to the brick building, made them barely visible in the darkness. I only noticed because it bounced off her silky white hair. I ran, pulled the motherfucker off of her, slamming him forcefully onto the concrete. My fists came down and were met with a crack. I didn't notice he was wearing a mask until I felt it against my knuckles. I kept punching until he was limp. Or so I thought. My first thought was to tend to my girl and make sure she wasn't hurt.

I knew what he had done to her was far worse than physical pain. Plucking her apart like blood-stained petals at the force of his own hands. Tearing what I adore most about her. Her resilience. Her compassion. The trust I’d built unethically.