I tear myself away from Dove's bed. But it's getting late – or rather, early.
She'll be groggy and confused when she wakes up. I wish I could be here to make everything better, but I shouldn't. I need to get the fuck out of Dove's house.
I consider taking the plug out, but on second thought, I decide to leave it to fuck with Dove's head more. Smirking at her restless figure, I snap a quick photo with my phone before leaving the room.
I let myself out and remember the bag of sweet buns I got for Sam. I grab it from my bike's storage and head into the alley he calls home.
My new friend is leaning against the brick wall of the building behind him and seems excited when he sees me.
"Brought me something good?"
"They're a little stale, but they should still be fine." I pass him the bag and sit cross-legged opposite of him. "Hope you're hungry."
He nods to acknowledge me and digs into the food. He doesn't need to express his gratitude – his warm eyes speak volumes by themselves.
We sit together in amicable silence as he makes his way through the food. I like Sam, I realize. He's the first person I've met who I want to be around, who I want to be my friend. He doesn't pressure me, doesn't call me out. He just accepts me with all my flaws.
"See you soon?" I ask as I pick myself up, and Sam's eyes meet mine. I wonder whether he knows how I feel. How much this simple moment means to me.
"Very soon," he grins in return. "Thanks for the grub."
I raise my hand in a silent greeting and leave him there. My heart doesn't feel as cold tonight.
***
The next morning, I wake up early and decide to resist my relentless desire to follow Dove around. Instead, I decide to check up on the slimy photographer, Raphael. I need to know more about him. I need to know if he's serious about Dove, or if he's fucking around with a bunch of other bitches behind her back.
I follow him from his apartment to the office building where he works. I go up to the bakery, buying food I won't eat so I can keep an eye on the guy. I watch him interacting with a group of gorgeous models through the glass walls that enclose his office. The guy may look sleazy, but he's the perfect gentleman. He doesn't touch one of them inappropriately, doesn't flirt, doesn't let the girls' looks distract him from doing his job. He's a class act.
I grit my teeth together, waiting for him to finish in a side alley. He meets up with a woman later on, but it seems like a business meeting – they greet each other with a firm handshake. I'm starting to realize this guy is serious about Dove. He wants her. He's not going to do anything to fuck up his chances, and that pisses me off, because I want my little bird for myself.
Later on, I park in the side alley close to Dove's place. I watch Robin, her brother, come over, and decide to use the app I planted on Dove's phone to listen in to their conversation. I hear her brother's stupid fucking idea of inviting Elise over, then the follow-up of Raphael coming over, too. By then I'm grinning wide. This'll be fucking perfect. It's time for the secrets to come out.
Raphael arrives first, and the brother-sister duo greet him with excitement. Elise pulls up fashionably late, and I'm intently listening to the conversation on my phone as they all meet in Dove's house.
"This is Elise," Robin introduces his girlfriend. "Elise, this is Raphael, a friend of Dove's."
"You look familiar," Elise purrs suggestively. God, to be a fucking fly on the wall in that room. I'd love to see the smug bastard's expression right about now.
"Yes, I believe we did a shoot together a couple months back," Raphael replies. Why does he sound so fucking calm? He shouldn't be calm. He should be shaking in his fucking boots. "I remember you. Elise Howard, is it?"
"Yes," the bitch replies. "I remember you too."
I bet you fucking do, I think to myself. You've been trying to get into his pants for fucking months. Too bad he only has eyes for my girl. There's no way he's giving you what you fucking want.
I listen to their awkward conversation as the evening goes on, mindlessly scrolling through Dove's Instagram as I do so. Finally, I can't resist anymore. My account is a throwaway anyway – there's no way Dove will figure out it's me.
I comment something generic on one of the moody photos of the city, and listen to her phone going off on the audio transmission.
"Oh, Miss Popular," Robin teases her. "Who's that?"
"Just a notification," Dove giggles. "I'll check it later."
This pisses me off. I want her to look at it now, so I leave another comment.
"Looks like one of those fans is pretty insistent," Raphael laughs. "You should reply, Dove."
"Oh, alright." I imagine her picking up her phone. The surprised expression on her face when she sees my comment. I imagine her fingers moving lightning fast across the screen to type back the reply.
I stare at my own comment as I wait.
Nice image. Is that you on the cover of this month's Void?
Her reply comes a moment later.
How did you know that? There are no photos of me on my profile.
I grin to myself, quickly typing another reply.
Let's just say I'm your secret admirer. I know lots of things.
Okay... Well, I'm glad my work has a fan.
I'm not a fan of your work, I reply. I'm a fan of you.
"Almost done?" Raphael cuts in, and I realize the three others have been sitting there in awkward silence waiting for Dove to finish up, which makes me grin even wider.
"Of course," Dove says hurriedly. I picture her pocketing the phone. "I'm sorry about that. Let's get back to our evening."
Yes, let's, I think to myself, smirking as I wait for the cat to leap out of the bag. This is getting fucking better by the goddamn second.
Chapter 13
Dove
I want to touch myself.
The desire to do that has been missing from my life for a long time. Being raised fairly traditionally, I could never get past the guilt that surrounded pleasuring my own body. And yet as I lie in bed this morning, I find myself yearning for pleasure only I can give myself.
Tentatively, my fingers find their way between my thighs, brushing against my overheated center. My teeth dig into my bottom lip. It's been a long time since I've had an orgasm, and the urge to bring myself closer and closer is overwhelming. Closing my eyes tightly so I can pretend it's someone else doing this to me, I start massaging my clit and getting myself to the edge.
But just like every other time I've done this, the same thing happens. Parker appears in my mind, his darkly handsome face twisted into a painful grimace. I can't help it. My obsession with the fucker is unrelenting, even eight years after he carved my face. I wish I wasn't so obsessed with the man who ruined my life. But the fact that his body was never found makes me think he's still around somewhere. Watching me. I can't get rid of the feeling, and it only makes me more excited as I breathe out a moan, my fingers trembling over my exposed wetness.
I'm getting closer, my fingers working more frantically as I try to get the image of that bastard out of my head. But nothing is helping. Parker Miller is firmly lodged in my brain, refusing to leave.
I'm so close now I can taste the orgasm on the tip of my tongue. With a moan, I plunge two fingers inside myself, working my dripping pussy to an orgasm that escapes me if I don't think about him. I try to trick myself, force the image of Raphael into my mind, but it doesn't work.
My body doesn't want Raphael, it wants Parker.
My lips part as I feel the orgasm ripping itself from my body. But it doesn't bring any relief. No, instead it fills me with guilt, reminding me just how broken I am. That I'll never be able to feel better, not until Parker's body is found.
Frustrated, I get up from my bed. It's early morning, but I'm exhausted by the thoughts in my head. I take a scalding hot shower to wash away the remnants of my sins. The beating water colors my skin in shades of red, and I groan, avoiding the area between my legs. I'm afraid any more sti
mulation will bring me close to an orgasm again.
The intense need to punish myself for what I've just done is fucking overwhelming. My eyes find the razor in the shower, the one I use to keep my pussy bare. It would only take a moment to take it apart. To hold the gleaming silver razorblade in my hands. To sink it into my skin again, slicing, cutting, relieving the pressure underneath my complexion.
With trembling hands, I reach for the razor. The voices ring in my ears. Robin. My mother. My father. My therapist. Sam. Dear, darling Sam. They would judge me for what I'm about to do. They'd be so disappointed that I'm back to my old habits, the ones I've spent years running away from. But I can't help myself. The guilt is too much.
The blade slices into my skin. I cut deep this time, because nothing but the most overwhelming pain, the darkest blood, will soothe my nerves.
My scarlet blood mixes with the water. The pain is blinding, and the razorblade drops from my shaky hand. I'm bleeding profusely but the pain doesn't help this time, it only makes matters worse. I regret doing it, and yet I don't. My sick brain has convinced itself this is what I need, what I deserve. I'm forever punishing myself for the thoughts in my head that only I know about.
I know what my mother would say. She'd sign a check to my psychiatrist, and he'd pump me full of pills again. The pills never helped. They just made me drowsy and numb. I still hurt myself on them, just so I could feel fucking something.
I get out of the shower and bandage up my arm. I get dressed. The cut leaves dark droplets of red blood on my clothes. The blood sinks into the black fabric, disappearing. If only my problems could do the same.
I want to go see Sam, so I load up some food into a paper bag in the kitchen, throw on a black leather jacket, and lock up the house when I leave. Sam is an early riser just like me, and when I approach the alleyway, I see him sitting up against the wall. A tentative smile lights up his face when he sees me.
"Got something good for me?" he asks with a grin. He looks worn-out and tired as hell, and for the umpteenth time, I find myself wishing he'd take me up on the offer to treat him to a motel room, at least. But I know he won't – he's too proud to accept help like that.
"Always." I hand him the bag, my eyes discreetly scanning the surroundings for signs of needles. But there's nothing. It seems Sam is clean tonight.
I sit next to him on the ground, not caring if I get my clothes dirty. I'm here for Sam, not to worry about my appearance.
He's digging into the food without saying much, and my heart beats with uncertainty, eager for the reprieve of some calming words from my friend.
"Is everything okay?" I find myself asking. Sam nods, but doesn't look at me. "You seem so far away..."
"I'm right here, Dove." He puts the paper bag down and reaches for my hand. My eyes fill with tears for some inexplicable reason, and I wipe them away with my free hand. "What's wrong, kid?"
"I'm just..." I shake my head, laughing to make light of the situation. "I feel alone."
"You're not alone, you have me."
"But..."
"No buts." Sam smiles wide. "I'm always here for you, Dove. You know why?"
"Why?" I whisper.
"Because I care about you," he goes on. "I care about you like you were my own daughter. I love you like I love my child. And I want you to know, even if you lose me, or anyone in your life, that love remains. In your heart, in your memories, in your mind. Do you understand?"
It's the most he's opened up to me, and the tears are burning my eyes again. "Thank you, Sam. I do."
"Good." He picks up the bag and starts eating again, looking at me with a warm smile. "Remember what I told you."
"It feels like you're saying goodbye," I mutter. "Are you going somewhere?"
"No way," Sam grins with his mouth full. "You're stuck with me, kid."
"Good." I laugh again as I pick myself up. "I'll see you soon, then."
"Very soon," he smiles in return.
I lean over to grab the wrapping off the food and when I do, my sleeve rides up, exposing my bandaged arm. I see Sam's eyes dart to it, and I quickly pull my sleeve back down.
"Dove." I ignore him, balling up the paper, distracting myself with the crinkling sounds. "Dove, look at me."
Except I can't. Because if I do, I’ll cry and want to tell him the truth. That I'm a wreck. That I can't help hurting myself. That I still believe I deserve this.
"Dove, you didn't."
"I'm sorry," I breathe, but the tears don't fall.
"You can't keep doing this, kid. You can't keep hurting yourself."
"I know."
"Then why do it?"
"Because I deserve it."
"Now, that's some real bullshit." Sam grabs me by my unharmed arm and forces me closer. "Dove, I'm worried about you."
"Don't be."
"Do you have someone you can talk to?"
"I have Robin."
"But you won't tell him, will you?" Wordlessly, I shake my head. Sam knows me better than I know myself. There's no way I'm going to my brother with these problems. I don't want to worry him. "Dove, you need to talk to someone about this. You need to stop it with the guilt."
I nod, but we both know I'm pretending. Sam doesn't know about Parker. He never asked how I got the scar on my face, and I never told him. If I do, it will only make things more real.
"I have to go," I mutter, pulling away from him. I try to hide my disappointment when he allows my hand to slip out of his. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'll try to get better, I promise."
"You better," he mutters. "Because I need you here, kid. Who else is going to lecture me without you around?"
I manage a weak chuckle.
We wave each other off, and I leave him with a bright smile on my face despite the tears.
I'll always have Sam. Of that, I'm sure.
***
Raphael has been texting me all day, and I've been sending back half-assed replies. I can't bring myself to commit to liking him. It's too much. Too much to handle when my mind is still reeling from the first man I fell in love with.
But my self-preservation instincts are kicking in, and I send a text to Robin, asking him if he wants to come over. He's quick to respond, as if sensing something's wrong. He offers to bring over some food, and I agree. I need to make him think I'm at least partially okay. Besides, I don't even remember the last time I ate, and my stomach hurts. I'll have to put something in myself if I want to survive. But do I?
I shake myself to get the thought out. I never let myself go to the darkest of places. It's too hard to get back out of them.
Robin arrives with a lasagna dish thirty minutes later. I let him in. I can tell he knows something's off from the moment he appears on my doorstep. I heat up the lasagna in the oven and we settle in front of the TV. We eat straight out of the dish, for which I'm grateful, because at least he won't see the leftovers on my plate.
"Did you hurt yourself again, Dove?" My eyes snap to my brother's. I would deny it any other day, but something's making me unable to shake my head.
"Why do you ask?"
"Just a feeling." He knows me so well.
"I... I had to," I mutter.
"Dove." I refuse to look at him, picking at the burnt cheese on the dish. "Dove, I thought you weren't doing that anymore."
I hadn't, not for months. I thought I was getting better, but I reached my breaking point today. I couldn't help it. I had to hurt myself. I deserved it. But all of this is too much to put into words for my brother, so instead I just chew on my bottom lip, hoping he'll drop the subject.
"I'm just trying to help you."
"I know," I whisper. There are so many other things I want to say. Like that he won't be able to save me – no one will. That I'm not worthy of his help. That he should spend his precious time on someone who he can actually make better. That there's no hope for me. Instead of saying any of that, my mouth remains firmly closed, my eyes locked on the TV screen but not seeing anything.
"I want you to get better. Don't you want to get better?"
"I don't think I can," I manage.
"Of course you can." He squeezes my hand gently and I try not to wince, because it's the arm I hurt today. "I believe in you, Dove."
"I don't," I manage to chuckle. "You're the only one who has such blind faith in me."
"Because I know you can do it." I shake my head. "Please, Dove. You have to try. For me. For that friend of yours, Sam. For Raphael."
My eyes snap to his. "What about Raphael?"
"Don't you like him?" I nod. "Well, how do you think he'd feel if he knew about this? The self-harm?"
"He knows," I mutter. "He saw the scars." He thought they were beautiful.
"You need to get better for every one of us who needs you here," Robin tells me. "Because we do need you. You're the brightest part of my day, Dove, and I know you can get better."
"Thanks." I wipe my eyes even though the tears never fell, then busy myself by clearing the coffee table. I stop, picking over my words. "Robin, if it's not too much trouble... Could you spend the night?"
"Of course," he replies.
"You're not seeing Elise tonight?"
"You're my priority, Dove."
"Thanks," I smile weakly.
I don't want to be an obligation for my brother. Hate the thought of him giving up things so he can spend time with me. And yet I find myself grateful for his sacrifice.
If he wouldn't stay with me tonight, I know I would hurt myself again.
Chapter 14
Nox
Getting into Dove's apartment is getting almost too easy. It makes me worried about someone else breaking in, taking advantage while she sleeps soundly. She isn't being careful enough. I make a mental note to tell Sam about it, convince him to bring it up with my little bird, since I can't.
Finding her key under the same flowerpot where it always is, I sneak in easily again, having arrived at her house in the middle of the night. I've finally caught up on some much-needed rest after weeks of following her night-and-day, but I am still pissed with myself for not getting there earlier. I should be keeping a closer eye on her. Who the fuck needs sleep? All I need is her, my little bird.
Tyrant Stalker: A Dark Forbidden Romance (Tyrant Dynasty Book 2) Page 9