by E Cleveland
I leap to my feet, my heart thrashing in my chest and look at the screen in horror. There, glowing from Jake’s computer is a picture of us, standing with a half-filled grocery cart and wide smiles frozen on our faces. We’re completely oblivious to our picture being taken, our eyes locked on one another in what would be a sweet picture if it was taken under any other circumstance.
Under the picture, his message is simple. Tears spring to my eyes and I struggle to breathe. This time, there’s no death threat. No detailed plans to shoot my legs or explicit messages about how he plans to fuck me. Instead, only two words are under the photo: Found you.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck!
There’s no way Knox was at the grocery store, was there? Is there any possible chance he could’ve been standing close enough to us to take our photograph, but I didn’t see him? No. It’s impossible.
The thought brings me no comfort. That means he’s got someone else following me. He knows where we are. It’s only a matter of time until he comes to collect.
I rush over to the kitchen drawer and pull out the biggest knife I can find, racing down the hall, I lock myself in Jake’s room. He could come for me in a week, or a month, or fucking today. The only thing I know for sure is that he will stop at nothing to take me back. To teach me his lessons. To kill me.
I slide under the comforter, shivering like a little girl afraid of the monsters in her closet. It’s funny how, when we’re kids, we’re so afraid of scary creatures lurking under our beds. Crazy concoctions our imaginations come up with that have no basis in reality. No one tells us that the real monsters live among us. That we work with them, we date them, we see them every day.
As long as my monster is out there, lurking in the shadows, I’ll never be safe.
He’ll never stop, until he destroys me.
29
Jake
“So, we’re standing there, trying not to sway all over the place,” Black is leaning into the crowd, loving that they’re hanging off his every word. “And were trying to not even breathe too heavily, cause we absolutely reek of liquor,” Black’s eyes twinkle as he captivates the table full of sailors.
I can’t help but smile at how he paints a picture. Black can be a dick, but him and I have history. We ripped it up in every port together. Most of the time, the party didn’t stop when we hit home soil either. I can’t count the number of drunken, coked out nights we’ve had. Mostly because I can’t remember them.
“And he says to us,” he continues, “‘I’m only going to ask you one more time, how the fuck did this monkey get on board?’” He drops his voice as he imitates our old Captain. “And this one,” he starts to laugh, jutting his thumb at me, “says ‘I don’t know, sir. Maybe he enlisted.’” The table erupts with laughter as Black doubles over. I can’t help but chuckle too, even if I’d rather forget what a shit show I used to be.
“That’s fucking epic!” A young recruit with no more than three haircuts in the navy beams at us. He looks at us the way I remember looking at the older guys when I first joined. Like they were rock stars and royalty rolled into one. In my world, there was nothing cooler than the grizzled SEALs who had a bunch of deployments under their belt.
“What happened to the monkey?” Some other guy I only met today asks.
“The Captain tossed him off the ship,” Black smirks.
“Really?” His deep brown eyes squint.
“No, he’s shitting you. The Singapore government sent some animal control people to take him back before we left port,” I explain.
“You always gotta ruin my fun.” Black pretends to pout for a second, but he can’t keep the wide smile from his face. “Man, we had some wild days, didn’t we?”
“We did,” I agree. To hear him tell it, you’d think it had just been a non-stop party. Of course, telling stories about late night cocaine confessions and hugging toilet bowls probably wouldn’t get the same idolization. Even if we did spend just as much time doing those things as we did messing around and being crazy. Maybe even more.
Dan blazes into another story and I pat my hands over my jacket pockets. Where’s my phone? I slide my palms over my pants, but it’s not there either. Shit. I must’ve left it in the car.
I peer around the bar, but there’s no clock on any of the walls. Glancing out the window, the sky is already turning a murky cocktail of deep blues. Is it night already? How long have we been here?
“Hey man, sorry to interrupt,” I cut off Black, “what time is it?”
“Uh, I dunno,” he shrugs and pulls out his cell. “Almost eight, why?”
What? How is that possible? We came in here for a couple of drinks almost four hours ago. How did the day slide into night without me noticing?
“I’ve gotta get moving,” I start to stand up but Black grabs my arm.
“What? No way! It’s still early, bro. I haven’t seen you in forever, you can’t take off yet,” he demands.
“No, I’ve got my girl waiting for me at home. I’m going to head out,” I pull my arm back and stand up.
“Oh, come on, she’s a big girl. She can look after herself for a few hours while you catch up with old friends, right? Besides,” he drops his voice, but everyone at the table can still hear him, “after this I was gonna have you come over. You know, and give our buddy Paul a call.” He throws the name of my old dealer out casually.
“No, I’m not interested,” I clamp my jaw and look him in the eyes.
“For fuck’s sake!” He throws his hands up in the air. “I knew they got to you,” he eyes me up with disgust. “You going to be one of those holier-than-thou guys now who tells everyone they party too much? You can’t even go out and have a good time anymore? What did they do to you in that place? Shove a stick up your ass?” Black slurs at me.
“Things change, man. People do too.” I blow him off and start to leave.
“Ok, ok. Listen, I’m sorry man. That wasn’t cool of me. Hey, lemme buy you a shot, ok? I wanna make it up to you.” Black grasps my coat sleeve and I look down into his hopeful face.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“No, I want to. You know what?” He stands up and waves his hand at the perky bartender across the room, “Hey, sweetheart! How about you grab us a round of Irish Car Bombs. One for everyone, ok?” He circles his finger around the table. “It’s on me,” he smirks at his happy group of friends.
I look over at the young lady putting together Black’s order and then back to the man. “Ok, one shot,” I shrug. “Just one and then I’ve gotta peel out of here, ok?”
“All right! That’s the guy I know!” Black claps my shoulders enthusiastically and pulls my chair out for me to sit back down. I plop into it, sinking into the wooden chair and watch as he sits tall next to me, puffing out his chest proudly.
Just one shot, then I’m out. That’s it. No wild night with Black, no trolling for cocaine, none of that. Just one shot.
Just one.
30
Holly
I peer over at the alarm clock on Jake’s night table. It’s almost eleven. It’s pitch black outside and every set of car headlights that passes by the bedroom window, casting ominous light across the walls, grips my gut with fear. Is it Jake?
Or is it Knox?
I know the house is in a gated community, but I also know it won’t stop Knox. He’s already tracked me down to this city, it’s only a matter of time until he zeros in on this house.
Where is Jake? My eyes squeeze shut and I silently pray, again, for him to come home safe. Did Knox follow him? Did he kill him? Did he take him? He was supposed to be home over six hours ago, I’ve called his phone a hundred times, and have only managed to fill up his voicemail with frantic messages.
Jake is a Navy SEAL, he can take care of himself, I reassure myself. Except the thought does little to comfort me. Especially when Knox is a stalker with a cold gun in his hand and the heat of revenge burning through him. You can be the most elite combat arms soldier with the most rigorous an
d specialized training in the world, but it won’t save you from being shot in the back of the head. Nausea overwhelms me at the thought of Jake being slumped over his steering wheel, with blood dripping down his face and a hole blown into the back of his skull. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to him.
Of course, the guilt won’t have time to consume my flesh like burning flames, because if Knox got to Jake, then my time is ticking down. I’ll be dead by morning. Or whenever he’s finally done “punishing me”.
Headlights pour through the window and wash the bedroom wall with white light. I can hear the rubber tires of a car slowly pull into the driveway. I grip the handle of the knife I pilfered from the kitchen and tiptoe over to the side of the window, peering out through the side of the blinds.
It’s not Jake’s car. My heart sinks and the lump I’ve been trying to swallow all day grows even larger in my throat. It’s a cab.
Fuck.
I watch in horror as a shadowy shape slides out of the back seat and slams the door shut. Would Knox show up here in a taxi, to kill me? I did steal his car, but I can’t imagine him not replacing it. Unless he’s trying to keep his attack anonymous from the suburban busy bodies. It’s a lot harder to identify a man arriving in the middle of the night in a taxi than in a tricked-out Escalade.
I lunge away from the window and twist my neck as I search the room for a place to hide. Under the bed? No, I can’t use my knife if I’m wedged under there. The closet? Maybe.
I can hear a clash of keys fall on the front steps and the intruder groan as he picks them up. How did Knox get a key? It shouldn’t surprise me that he managed. I’ve seen the lengths he’s gone to just to track down men who’ve tried to screw him out of cash. He would brag to me about how he found them, how he finished them himself, so people would hear of it and know not to fuck with him. He took a lot of pride in winning the game of cat and mouse, and even more pride in slowly, painfully extracting his revenge.
That was just about money. I shot him in the leg, stole his car, took his hidden stash of cash and left a man who thought he owned my body. No, not just my body. My soul.
The front door creaks open and someone stomps inside, bumping up against the counter and thumping into the wall.
Fuck.
It has to be Knox. Jake wouldn’t be crashing around his own place. He knows where the fucking counter is in his own kitchen. I leap across the bedroom floor on my tiptoes and try to contain the screams of terror welling up inside me as I stand behind the door. At least here, if he comes in the room, I can try to escape. If I lock myself in a closet, it’s too easy for him to grab me. To control me. Like he always has.
Did he kill Jake?
Tears spring to my eyes for the thousandth time today. My hands tremble as I twist my fingers around the hilt of the knife and listen.
“Hey! Holly? Anyone ho-ome?” He calls out as he thumps down the hallway, with the grace of a stampeding bull. His body thuds against the wall and my mind reels. That’s not Knox’s voice. Not unless he’s trying to disguise it. I know I haven’t heard him speak in over two months, but I will never forget the voice of evil.
“Hey! Holly!” The doorknob rattles and my mind spins out of control. Did he send someone else to bring me to him?
As the bedroom door squeaks open, I push all thoughts from my mind. It’s not time to think. It’s time to do.
I raise the knife over my head, prepared to sink it into the throat of whoever Knox has sent to find me. The door flies open and a man trips into the room and falls to the floor and I scream.
“Holly? What the fuck!” He yells, staring up at me with his familiar, deep blue eyes. “What are you doing with that knife?”
Lying on the floor, at my feet, isn’t Knox. It isn’t anyone sent by him either. Instead, it’s the man I love. I lower the knife and tears slide down my face. Jake is home. The man I’ve been terrified was left for dead. The man who was supposed to come back to me hours and hours ago. The man who promised me he’d keep me safe, he’s finally here.
And he’s drunk.
31
Holly
“Jesus, Holly, what are you doing?” Jake sits up and manages to get his wobbly legs back under him. I don’t answer him, all of my emotions are spilling down my cheeks as my body is drained of energy. I drop the knife I’ve been clinging to all day to the floor, and my shoulders slump forward.
“What’s going on?” Jake presses me. The heat of his boozy breath erupting over me like lava, rooting me to the spot with a horrified look etched to my face.
“You’re drunk,” I glance up at him.
“I’m not drunk, I had a few drinks,” he frowns at me. “Why the fuck are you hiding in the bedroom, trying to attack me with a knife?” He accuses me.
“I wasn’t going to attack you,” my eyelids are heavy. It’s too much. Today has been too much and I can feel myself shutting down.
“That’s not what it looked like to me,” Jake points to the knife on the floor. “What did you think you were gonna do with that, huh?” The edge in his voice grows sharp. “I come back to my own fucking house, a house I let you stay in, and you try to assault me?” He sways like a strong gust of wind is attacking him.
“Jake, I can’t do this right now. Not when you’re like this. I just… I fucking can’t.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks and start to turn away.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Jake circles his broad hand over my wrist and I instinctively raise my arm to cover my face. Like a dog cowering in a corner.
“Don’t,” I cry out.
Shame washes over me as I watch the mixed emotions on Jake’s face. He drops my arm and steps back as hurt wins the battle, making him wince like I really did cut him with the knife. “I’m not him, Holly.” His voice is cool. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“You already did,” anger wells up inside me as it hits me that he’s been out relapsing for the past six hours while I’ve been living a nightmare. “You left me here, when Knox is trying to get me, you didn’t call, I didn’t know where you were, and what were you doing? Getting hammered? Are you fucking kidding me? Did you get high too?” I can’t contain my anger. My betrayal.
“High? No, of course not. Why are you freaking out? I just had a few drinks,” he lies. I can see from his glassy eyes and flushed face that he’s had more than a few. “What the fuck is your problem? You know you’re safe here, you don’t have to freak out just because I’m a little late coming home. Why do you have a knife? It doesn’t make any fucking sense,” he rubs his temples.
“Keep me safe? That’s a fucking joke, right? Guess what, Jake,” my voice is shrill, and I feel myself teetering on the edge of my sanity, “he found me. He took a fucking picture of us at the grocery store and e-mailed it to me.” I point down the hallway.
“What?” Jake blinks blankly.
“Knox knows where I am. He knows I’m with you. You told me you’d keep me safe. What a fucking joke! The first day you go back to work you take off for hours, don’t call me, don’t answer my calls and get drunk? And I’m supposed to feel safe?” I throw my hands in the air. “How the fuck are you supposed to keep me safe when you can’t even look after yourself?” I may not have attacked him with the knife, but I can see my words pierce his heart.
Jake runs his flat palms over his face and then back through his hair. “You’re right,” he sighs and drops his head. “You’re fucking right, I haven’t kept my word. And now that son-of-a-bitch knows where you are. Fuck!” He cracks his fist into the doorframe with a sickening thud.
“Why did you go out after work instead of coming home? Why didn’t you call me?” My voice is steady despite how weak I feel right now.
“It’s,” he runs his red hand over the back of his neck and drops his gaze to the floor, “it’s complicated,” he mumbles.
“It doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing. Looks like you wanted to get fucked up.” I set my jaw, determined not to feel sorry
for whatever lame excuse he’s going to toss my way for his piss-poor decision. Literally, the first chance he gets, he fucks off and chooses a night of drinking over me. Over his sobriety? Nothing about that sounds complicated. It just sounds pathetic. My thoughts trickle through me, burning me like acid as anger wells up inside.
“I did want to get fucked up, I needed to get some distance.”
“From me? What the fuck?” I yell.
“Not from you, from the fucking images in my head. Ok? I went to work and they want to send me on deployment again. I can’t do it. I can’t go back, I still can’t stop dreaming about the last time. Every fucking night, it’s the same dream!” He shakes his head like a dog flicking off the rain. Like he’s trying to fling the thoughts from his brain.
“What are you talking about?” I watch him carefully, feeling myself soften.
Jake looks up at me, tears lining his eyes and my heart breaks as one falls over onto his cheek. “I can’t stay in the military anymore, I can’t do it. I need help, Holly. Rehab wasn’t enough, it didn’t make the dreams stop. It wasn’t enough.” His voice cracks and I close the distance between us, throwing my arms around him.
“What are you talking about? What happened, Jake?”
He slumps over in my arms, “I can’t do another deployment. Not after the last one. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Another tear falls down his face and worry swirls in my gut.
“Jake, please, tell me what’s wrong,” I beg.
“Holly, my last mission was a success, I got a medal. A fucking medal,” he shakes his head. “And a lifetime of nightmares. Cause when we took out one of the top leaders of the Taliban the fucking coward armed his boys. His fucking kids.” Jake’s voice breaks and he clenches his jaw as tears trail slowly down into his beard. “It was me or him, but I can’t stop seeing it. I can’t stop hearing it. I know I had no choice, I know that.” He shakes his head slowly from side to side and closes his eyes. “I had no choice, but it doesn’t matter cause now I’m all fucked up and I can’t get it out of my head,” he hits his balled-up hand against his forehead.