Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Lakelynn

I jerk awake, feeling my soaked sheets under me. The clock reads eight a.m.

I’ve barely gotten any rest, but after reliving what happened to me years ago, adrenaline courses through my body. I contemplate which of my vices I need to release the chaotic feeling churning within.

I decide to go on a run in the hopes of clearing my mind, so I get dressed and put my hair into a ponytail. I pause at the cash on my kitchen counter.

He came again. My stalker. The man who has become the lead in most of my dark fantasies.

He’s been around for years. I should be afraid of him—it’s the most logical response to the situation—but I’m not. His presence gives me a strange sense of security. I feel grounded when he’s near.

Maybe it’s because of the darkness inside me. The darkness I always hide away, like the scars from the cuts on my wrist. Unconsciously, I touch the thick leather band bracelet I keep on at all times. I started cutting to numb the pain of my past. It was my only outlet for the rage inside me. Growing up in the system, the only dependable thing in my life was trauma. Every good moment was temporary.

The pain and darkness within grew peaceful when I cut myself. I liked the pain and the adrenaline it caused. It allowed me to breathe again and reminded me of my first love, Ty. He was my happy place, my salvation.

But he left me. Then, with years of therapy, I learned to refuse the need to hurt myself and find a new outlet for what I’d been through.

I still fantasize about dark, wicked things, but instead of cutting myself, I run. I no longer want to hold on to the temporary things in my life. I crave consistency. My stalker is the closest thing I have to that. In a weird way, he’s my hero. His gallant intervention last night is an example of it.

Keith’s attempt to rape me brought back all the horrible memories of my past. It’s what triggered my dream last night. I haven’t thought about the Rylees in a long time.

But I refuse to succumb to the darkness. Trying to shake off the nausea rising in my throat as the images play in my mind, I bolt outside. Fresh air slams into me, and I welcome it.

The doorman of my apartment building tries to speak to me, but I wave him off and keep going.

I push myself to run faster, racing away from my past. Yes, I endured things, but I survived. I have scars, but I won’t let them define me.

I’m no longer that girl. I am not weak. I will not cower. I’ll stand tall and conquer my fears.

I repeat the words over and over again until the cool air around me finally penetrates my skin and I calm down. They’re the mantra I hold tightly to as I struggle through the darkness that is my life.

I amble back to my apartment, trying to cocoon myself in the armor of the words I repeat.

I am not weak.

The doorman greets me and opens the lobby door. “Everything alright, Ms. Albright?”

“Yes.” I glance down to avoid eye contact as I slip inside the building. “Thank you.”

“The repairman will have the elevator fixed by this evening,” he says.

“Thank goodness,” I sigh, bypassing the currently useless thing.

“Have a good day, Ms. Albright.”

“You too.” I wave my hand behind me as I climb the stairs I ran down earlier.

Thankfully, I’m only on the third floor, so the walk isn’t as strenuous as it could be.

When I reach my floor and turn the corner, I freeze at the sight of the hooded, masked man in front of me.

“Shouldn’t push yourself so hard,” he murmurs, leaning against the wall like we’re neighbors or something.

I’ve never seen him as openly as I am right now, except for last night’s incident. My heart skips a beat at the white mask covering his face. His body, covered in a baggy hoodie, is dominating the hallway.

Seeing him at my door is like a dark fantasy. Considering my traumas, maybe the logical thing would be for me to stay clear of any thoughts of men. And for the most part, I do.

Except for him. My stalker. And Ty, my first love from my childhood.

My pleasure as a woman is now wicked and dark, and it’s only attached to the thoughts of these two men: my stalker and Ty.

My masked man steps closer to me; my breath hitches. His smoky scent fills my senses. I’m not sure if it's from my attraction to him or the heart-pounding way we keep meeting, but I’m certainly enjoying the thrill of it.

“Next time, don’t forget your key,” he says in a husky tone.

I watch him disappear into the stairwell as his words slowly process in my mind.

I tense. I really don’t have my house keys on me.

Fuck .

I look up at my apartment door. It’s slightly open.

He went inside again? How does he keep doing that?

I rush to catch up with him.

“Hey!” I yell down the stairs.

There’s no response. He’s long gone.

Damn. If I hadn’t hesitated, I could have questioned him.

Awe fills me. What I wouldn’t give to get to know him better.