Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
“Okay, you ready to get out of here?” Mr. D asked.
I couldn’t have been more ready. “All packed.”
“Did you get everything you need for school? Laptop? Books?”
I smiled, once again finding all the different faces Mr. D wore around me funny. Protector, guardian, friend, principal, and sex symbol—the last one being one that I would only admit to myself. “I got it all.”
I handed the keys to Mr. D so he could be the one to lock up. I liked his take-charge attitude and how he seemed to make everything feel good, and warm. But in the corner of my eye, something moved in the far-off bushes.
I froze, and Mr. D sensed my fear.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking in the same direction I was.
I shook my head, pretty sure it was just a squirrel or something non-threatening considering the police had just left.
“Do you see anything?” he asked.
“I saw something move, but nothing now.”
He took me by the hand and led me to the car, keeping his eyes on the area. If there was someone hiding, I seriously doubted anyone would have the balls to jump out and mess with Mr. D. His facial expression was enough to scare anyone. He wasn’t messing around.
“I know you didn’t want to involve the police,” he said as we were driving off the property. “But we need the record. You’re right in the fact that we may never catch the sicko messing with you, but if he ever slips up, we need a paper trail to really nail him.”
“Do you think he knows I’m with you?” I asked. “That’s why he painted WHORE. Maybe he thinks you and I are… well, you know.”
“Possibly,” Mr. D said as he kept his eyes on the road, but then looked into the rearview mirror. “Do you have any idea who could be doing this? Any enemies? Any past boyfriends you did wrong?”
“I don’t have any enemies, and no real boyfriends to speak of.”
He quickly glanced at me. “No boyfriends? Come on. You’re a beautiful girl, and I seriously doubt you’ve lived the life of a nun.”
“I’m not claiming to be a nun. But no real relationships in my life. Not like you think or would define as a boyfriend anyway. Have I hooked up with a few? Yeah,” I said, feeling my face heat over the fact that I was admitting to having sex with men of my past to my principal. Also… Mr. D called me beautiful. “But nothing serious. I doubt anyone cares enough about me—hate or love—to follow me to Black Mountain and watch my every move.”
“You said you weren’t sure if the stalking started in Black Mountain or L.A.”
“Well, no one painted WHORE on my wall in L.A., but you’re right. I have no idea when this truly started and why.”
“Has anyone had a crush on you? Made a move on you that you rejected?” he asked. I had already answered these questions to the police, but I didn’t mind answering them again.
I shook my head. “I think you’re giving my sexual prowess far too much credit. I’m what you would call the classic wallflower. I prefer to keep to myself.”
“What about that kid Kevin you’re friends with? Is he secretly lusting after you?”
I laughed. “Oh my god, no. There is nothing between Kevin and me, and never has been. There’s been plenty of opportunity and no moves made. We come from the same dysfunctional world and bonded that way. If anything, the guy would feel for me. Who knows, he could have a stalker of his own. He’s used to the paparazzi, the craziness, and he just wants a normal life. He’s desperately searching for it, and camping outside my house would really put a damper on the social life he’s working so hard on. I really don’t think it’s someone who finds me desirable. I’m just not that interesting.”
“Maybe you think so, but as I hunted down your mother today, I saw a lot of old magazine photos with you in them. Paparazzi loved you just as much as your mother. You didn’t tell me you acted in a movie before.”
My stomach coiled. “Against my will. I hated every second of it, but my mother and Bill made me. They thought I’d be perfect for the role, and at first I liked the extra attention I was getting from my mother, but like with all things, she got bored. I, on the other hand, got stuck living and going to school on set. Miserable wouldn’t be a strong enough word to describe my dip into the movie biz.”
“But actors get stalkers. It’s normal. So, maybe yours comes from that time period.”
“Maybe… or from all the parties I’ve been to. My mother went on a party kick for a while and had one almost every night. There were constant people flowing in and out of the house. A lot of drugs, sex, and creeps.”