Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
The answer comes to me fast.
This whole time, I’ve felt as though I’m the one stalking him.
But maybe he’s been the one stalking me?
The cloying sensation I recognize as a looming panic attack threatens to drop me to my knees, and suddenly, I have to get out—out, out, out. And I don’t want this. I toss the keychain, and it clanks on the cement floor. Somehow I make it out of the storage unit. But the second I exit the door to the sidewalk, the echo of footsteps fills my ears.
I don’t see him pounding down the sidewalk, don’t see anyone, and it’s entirely possible the footsteps are my imagination. Or someone turning down a nearby walkway or alley. But I don’t care. I have to get away.
By the time I’m at my apartment, my breaths come in heavy pants. I’ve been walking regularly, but not running. Not sprinting. I haven’t had reason to. I’ve always disliked running, often using the old line, “I only run if someone’s chasing me.”
And tonight, literally or figuratively, someone is chasing me.
Gabriel.
I force myself to sit down on the living room couch, to flick on the reading lamp, to try to think rationally. But my lungs squeeze tight, and my mind races with the ramifications. This changes everything. I flash back to those early days, following him from a distance. Watching him duck in and out of the storage unit, then head to campus. Grab lunch with all the different women.
How long has it been since I dropped the keychain?
And why didn’t he confront me? Months and months have passed.
The night Gabriel walked in on my date with Robert. When he just happened to show up in my office, acting as though he didn’t know me. I thought it was coincidence after coincidence. But it wasn’t.
And the following—how many times have I thought someone was following me? Oh God, my apartment break-in. The book on stalking! The Hello Kitty!
Frantic, I pick up my cell. My hand trembles as I swipe to my contacts and move to my bedroom. My apartment is suddenly very large. Very empty. More than anything, I need a familiar voice. Irina? Can I call her after all this time? We were good friends at one point. I need someone I can trust to share this secret with. Someone I can go to, who will let me sleep in their spare bedroom. Because I can’t stay here. Not tonight. Not alone. Irina will have to do.
I scroll down to her name and press call, while simultaneously grabbing the first gym bag I come across and start throwing necessities in—underwear, a change of clothes, shoes. The phone rings and rings before eventually rolling to voicemail.
“Damn it,” I mutter. I throw the phone on the bed.
He knows where I live. He knows where I work. He’s followed me repeatedly.
I’m not stalking him.
He’s stalking me.
And I have no damn clue what his endgame is—mine was originally to help him. Well, maybe not at first. At first I was curious. How was he smiling? Laughing? But I knew it was a facade. He had to be in pain. And I needed to see it. I needed to feel his pain, deserved to suffer with him. And I had, during our sessions. But then I thought I could help. Repent, maybe. Find a way to help him deal with his grief. But maybe he already had one—seeking revenge. On me.
No, no, no. If he wanted to hurt me, he’d have done that by now, right?
I stand perfectly still, a pair of pants in my hand, gaze unfocused, trying to understand. It’s true, isn’t it? If his goal was to hurt me—to make me suffer—he could have done that by now. He’s had plenty of opportunity. He could have physically harmed me, or gotten my license taken away again. But he didn’t.
Which makes me question what his plan is, if not to hurt me. What he wants from me.
I swallow. Zip up the bag. Snatch my phone and speed-dial Sarah.
Her voice is groggy, but I don’t stop to consider the time. I just start barking into the phone. “Hello? Sarah? Cancel all future appointments with Mr. Wright. No. No, I don’t want to discuss it. I don’t care what you tell him. Just cancel them.”
I disconnect and check the peephole at the front door.
No Gabriel.
I ease the door open, hurry down the hall, and burst out of the building. I don’t know where I’m headed, but it will be somewhere he can’t find me.
CHAPTER 34 Now
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
I’ve been in this office for more than five years, but I’ve never heard the clock ticking before. Someone had to have made it louder. Did Sarah replace the batteries and the mechanics are suddenly firing on all cylinders? I stare at the second hand, watching its stuttering jumps from number to number and wondering if I’m going out of my mind. It’s entirely possible I’m in the midst of a nervous breakdown and don’t even know it. I think back to my first or second year of medical school, what the thick psychiatry textbook said were the classic symptoms of a break from reality.