“What with you being a convicted serial killer and all,” I say, dryly.
“It has its drawbacks.”
Sarcasm with Your Stalker: Hazel Halloway’s new normal.
I think back to this morning and my Lois Lane cover. “I could talk to her,” I say.
Flynn’s hand on my stomach turns to stone. He rolls me onto my back, his biceps straining against his T-shirt as he holds himself over me. “No, you couldn’t.”
“But—”
“No. I didn’t tell you this so you’d get more involved, I told you so you’d understand just how dangerous you’re little investigating act is. You are not to go anywhere near the senator or anything to do with him.”
I huff, my brow digging down. “You can’t just order me not to do something.”
Flynn’s hand snakes up to my neck, his hand curling around my throat. “Oh, I definitely can.”
I breathe against his palm, forcing myself to focus on the topic at hand and not the way my body reacts to having him collar me. “I want to help,” I argue.
“You do help, just by being you.” Flynn brushes my jaw with his thumb as he looks down at me in awe.
“I’ve never met someone who makes mefeelso much. You smile and I feel happy. You laugh and it’s like I’ve won gold. You fight me and…” His voice drops low, his gaze turning hooded. “You don’t want to know what goes through my mind when you fight me, Lilac.”
I squeeze my thighs together and bite my lip to stop from answering because I think part of me really does want to know. “So, what now?” I ask instead.
He kisses me softly, his words brushing my skin. “Now, I take you home and you stay far, far away from the senator. Go back to the light Hazel, let me stay in the dark.”
19
VIGILANTE SHIT
Hazel
I haven’t seenor heard from Flynn in three days. I know he’s still watching me because my fridge has been mysteriously restocked again and I keep getting glimpses of his motorbike on my way to and from work.
I keep telling myself it’s for the best. Flynn point blank told me he plans on killing again, I should be happy he’s distancing himself and yet I’m spending ninety percent of my day checking for a message from him. I keep oscillating between missing him and being fucking pissed that he’s ignoring me. I kissed him. I broke my rule and I let him kiss me and now he’s done this.
I refuse to be the one to reach out to him though so I’m distracting myself by finally sorting through some of the boxes of my gran’s belongings. After she died, Wright came around and helped me box up all her clothes and anything that I couldn’t look at without crying. We tucked it all away in the closet in my old room and I’ve been slowly going through it all over the last couple of years, deciding what to keep and what to donate.
I was making good progress, with a pile of her cardigans folded neatly on the couch, when I got sidetracked by a photo album. Now I’m kneeling on the floor, turning through the pages on the coffee table.
It’s an old album, the blue leather and the photos inside faded. I run my finger over an image of my mom tapping a maple tree. She looks about ten in her dungarees and red rainboots. I keep flicking through the photos, watching as she grows into her teens. Photos of her hiking and hanging with friends on the beach. Of her graduation and going to the prom with my dad.
I look a lot like my mom, a fact I’ve always found comfort in. The same chestnut brown hair and heart shaped face. It makes me feel a little closer to the woman I never got to know. I was supposed to have the childhood she did but then she was murdered and I’ve never set foot in Canada.
Maybe I should finally do it. Having a stalker is as good an excuse as any to flee to a different country and Gran would be mad that I’m still here, in this old bungalow. She made me promise not to get stuck but that’s the thing about being stuck, you don’t realize you are until a serial killer climbs in your bedroom window and snaps you out of it.
I close the album and put it in the “to keep” pile and try to stop myself wondering about whether or not Flynn has killed the senator yet. And whether or not I should try to stop him. I groan, resting my head on my folded arms on the coffee table.
I put my phone in solitary in the kitchen earlier, so I didn’t think about him while I’m sorting but clearly that wasn’t enough. And when it buzzes on the kitchen table I last less than a minute before I’m up and checking it.
I have one unread message, it’s not from Flynn though.
Danny
Last chance to change your mind… Come save me from an evening of stuffy politicians and posh finger food.
I laugh under my breath. Danny is nothing if not persistent. I never texted him after my little excursion to the senator’s HQ,but he found me on Instagram and DM’d me. We’ve messaged a few times since and he’s slowly wearing me down. Maybe it’s childish but the more Flynn ignores me the less I want to be a good little girl who does what she’s told.
