Page 2 of Psychotic Nightmares

Granted, I wasn’t a virgin before the accident, but I sure didn’t sleep around. I’ve never had a one night stand, I had long term relationships. Well, untilthey left me because they couldn’t handle my baggage. Not like I blamed them. I have alotof baggage. The abuse, the fact I’m an orphan, the constant nightmares. I should have died that night, the night at the lake. But the note scared me. Who left it? Who brought me back home? Why was my home completely furnished again? I know now of course, but I was so confused at first.

When I finally got out of bed that day, I realised that most of my belongings were back. My clothes, artwork, books, everything, and more. There were more clothes, new cooking equipment, food in the fridge, some special edition books from one of my favourite authors - books I would have loved to have had but couldn’t afford.I even had to get another bookshelf to fit them all in, which of course was built and filled by the time I woke up the next day.

I stretch out my muscles,God that feels good,and twist my hair into a claw clip to get it out of my face.I wonder if he’s still here?Getting out of bed I go to the corridor and stare up at one of the framed photos that appeared that day. It’s one of me on a beach, I remember that day well. It was the day that I found out I got the job at the bank. I was so happy, happy enough to take a bottle of wine to the beach to celebrate - alone. Because I was always alone. I was sitting watching the sunset, my shoulder length, dirty blonde hair blowing in the wind. I never realised anyone else was there, especially with it being the middle of November and quite cold so the beach was empty. Or so I thought.

I was a little freaked out when I saw the photo. Just a little. Because then I realised that I wasn’t alone that day. I mean, it could have been a stalker wanting to kill me, it could have been a creep wanting to kidnap or rape me. But I wasn’talone.Someone was there to celebrate with me, even if I didn’t see or speak to them. Is it fucked up to say that made me feel content? Probably. Do I care? Nope. Why don’t I care? Well because I’m waiting for death to find me, so if the grim reaper has sent one of his cronies to follow me and finish the job then so be it. In the meantime if said crony wants to sneak in while I’m asleep and cook me a meal (which unfortunately hasn’t been poisoned yet), or do some housework then I’m not going to complain.I smile and look around the corner to the living room, he’s not here today which means he must have left early. A sharp sting of disappointment crosses my chest. I was too tired last night to have a proper conversation with him and I wanted to feel his hardened body against mine this morning. You may be wondering what’s wrong with me, yeah I’m fucked up alright.I crave my stalker. I love the attention he gives me. When I hear his deep accented voice, my heart yearns for him to just take off the fucking mask and press his lips to mine.

See, I’m fucked up. And no, it’s not because I’ve read and enjoyed every stalker dark romance he bought me. I strokemy fingers along the spine of the new addition I saw added to my never ending TBR yesterday.

I shuffle into the kitchen, my tired brain begging for caffeine.I wonder what he madefor breakfast this morning?

Since that night, I have woken up to a breakfast - everything from pancakes to scrambled eggs and bacon - a packed lunch to take to work with me, and some sliced fruits. Every day, without fail. Well, apart from a few weeks every year - once in June and again in November - I guess even stalkers need a break from work sometimes. Not only does he cook - but he also does my laundry, and I’ve come home from work many times over the last three years to my houseworkcompleted. Candles lit and a nice hot bubble bath ready, as well as a meal either being cooked in the slow cooker or already cooked and waiting for me in the cooling oven. Sometimes a full blown letter with either stories of what he did as a child or saying how much he is in love with me will be left on my coffee table for me to read before I sleep. But most of the time it's a small note to tell me to be brave, or have a nice day. My equivalent to a good morning text from a boyfriend.Maybe I don’t mind having a stalker, whoever they may be.Brand new book releases have been left on my table, every now and then it will be fresh flowers or pastries from the local bakery. Most people would be scared. But I’m not most people. No matter what the stalker does to me, I’ve survived worse. But I’ve never seen his true face. He always wears his mask around me. I can trace his tattoo without looking, I’ve felthis arms embracing me tight after waking him up numerous times after a nightmare. I’ve seen his muscled torso with the small patch of chest hair and a happy trail leading to below his boxers. He has small scars scattered around here and there - from chickenpox apparently. I’ve seen nearly every part of his body apart from the important bits.

HIS SMILE AND EYES YOU DIRTY MINDED PERVERT!

I chuckle and roll my eyes. Although, I wouldn’t mind seeingthatpart of him. And he knows that. The amount of times I have thrown myself at him is at adisgustingly high number. Most of the time I was drinking when I did, and each time he has just tucked me up on the sofa - literally tucked, including my hands so I couldn’t keep trying to touch him up - and sat on the floor all night to make sure I’m okay in my sleep.

What a gentleman.

It’s frustrating though, because I know he wants me back. He’stoldme, I’vefelthow much he wants me. I’ve felt small kisses against my shoulder many times whilst he’s embracing me.

So why won’t he just give in and give me a chance to love him back? To give us a proper chance at being together.

The clean smell of his body wash engulfs mysenses as soon as I step foot into the kitchen, which means he hasn't long left. I pout to myself.

He has a life outside of you, Natalie. Stop being so clingy.

After breakfast and two cups of the sweet stuff, I check the time on my phone. I don’t have any clocks in my home. Not when thetick, tick, tickof the hands bring back awful memories, and realise that if I don’t start getting ready soon I’ll be late for work.

I manage to step into the building three minutes before my shift starts, only to be met with a barrage of insults. Nothing I’m not used to. The building is nice and fresh outthefront, a pure white building amongst all the grey. Inside is similar too, all the walls are painted a crisp white. The wooden furniture is alla light coloured oak. Even the chairs are made from white leather. Everything is perfect, if my boss sees a speck of dirtin the place it’s like the beginning of world war three. He’s even fired people for not cleaning up some crumbs fast enough in thebreak roomatlunchtime.Yep, that’s how much of a clean freak he is.

Being in a small town, we are the only bank here andmy boss, Mr Howard Shaw, likes that fact. He holds loans over peoplesheads and makes them beg - literally beg - for the loans to save their homes, their livelihood andthen adds on extra interest whenever he can, because he can. And no-one says a word againsthim seeing as his brother is the head of the local police department. Howard, or Mr Howard as he prefers to be known, is one of the richest men in town. And he loves to lord it over us.

I press the power on button to my work computer when I hear my intercom buzz.

“Natalie. My office. Now!” My boss screams down the device, already sounding pissed off.Great. I trudge through the door and make my way down the hall to where Mr Howardsoffice is and knock on the door that’s been left ajar like always. He only closes it fully when having a meeting. The white wooden door with pure gold accents and his name carved into an ivory plaque-told you he was rich.

“Enter.” His voice makes my skin crawl but I enter anyway.I need this job. I need this job. I need this job. If I leave he will blacklist me from every other building around here, just like he has everyone else who left. And we never saw them again because they’ve had to leave town to find work.I open the door and shuffle into the room, the room where he has every wall covered in pictures of him with absolutely nobody else. Howard gives such narcissistic vibes. Just him in different poses, some in his suit, some naked with some sort of prop covering his limp dick. “Ahh Miss Baker, I have been waiting for you.” He stands and walks around his desk. His long legs stride over to where I stand. “You didn’t come into work on Friday,” his fingers start playing with one of the tendrils of hair I left out to frame my face, “Luke informed me you were sick, how are you feeling now?”

“Better, thank you.” I whisper as he moves around me to close the door.I guess we’re having a meeting then.

“Good, now why don't you take a seat.” He pulls one of the seats opposite his desk out and gestures to it. “I think we need to have a little chat.”

“May I ask what you need to speak with me about, sir? It’s just that we open in a few minutes and I have a client coming in for a meeting as soon as we open.”

“I. Said. Sit.” He spits out. I immediately take the waiting seat and take some deep breaths. I can’t piss off my boss. Not when I know exactly what his temper can be like.Poor Hettie didn’t deserve to have her nose broken just for doing her job.“Good girl.Now, please tell me why you feel like you need to put your hair up today.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said Miss Baker. Now answer me.”

“It’s the middle of summer, sir. I get too hot if I leave my hair down.” I admit and instantly regretit as his face twistsin anger.

He slams on his desk, making me jump. Then he grabs my hair tie. “I don’t give a fuck if you are too hot and uncomfortable. You need to hide this.” He points to my burn mark, then proceeds to glide the hair tie from my hair. “I don’t want any of my clients to be turned off by this horridthing.” He starts to play with my hair until it covers the scars. “Now remember what I told you.”

“Never look them directly in the face and always keep it covered.” I sigh. He has made me repeat it everyday since I came back to work after the incident.

“That’s my girl. Now off you go.” He waves his hand, dismissing me. I choke back the tears as I get to my feet to leave the office. “Oh, and once we close tonight I am going to need you to come back here. I need you to clean my office today. My cleaning lady has quit onme.” He mumbles.