Page 158 of Letters From A Stalker

Tessa searches my face for several seconds before some of the panic leaves hers. “Okay. I still hate approximately ninety-eight percent of what I’ve heard so far, but okay.”

Once I start, the rest comes out easier than I expected. Maybe because keeping Ghost entirely to myself has required more energy than I realized. I tell her about the letters, about the first night I opened the door and the mask that prevented me from seeing anything except his eyes. I tell her about how frightened and excited I was at the same time and how quickly the fear disappeared once I realized I could stop anything with a word.

I tell her he came back, that I kept wanting him to. That sometimes he stayed afterward, which somehow became the part I found hardest to explain to myself because sex was easier to categorize than falling asleep with his arm around me. Tessa interrupts often enough that it feels like an actual conversation instead of a confession. Sometimes she needs clarification and sometimes she simply cannot physically allow one of my sentences to pass without protesting.

When I reach the lingerie store, she puts her wine down altogether. “Wait. Back up. He told you to go buy lingerie?”

I take a sip of my wine before I continue because no matter how mad I am, that particular memory still heats my cheeks. “He picked the store, paid for it and then showed up.”

Her eyes widened. “At the store?”

“Yes.” Obviously something on my face changes before she’s looking at me like I just grew a second head.

“You fucked your stalker in a fitting room.”

“Yes.”

She leans back and presses two fingers to the bridge of her nose. “I have several concerns and what I believe is now the early onset of hypertension.”

“You asked.” I let our a small laugh.

“I absolutely did not ask for this. I asked what happened. I expected a shitty man, shitty boss, maybe family drama. I did not expect you to tell me you secretly entered a psychosexual thriller and forgot to invite me.”

A laugh escapes me, stronger this time, and for a few seconds the pressure inside my chest loosens. Then I remember I still haven’t told her the other half of the story.

“Tess.” She looks at me and immediately knows from my voice that I’m not finished. “There’s more.”

“Of course there is.” She reaches for the bottle and tops up her wine. “Apparently we have abandoned all reasonable limits.”

“I know who he is.”

Her hand stops. “Ghost?”

I nod.

“How?”

“I had therapy Thursday.”

Her expression becomes confused. “Okay…”

“I got there earlier than usual, and Kai wasn’t with another patient, so I went into his office before he was expecting me. His jacket was off and his sleeves were rolled up.”

Tessa waits.

“He has tattoos.” I say.

The crease between her eyebrows deepens.

“One of the patterns on his forearm was the same one I had touched on Ghost.”

The change in her face happens gradually enough that I can see every stage of it. Confusion turns to disbelief, disbelief to horror, and then she shakes her head before I have even finished.

“No.” She literally breathes out the word.

My throat closes.

“Tess—”