Page 40 of Hellebore

“No,” I shake my head.

“Until there’s a real threat or clear proof someone was inside your house, we can’t do much,” he says. An officer could come take a statement, but the exhaustion in his voice tells me they won’t do shit.

Proof he was inside. What about the cake? The flower? The book marked at that exact scene? Apparently that could’ve been a friend or family member. Or maybe I just forgot.

I hang up and snarl at the phone.

Useless. They’re all useless. Just like they were after my assault.

I step under the warm water, trying to wash the fear away. But my mind keeps drifting back to the picture. Why does he look so… hot? So dangerously beautiful?

Why the hell am I imagining him fucking me while I’m passed out?

There is something seriously wrong with me.

I finish showering, slip into my pajamas, and spend the rest of the night eating pizza and watching movies with Lucille. We double-check every window, make sure the alarm is armed, then crawl into bed.

Lucille falls asleep quickly beside me.

I don’t.

I open my phone and zoom in on the picture again. Strong arms with visible veins. A ring on his finger. Dark shadows swallowing most of him, the light hitting only one side of his face, covered by the phone.

I run it through an image search. Similar photos pop up, but not this one. Not him.

“I would let him do things to me,” I whisper into the dark.

Lucille mumbles something in her sleep. I smile softly and set the phone on the nightstand.

Friday.

Tomorrow.

It’s almost nine at night and my anxiety is crawling under my skin like spiders.

I spent the whole day at work with shaking hands, blaming it on yesterday’s events. Christine was ridiculously apologetic, as if the power outage and the missing cake were somehow her fault. Lucille picked me up at seven and we came straight back to get ready.

I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the short black dress. It clings to every curve, long sleeves, a high turtleneck with a daring keyhole cut-out right over my chest, showing just enough skin to feel dangerous. A heavy silver chain choker sits tight around my throat, a long chain dangling down with a ring that rests between my breasts. I added a matching chain belt that hangs low on my hips, the metal cool against my skin with every movement. Thigh-high black stockings disappear under the hem of the dress, and my favorite chunky combat boots complete the look. My long black hair falls straight and sleek. Dark smokey eyes and deep purple lipstick finish it. The black feather mask on top, I add drops of fake blood on my clothes and some on my face and add the fake canines.

Vampire Queen on the go.

“Shit, you’re lucky I’m not into girls,” Lucille whistles as she walks into my bedroom.

I turn and let out a low laugh, looking her up and down. “Right back at you. Damn, Lu.”

She’s wearing a short ripped black skirt with a long-sleeve top that bares a strip of her upper waist, lace stockings with tiny black bows at the top, and Mary Jane platform shoes that make her even taller. Her makeup mirrors mine but with blood-red lipstick that looks lethal under the low light. Same type of mask and I add the blood.

I take one last look in the mirror, heart hammering. The cut-out on my chest feels too exposed, the chains too loud, but I force myself to stand taller. This is the version of me I fought to become, the one who doesn’t hide.

Even if part of me is terrified of who might be waiting in the dark tonight.

I stare at my phone. No new texts. Nothing but silence since last night.

I wonder if he was just scaring me… or testing me to see how I would break.

I hide the slice of cake deep in the fridge behind the milk and yogurts, making sure Lucille doesn’t see it, then follow her to the car.

The drive to the party is filled with Someone Like Me by Ice Nine Kills blasting through the speakers, the heavy music pumping us up. Or at least trying to.