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Oh shit, Zoe. Was she still unconscious in the hall? What if she had a brain bleed from Dean slamming her into the wall?
Dean grabbed my chin and I could feel his fingers bruise my bone. “Lennox, you are mine.”
No I’m not. My vision was cloudy, but that thought was clear. I belonged to another. The flag had already been planted by someone else. Too late, Dean-a-reenoo.
Instead of signing my death warrant with those words, I said, “Yes.”
Dean seemed pleased with my response and let go of my chin. I exhaled in relief. If I was going to get out of this, I needed to play his game. I don’t give a shit about my pride, I just want to survive.
Dean sauntered over to my wingback chair and sat down. He slowly swung his head back and forth, surveying my apartment. “I always wondered what it looked like from the inside. I’ve been on the outside for so long.”
I stared at him, pushing myself up into a sitting position. He was acting like a villain in a Sherlock Holmes novel. Even his lexicon and speech pattern were different.
“You see, Lennox, my pet . . .”
Pet? Did he really just call me pet? He really has gone insane.
Dean sat in my armchair like a king passing judgment on one of his peasants. He droned nonsense about my place in society and how badly I’ve put him out these past months.
I stopped listening to him, but kept an eye on his body language—it was more telling than his words. He wasn’t paying attention to me to see if I was hearing him; he was too busy with his diatribe.
I think what he’s doing has a name, it’s called the serial killer’s prerogative or something. They can’t help it, they have to tell their plan. Of course, Dean isn’t a serial killer (that I know of) but the principle still applies.
I inched away from him, toward the window. It was my only escape option, because he was too close to the door and I was too far away from it. Dean still seemed oblivious of the real me; he was focused on his illusion of me.
I took another quick peek at him. He must have said something he considered humorous, because he was slapping his knee. I know his brand of humor: it’s dangerous and leads to violence. I continued slowly moving away from him, pushing myself along the floor with my heels. Was there anything close by I could use as a weapon?
For a girl being stalked, I have a shitty selection of self-defense items. Note to self: invest in katana.
“What are you doing, Lennox?”
I snapped my head back toward Dean. No longer dangerously humorous, he was just dangerous. He’d seen me creeping away.
It was now or never.
Adrenaline was screaming through my body. Letting loose a howl of rage, I jumped to my feet and shoved a solid oak nightstand right into Dean. (It took two full-fledged testosterone monkeys to wrestle that nightstand into my apartment—go me!) He stumbled and fell over. I spun around, frantic to find something to throw at him, when my eyes fell on my new porcelain lamp.
Too many of my porcelain lamps have suffered because of Dean.
I don’t have superb aim, so when I let loose with the lamp, it hit the wall next to him. Luckily, the porcelain shards became shrapnel and pierced his skin. Dean howled, grabbed his face, and rolled over.
Remember how I said I was going to take all those classes? Yeah, well, I did take a class. One class. At the gym: kickboxing. I’m not even sure if that counts, because right now that kickboxing class isn’t giving me much advantage over Dean.
I made a beeline for the fire escape, slapping the light switch into the off position as I passed it. The glow from the streetlights seeped into the apartment, but it was better than nothing.
I knew I didn’t have much time to escape him. Blood and pain would only hold off Dean for so long.
I shoved the window open and dove through, landing on the fire escape. It was old and rickety, and was probably the original one built with the building. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the first rung above my head. I started climbing up.
Old locks, old fire escape . . . Vic was a shitty landlord.
“You bitch!” Dean screamed into the night, his voice like the death howl of a tortured prisoner. My mind stopped wandering and I came back to the present with a vengeance.
Climbing faster, I ignored the ominous groans of the fire escape. At least if I fell and died on the shitty fire escape, Dean wouldn’t get his chance with me.
I think. But then again, who knows if Dean is into necrophilia. Ugh. I shuddered and kept climbing.
Fuck, it was a long climb, but I refused to glance down. Not because I was afraid of heights, but because I was petrified I would see Dean chasing up the fire escape like an escaped mental patient from old movies.
