no control

• six •

gladys

I kept my head down as I hurried home. I couldn't help but wonder if he was here somewhere, following me with those depthless dark eyes.

Biting my lip, I shivered a little. I knew I was stupid for getting in his car. And I was even stupider for not feeling any fear toward him whatsoever.

I had no idea what my stalker's intentions towards me were but I had to admit that they probably weren't good.

He was older than me. Old enough to have a trace of dark stubble along his chiseled cheeks. Old enough to have several very nice vehicles.

So why? What business did he have stalking me, some nobody high school girl?

He had to be a sex trafficker or something.

That should scare the shit out of me. I should have been running for the hills and calling the police.

Was my creep detector just broken? I just didn't get creepy vibes from him. I found him attractive, but I knew that didn't mean anything. Plenty of serial killers and kidnappers were attractive.

Yet, I knew that if he hadn't told me to get out of his car, I would have stayed. I would've sat there and talked to him as long as he'd let me.

I just knew, somehow, he wouldn't hurt me.

He had every chance in the last week to kidnap me if that was his intention. There were plenty of opportunities when I'd been walking alone, the street deserted.

Even when I didn't fight him and got in his car, he could've taken me anywhere. Tossed me in a river or sold me off like livestock.

He didn't, though. He kicked me out at the gas station by my house and left me frustrated, aching.

The feel of his fingers wrapped carefully around my wrist still clung to my skin like a ghost.

I didn't know what all his blabbering about idiot high school boys and Brant's sweatshirt was all about, but I hoped to God I got the chance to find out.

I finally reached Bernice's house and used my key to get in. Before I shut the door behind me, I glanced around at the street one more time.

No blacked out truck or Cadillac to be seen.

I locked the door and went to my room. Tossing my backpack to the floor, I flopped down on my bed with a groan.

Only a few more weeks and I would be done with school.

I really needed to get a job.

College wasn't even on my radar at this point, despite the counselor's unconvincing speech.

"Your chances of making higher income and achieving a stable future are significantly higher if you go to college."

And study what? Even if I could afford to, I had no idea what I would major in.

I forced myself to sit up on my elbows and looked around the room I'd slowly claimed as my own over the passing days.

I situated my lamps on the desk and beside the bed, hung the two paintings from my mother on the walls, and arranged a desk for myself in the corner. Bernice gifted me a potted orchid that now occupied the corner of the desk.

I sighed and the force of my breath sent a waft of cologne up from the sweatshirt I wore.

Getting up, I wandered over to my mirror and looked at my reflection. Brant's sweatshirt was huge on me since he was over a foot taller.