Delusional Tormentor

by Celia Crown

  If groveling to earn her love again is what it takes, it will be worth the effort. Making her wait nearly four years for my return must have been hell for her; every day away from her had almost destroyed me.

  But I had to take care of something before we could be together, and giving her a stress-free life during those four years was my sole objective.

  I touch her forehead to gauge her temperature as she coughs again. She’s not burning up, but her temperature is running higher than usual.

  Reluctantly, I leave the room to get her a glass of water. Cold medicine would help her recover faster, but I prefer that she not take any chemicals. Thinking of poisons tainting my darling’s body irks me, making me wonder if it’s reasonable to keep her in a filtered room for the rest of her life.

  My pretty girl; locked in and on display.

  I glance around the kitchen, noticing the dishes piled in the sink and the discarded clothes on the floor. Jenny did not leave this mess. She washes the dishes immediately after eating and throws her dirty clothes in a laundry hamper.

  Living with Audrey must be a health hazard.

  How can I convince Jenny to move in with me? The place I have is larger, filled with sunlight, and high in the hills with clean air.

  This island is being overrun by rich college boys and girls. We could move away, start a new life with a picket fence around our home, and have the fantasy wedding every woman wants.

  I want a house that will let me watch the setting sunlight on her naked back, her eyes glowing in the moonlight as she looks at me lovingly, and we dance with mother nature as our audience.

  That is paradise.

  Smiling to myself, I grab a few healthy snack bars I find in the cupboard. No wonder Jenny is sick; all they have in the house is energy drinks and box food.

  Moving to set the water and snacks on her desk, I notice a piece of paper with a message to call the number for a night of fun.

  Jenny is a vivacious and beautiful girl, so getting phone numbers from men at the bar is common. As far as I know, she accepts them out of courtesy and then tosses them away after the patrons leave.

  Having eyes everywhere in town helps me track her movements throughout the day. One of my men informed me that she has no social media presence, attends no wild parties, and has never gotten in trouble.

  She’s been a good girl, patiently waiting for me to return. I’ll gladly do whatever it takes to win her love again. I don’t expect it to be a difficult task, but I did leave her for four years. She has built up some understandable resentments, and I will kiss them all away.

  I was angry to learn that Jenny was an outsider at the tiki bar because she wasn’t a party girl, didn’t want to make new friends, and wasn’t interested in trying new things.

  Why would she? She was busy playing hide-and-seek with me. I found her, and I will earn the prize a bit later.

  For now, I need to take care of her harsh cough.

  Her roommate is at a weekend training seminar so she can get a promotion at work. The timing is strange, especially since Jenny got sick on Friday.

  I pick up the piece of paper, shredding it over the trash can.

  I also tear up the piece of paper I find with a coworker’s name and number on it; he dared to draw a heart next to his name. The message reads: “No pressure, sunshine, but I’d be so happy if you called!”

  I can practically hear his fucking voice.

  She won’t call him because she always keeps her phone line free so she doesn’t miss important calls like mine. Whether or not she told him about me, the understanding that I would come for her has never changed.

  Grabbing the glass of water, I angrily march towards her bedroom. She stirs at the noise, poking her head out from under the covers as she groans heavily.

  “Audrey,” she grumbles, whining softly. “Godzilla wants their feet back.”

  I hate it when she’s not paying attention to me. Audrey isn’t special; she is merely loitering around Jenny’s life and will be gone soon enough.

  I’m the most important person to Jenny. I’m her guardian, a protector who will stand in the rain all night to keep her safe. Her naivete attracts trashy characters, though they are not as dangerous as the ones who wouldn’t take a hint.

  Those persistent, cocky, filthy bastards; I’ve lost count of how many windpipes I have crushed under my foot.

  “Remo!” Jenny shouts, and sweet warmth runs through my blood. “What are you doing here? Where’s Audrey? How did you—”

  Jenny trembles, dropping her flushed face to the pillow as a painful wheeze turns into a cough.

  “Drink,” I say, shoving the glass of water at her.

  She turns away as the cough worsens and her arched back shudders. The blanket slips down to her waist; I want to terrorize her.

  Be nice, I think irately.

  “Now,” my command stills her shaking body.

  Her hazy eyes glisten with tears, cheeks turn red with indignation, and tiny fists grab the pillow for support. A teardrop tumbles down her cheek after another cough, and I wait with bated breath for others to follow.

  They do, and it’s a breathtaking sight; Jenny vulnerable and struggling to breathe through puffy lips.

  She looks gorgeous despite wearing a hideous green shirt. The little aliens printed on it churn my stomach, so I focus on her flushed face.

  “Don’t make me force it down your throat,” I say calmly, watching closely as she scrambles to her knees.

  The water splashes on my hand when she snatches the glass, gulping it down with occasional coughing.

  She yanks the glass from her lips with bewildered eyes, presumably berating herself for accepting the drink without hesitation. Poisoning her precious little body is the last thing I would do.

  Jenny repeats her questions, firing them at me with more vigor and hostility. The words are mumbled due to her swollen tongue, but the sweet apprehension in her voice is endearing.

  “I’m here to nurse you to health,” I say.

  Is it not obvious?

  “Get out,” she rasps. “I’ll call the cops.”

  If it comes down to the cops, I will exit her bedroom without leaving a trace. It’s funny how such a gloomy little room filled with things she finds meaningful can arouse domestic tenderness in me—a place where my heart rests peacefully.

  On good days, her absence was a numb sting that spread evenly under my skin, suppressing the burning desire from melting my resolve to make her proud. On bad days, the monstrosity in my shadow stretched longer and morphed into a pool of blood.

  Death is natural.

  “Do you think they can protect you?” I ask, knowing that no one will protect her better than I can.

  I take the glass from her tight grip and set it on the nightstand. She shuffles back to the bed while I kneel on the edge of the mattress. It sinks under my weight and tilts her body toward me.

  I fantasize about throwing the covers over us, surrounding her soft body, and kissing her to end the night.

  “They couldn’t keep me from you the last time, pretty girl,” I say, deliberately cruel as I pull the blanket from her weak fists. “They won’t do any better now.”

  I can barely suppress my grin as she looks up through her lashes, exhausted by the illness and my presence. She’ll struggle less when I hold her weak body to mine and whisper promises in her ear.

  “I only have you,” I whisper, sliding closer to her under the delectably scented blanket.

  Jenny hisses and fends off my hands, but her efforts are futile.

  “I can’t love, darling,” I utter as my heart jumps. “I look at people and think they are the filthiest things. It’s involuntary, and it’s a pain to scrub the filthy smell off my hands.”

  I can deal with the smell of blood, the copper scent mixed with formaldehyde.

  I close my fingers around her cold wrist, tugging her down to the mattress and urging her to press against my chest. Jenny frantically pushes me away
and exacerbates her nausea.

  “Touching you with dirty hands is rude. That’s not fair to you, Jenny; you deserve to stay clean—pure and pretty.”

  I sigh and keep a firm grip on her arm, allowing her to settle into a comfortable position. She must choose wisely because I’m not letting her move.

  “I took care of everything,” I continue while she manages to turn her back to me.

  The judge, the prosecutor, and the witness; all declared missing. The detective died in a car accident before I could get to him.

  “Stop fighting me, Jenny,” I hiss, cursing my impatience. “You’re testing me, and I’m not as kind as I was four years ago.”

  I instinctively shift closer to her warm body. When she tries to pull away, I thrust an arm under her neck and grip her delicate jaw while the other one lies heavily on her waist.

  The jackal ink rests just above her neck, and if she’s not careful, it will tear her throat.

  “I will drown your mother in wet concrete.”

  She whips her head over her shoulder, eyes blazing with unadulterated hatred swallowing the fatigue. Fickle bravery, faux steadiness, and inflexible resolve; Jenny’s conviction corrodes like purgatory’s flame.

  She’s focused on me now. It may seem like a compromise to a man parched for her attention, but I know it’s only a matter of time before she starts crying.

  Jenny’s emotional boundaries are weak.

  “What do you want from me?” she demands, voice breaking.

  She turns back around before I can answer, but she’s too exhausted to leave the bed. Nothing is stopping me from burying my face in her hair.

  “You know what I want,” I say, a deep grunt easing to a purr.

  I’m not shy about my fixation with Jenny. However, before I indulge it, she snarls at me with venom in her voice.

  “Touch my mom, and you will never get it,” she threatens.

  I smile into her hair, contemplating both the threat and her determination to follow through on it. I am falling in love with her even more than before.

  Foolishly brave and willfully stubborn. Jenny can be many things, but her true self is the one I love the most. The one who is bright-eyed with a carefree smile and never-ending warmth.

  “I won’t disappoint,” I promise.

  Tightening my hold, I relish the swelling of her throat as I limit her oxygen. She jerks, choking softly as her hands claw mine. Calling it a fight would be embarrassing; she’s queasy and decides to relax.

  As expected, she’s learning. I’m not the easiest man to read or the most approachable. I like to talk with bloodied knuckles and bruised skin, but I’m an open book to her.

  She looks at me like I am a dangerous animal wearing a collar with her name around my neck.

  I see her as a diamond, and I am a jeweler who does not want to make an irreversible mistake.

  “You’ll sleep for now, and when you wake up, I’ll be here.”

  She turns her face into the pillow, likely wishing me away and hoping this is a dream. Jenny is entertaining to watch when she doesn’t use good judgment. She speaks more freely that way and shows no fear.

  “I love you, pretty girl.”

  “You can’t love,” she immediately shoots back, and I find the coldness in her voice enjoyable.

  “I never meant to scare you,” I whisper and brush away the tremor in her jaw. “I went about this the wrong way; I’m sorry, darling, I never wanted to hurt you.”

  Her breath hitches and I have to strain to hear it. I press my face deeper into her hair, squeezing her waist as my lips break into a vile smile.

  “You hold a special place in my heart,” I confess candidly.

  She doesn’t respond, perhaps wondering about the implications.

  Chapter Five

  Jenny

  My passport is missing, so I immediately call my mother.

  She answers on the fifth ring, taking longer than usual, but thrilled to hear from me.

  Mom asks why I’m calling now and deviating from our pre-agreed schedule to talk. Not knowing what to say, I claim to be craving her home-cooking. Every dish she makes is like comfort food, reminding me of how soothing it was as a child after she fought with my father.

  I tell her about Remo, and we share a moment of silence as she thinks it over.

  Mom doesn’t really react when I tell her Remo had threatened to kill her; in fact, she hardly misses a beat and says that’s nothing compared to my father’s threats.

  My father was a deadbeat, completely useless. He was a parasite, draining Mom of money, energy, and her love of life. I know he learned that skill from his own father.

  One drink, he got angry. Two cans, he’d reel with unhinged rage. Three bottles, he was gone with the wind of violence.

  Mom asks if I’m afraid of Remo. She knows I am, and that makes me wonder why I haven’t gone to the police. I can’t; he has threatened both her and Audrey.

  Mom laughs and says she thinks I am lying to myself.

  I blink, realizing she’s been drinking. After Dad died of hypothermia three blocks away from the bar, Mom promised to abstain from alcohol. I blindly believed she was strong enough to face her demons without help.

  We never talk about her problem, which is probably why it was easier to just move away.

  Mom says she’s positive Remo won’t hurt me.

  “He looks at you the way your father looked at me,” she hints.

  I can’t believe she just said that, blaming it on her intoxicated state. She was so supportive when I left home to get as far from him as possible.

  “Remo,” she says tenderly as if he weren’t the reason my life is spiraling out of control. “He doesn’t hit you. He would if he were like your father. But he’s not; you know how protective Remo is.”

  Protective? I want to scream. Remo is possessive, not protective.

  Desperate to understand my mother’s attitude now, I ask if Remo has done anything to hurt her. But she claims to feel free for the first time in decades.

  Remo has gotten to my mom.

  “He has taken care of you, saved you from that awful man, and helped me as well. Medicine is expensive without insurance, but he said to not worry because—” Mom pauses, and I can’t stomach listening to her praise the man who has been tormenting me.

  Remo is a stalker who has attacked me and stolen from me. Cuts and bruises heal quickly. Broken bones mend after weeks of pain. Emotional scarring takes much longer to recover from.

  The dreadful paranoia, fear, and suffocating apprehension will always be there, just an inch from the back of my mind as it sits there idly. It comes up more than occasionally as my therapist had enlightened, and it’s a part of me now—a looming presence above me.

  If I were to look up, expecting the blue sky of freedom, I’d see Remo’s smile with iron bars behind his eyes.

  My mother reprimands me, “Don’t you see how lucky you are?”

  “You’ve changed, Mom.”

  Mom says she hasn’t changed; she is just a liberated woman with a job and a nice place to call home now, no doubt courtesy of Remo. She never told me about Remo bribing her that way. I doubt she ever would have if I hadn’t called her to discuss Remo’s return to my life.

  “Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Jenny. I deserve to be happy.”

  At my expense, I want to retort.

  “Remo is a good man.”

  It feels like I am fooling myself, thinking Mom is on my side. I’m just afraid to lose the only person I have left.

  “Treat him well, Jenny. He’s been nothing but kind to you, fixing all your problems so you won’t be stressed.”

  A sense of cognitive dissonance overcomes me. Staring at my blank phone, I don’t remember saying goodbye.

  Pinching my leg until it hurts, I realize this is really happening to me.

  I’m not lucky, and Remo’s not a good man. Like my father, Remo is suffocating and always on the edge of lunacy.

  I need
to know how far Remo will take this obsession with me. It’s not “love”; he is a psychopath who is good at manipulation.

  Suddenly I hear the front door opening; Remo uses a key I never gave him and strolls in like he owns the place.

  Breathing in shakily and preparing to deal with the monster, I clench my fists and feel my nails dig into the skin.

  I step out of the bedroom, fully prepared to handle anything he throws my way. He won’t raise a hand to me, but that doesn’t quell the burning sensation in my stomach.

  Turning the corner, I am speechless at the sight of water droplets clinging to his muscled body. Glorious ink covers his thick arms, and the grooved muscles of his abdomen are accentuated by the how-hanging pants.

  He turns toward me, eyes shining with happiness. The blue sky behind him has never looked brighter.

  “Good morning, pretty girl.”

  He almost looks normal until I see the jackal tattoo on his forearm. It wasn’t there four years ago when he effortlessly snapped someone’s neck.

  For you, his eyes had accused me as blood ran down his handsome face.

  He had killed someone as if he were my savior.

  “I made breakfast,” he says, voice husky.

  Being trapped with him for two days had forced me to adapt in uncomfortable ways.

  Remo’s intimidating presence keeps me on my toes, his innocent smile and gentle touch chipping away at my defenses.

  Now, there is a sense of comfort when I smell my shampoo on him. He has insinuated himself into my home and life, with Audrey none the wiser on her business retreat this weekend.

  I don’t know what to do about this whole situation, but I’ll ask Audrey when she gets home tonight. She always knows what to do when I’m feeling overwhelmed.

  “Come sit down,” he says, gracefully inching closer to guide me to the table.

  “Have you ever lied to me?” I question, sitting stiffly on the stool as he moves around the kitchen.

  Beating around the bush with a man who is “in love” with me is bound to be disastrous. I want answers, and getting them through straightforward questioning seems to be the best way to go.