Father

by Clarissa Wild

  “What the hell are you doing with the gas pedal?” Greg spits. “I told you to push it, not to ram it with your foot!”

  “I’m trying …” I mutter.

  “Not good enough!” He snatches my hand from the steering wheel. “Get your hands off there, you stupid ho.”

  The names he calls me fly in one ear and go out through the other, just like they always do.

  I don’t pay much attention to them anymore because I’ve heard them so many times before. I withstand them because I have no choice or say in the matter. His will is law.

  “Get out,” he yells, pushing me. “Just get out.”

  I quickly pull the lever on the door and step out before he smacks me again.

  He walks around the car, still berating me. “I knew I should’ve never let you learn how to drive. Look at what you almost did.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You could’ve killed us!” He’s right in front of me, and whenever he speaks, he spits on my face. “You can’t fucking drive!”

  “We’re in a parking lot …”

  “And even there you manage to damage my car!” He pushes me aside and jerks open the door to the driver’s seat. But before he sits down, he yells at me again. “Get in the damn car!”

  I hasten to the other side and slide into the passenger’s seat quietly, trying not to produce too much sound. I don’t even dare to say a word. I don’t want to give him more reasons to yell. Or worse.

  “Can’t let a woman do a man’s job,” he huffs, turning the key in the ignition. “I’ll show you how it’s done.” He looks at me as he puts the gear into reverse and hits the gas. “This is how you drive.”

  I brush away the sweat drops rolling down the back of my neck, and I take a deep breath, letting it all out. Then I shake my head, put the gear in reverse, and drive out of the parking lot. Like I should’ve done all along.

  2

  Hyun

  Accompanying Song: “Violent Delights Have Violent Ends” by Ramin Djawadi

  A few days later

  I’ve always kept to myself. Not because I’m shy, but because people have always disappointed me. Whether they were my friends, my family … or even my parents—all they did was use me for their own benefit. Give me something good and then take it back again.

  No one loved me unconditionally. Not even my parents. So I’ve come to associate people with lies and manipulation … and maybe I’ve even started to believe I should take part in this dirty game myself.

  One year ago, my parents convinced me to meet with a wealthy bank manager, the son of the CEO, because he’d approached them about his interest in me. I thought it was a joke, but when I met the man, Max Marino, I saw in his eyes that he was speaking the truth. He wanted me to take part in his wicked game.

  I should’ve said no.

  But my mind was already agreeing. Why? Because my parents wanted it so badly, and for some reason, I thought if I did this, they’d finally love me.

  Silly me.

  Of course, the game turned out to be much more than I could handle. Nine girls, all together with three brothers … and we were vying for their attention. Their love. With sex.

  It was sick.

  To this day, I still regret ever signing his contract.

  Luckily, I got out in time before …

  I sigh, not wanting to reminisce. The memories float back in my head every time I’m at this desk in the library, and I can’t help but think about it, but I know I shouldn’t. It’s not healthy to linger on the past.

  Besides, it’s time for work, and if my supervisor sees me chilling, I know he’ll give me a lecture. One I want to avoid at all cost, considering I got this job through my parents … and … Greg.

  Just the thought makes me cringe.

  I scroll through the list of books as I finish inventory when my eyes catch something peculiar. A man wearing a long coat is standing near one of the bookshelves close to the exit. I’ve never seen him here before, and I don’t remember seeing him come in.

  What is he doing here?

  I watch him grab a book from one of the shelves, tentatively flipping the pages one by one.

  Until he lifts his head and looks me directly in the eyes.

  I freeze, my heart beating in my throat, as I realize he’s the same man who’s been watching me from the bench across the street from my house. The same man I saw from the parking lot the other day. I thought I was losing it … and now, he’s here, right in front of me, in the flesh.

  Looking straight at me with those hauntingly blue eyes.

  I grip the desk tight, feeling like it’s the only thing tethering me to this world.

  I swallow away the lump in my throat as he reaches into his pocket and takes out something small. I can’t see what it is, but he places it inside the book and puts it back on the shelf.

  After one last glance at me, he turns around and leaves.

  I don’t stop staring until he’s left the building and is completely out of sight.

  The door is still swinging back and forth, which is exactly how my heart feels right now.

  For a while, I stay put, wondering if he’s going to return, but as the people come and go, none of them are him. People hand me their books, and I scan them while vaguely being aware of them standing in front of me. I feel like a ghost. One woman even snaps her fingers at me as if she’s trying to wake me up.

  I rush through the line as quickly as I can until the last customer has left with her books. When I finally gather enough courage, I peel myself away from my desk and stroll to the shelf in question. My fingers glide along the familiar books until they find an anomaly. One spine pushed in a little too far.

  I grab it and take it out. I touch the front and back to make sure nothing’s changed. It’s a hardcopy of Gone Girl. I flip it open and sift through the pages until I find a thicker bit. There, I find a piece of paper.

  Taking it out, I go through all the pages to make sure nothing else is inside and then place the book back on its shelf.

  With the paper in my hand, I look around the library to see if anyone’s noticed me. I don’t know what’s written on this paper, but I don’t want to share it with anyone either. For some reason, it feels like this is a secret between us. A silent agreement to keep things hidden. And I don’t want people to know this; least of all at the place I call ‘work.’

  So I turn my back against the big hall and unfold the paper.

  It’s a typed out message.

  Drake

  This is a story about a young woman and the man who couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  She’s small and fragile like a lonely flower in a field weathering a strong wind. Her black hair tickles the back of her neck. She walks down the steps of her home with apprehension and haste. Something’s bothering her, and I can see from the way she clutches her purse she knows…

  I’m watching her.

  I know what I’m doing is wrong.

  But I can’t stop myself … I want her so badly.

  She’s the type of girl no one sees. She can vanish in a crowd, and no one would come looking. No one would know she’s gone missing. No one would care.

  But I would.

  I’m that man … the man who stalks because he’s afraid of what will happen when he decides to pounce. Because he secretly desires the forbidden. To run his fingers through her smooth, silky hair. To touch her naked skin.

  But he also knows … she does not want him.

  This man is undesirable, a freak, because he follows and stares, watches and listens … instead of starting a conversation.

  This man is not someone you want to be with.

  A man who desires a woman he can’t have only wants one thing …

  To stop her from being with someone else.

  She’s so beautiful … he imagines wrapping his fingers around her neck, one by one, until nothing but his love is left.

  Hyun

  My body feels numb and cold to the
bone.

  I’m trembling. Not because of the goose bumps scattering over my skin, but because of what this message means.

  Is it a threat or a tale of admiration?

  I can’t tell … because I don’t know for sure if this is about me.

  But who else could it be for?

  He looked directly at me, so I must be the girl in the story, right?

  However, those last few words … make me imagine fingers squeezing my throat shut. A tight, suffocating hold only committed to robbing me of my life. An attempt previously made by a man I hated from the very first moment I met him.

  Gregory Warren.

  I wince at the thought and tuck the note into my pocket, realizing what this could mean.

  I’m insane for even keeping it—instead of shredding it—but I can’t risk anyone finding this, even in tiny pieces. Not when my safety is at stake.

  However … what’s to say this note didn’t come from Greg?

  Maybe he got someone else to deliver it to me. Someone who stalks me day in, day out.

  It’s odd, you know. To read the words you experienced only months before.

  Makes you wonder if your stalker was there to witness the whole ordeal.

  3

  Hyun

  Accompanying Song: “A Reflection” by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross

  6 months before

  I’m reading the newspaper while walking to work as I always do. With my favorite coffee from Starbucks in one hand and the newspaper in the other, I pass through the crowds of people on the way. It’s funny, thinking about it, that I drink coffee from Starbucks while going to work at a coffee shop … that is not Starbucks.

  I guess my preference for another brand of coffee really doesn’t support my case when I told my employer I wanted to work at his place. Really, I wanted to work there because I just needed a job badly, but he didn’t need to know that.

  Of course, I didn’t think I’d get the job. I hadn’t landed any of the others when I’d applied. Luckily, he hired me, and now, here I am … a barista for a few years now. I know it’s not the greatest job in the world, but it’s something. It pays well, so I’m happy. Besides, my co-workers are really nice, and I like them.

  Plus, my boss let me take a few weeks off for that wicked game that Max Marino invited me to … not that I needed the time, since I left early.

  I take a sip from my cup and enjoy the taste of cinnamon as I walk along the sidewalk while keeping my head down. I don’t look at people and try not to draw any attention to myself. I don’t want people to notice me. I’d rather disappear.

  I know people out there are watching me … other than my stalker.

  More specifically … one man and his wife.

  Max Marino, the most powerful banker I’ve ever met, once wanted me, along with nine other girls. And now that I’ve stepped out of that wicked game, I know they’re watching my every move … waiting for me to open my mouth. And I just know it won’t end well for me if I do.

  I have to be cautious. I don’t want to give them any reason to kill me because I know he’d do it in a heartbeat if he so desired.

  For that reason, I read the newspaper too. I’m searching for more information about them, anything. News. Updates. Any information to make me believe they’ve finally settled down and will leave me in peace.

  But the only bit of information I’ve uncovered since I left is who became his wife, and I expected no one less.

  I sigh as I finish reading the front page. Nothing.

  Maybe it means they’re not interested in making their life public. Or maybe things really have settled down now that the game is over.

  One thing’s for sure, though … I will probably never feel safe again.

  Especially not when I meet him.

  I never thought I’d come face to face with the devil … and I never, ever imagined myself bumping into him and spilling my coffee all over his gray Armani suit.

  “Watch it!” he yells.

  “Oh, god,” I mutter, looking up into his dark, cold eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  He pats his suit, huffing and puffing, his face red from annoyance.

  I find myself enraptured by his presence. Not because he looks sleek with his black hair greased back, or because of the tiny gray hair I see dangling behind his ear, or because of the trimmed mustache above his thin lips.

  No, it’s because of the sheer dominance he exudes.

  “I’m so sorry,” I repeat, and I rummage through my purse to grab a tissue. “Here.” I try to pat him down, but he snatches it from my hand and wipes himself with it.

  “Thanks,” he says with a gruff voice.

  “I didn’t see you. I don’t know why. I should’ve looked up. Does it hurt? The coffee was scorching hot.”

  “No, it’s fine,” he says, this time showing a tentative smile. “Do you have more tissues, though?”

  “Of course.” I nod. Searching around in my bag, I find another pack and hand it to him. He pulls all of them out and pats himself down a few more times before discarding them into the bushes, just like that.

  I contemplate going after them to throw them in the trash, but his eyes make me freeze.

  “Where were you going? You seemed in a hurry,” he says.

  “Uh … work,” I mutter, blushing a little.

  It feels so awkward to talk to the stranger I just poured my coffee over. I look at my cup, which is now half-empty, and I wonder if it’s okay to drink a sip. It’s like it’s tainted or something.

  Suddenly, he sticks out his hand and says, “Gregory Warren.”

  “Uh …” I reluctantly take his hand. “Hyun Song.”

  He looks at my half-empty cup. “Let me buy you a new one.”

  “What?” My jaw drops a little, and I quickly take back my hand. “Oh, no. I ruined your suit. I should pay for you.”

  “No,” he says with a stern voice. “I insist. After all … your coffee is ruined too.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t—”

  “I want to,” he interrupts, and he steps closer, coming into my space.

  I instinctively lean back. “I’m fine … thank you. I need to get to work.”

  His eyes narrow as if he’s checking me out, trying to spot a lie, but it’s the honest to god truth.

  “Well, then … let me give you my number.” He quickly fishes a card from his pocket and stuffs it into my hand, wrapping both of his hands around mine like he’s trying to force me to keep it. He creepily leans in and whispers, “Call me.”

  I shudder, my lips quivering, and I pull my hand from his grip, turn around, and run.

  I don’t know what incited my response.

  Why I chose to flee instead of say goodbye.

  But one thing I do know for sure … I never want to see him again.

  Accompanying Song: “Logos” by Ludovico Einaudi

  Now

  I shoot up from my chair, dropping the book I was reading to the floor. I immediately grab the gun I tucked behind a vase in the corner of my room. My lungs fill with air as I take huge breaths, following my realization that it was just a dream. Still, I can’t help but point the gun in every direction in my own home … worried someone might have snuck in.

  Someone who wants to hurt me.

  For a few seconds, I stand in the middle of my living room and listen to the sound of my own heartbeat. The sole clock hanging on the wall is a solemn reminder of the silence surrounding me … comforting me with the idea that nothing is wrong. Everything is as it should be.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  Calm down.

  I tell myself this over and over until my heart no longer beats out of my chest. Then I lower the gun and put it back behind the vase. I walk to the kitchen to boil some water so I can make some much-needed tea. Rubbing my forehead, I try to push the memories from my head, reminding myself they were only dreams … and dreams can’t hurt you.

  Suddenly, I hear a ticking noise in the back
of the room.

  Not the ticking of the clock … but ticking against the window.

  As the water begins to boil, I slowly tread toward the sound. My heart races and my legs quake once again, but I continue. I want to know what it is, even if it kills me. So with trembling fingers, I grasp the curtains and jerk them aside.

  The ticking stops.

  Nothing’s there.

  Not a bird in the tree.

  Not a soul on the street.

  I stare at the road for a few seconds, and I honestly wonder if I’m starting to lose my mind.

  Frowning, I turn and shut the curtains again.

  Only to hear the ticking begin again.

  My eyes twitch, and I march toward the front door, yanking it open like I’ve got beef with someone. Maybe I do, or maybe this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done … but I’m doing it anyway.

  I walk to the other side of my house where the ticking on the window occurred, but I don’t see anyone.

  “Hello?” I call out. “Anyone there?”

  Yeah, like that’s going to work.

  I check my surroundings, but no one appears from behind a bush or a tree. No one leaves their home. No one even replies.

  See? I am losing my mind, after all.

  But as I turn around … a peculiar scratch beneath my shoes compels me to look down.

  Pebbles.

  Ten, maybe fifteen, all right in front of my window.

  My garden doesn’t have any pebbles.

  I pick one up and look at it as if it’s going to tell me where it came from. The sound of an engine pulls my eyes away from the pebble and to the car driving past me. I glare at the driver to see if he gazes back. He doesn’t.

  I let out a long, drawn-out breath and tuck the pebble into my pocket, making my way back into my house. I slam the door shut behind me, hoping it can keep whatever’s trying to come in out.

  However, the moment I set foot on my carpet, I stop.