My vision swims. A pink envelope sits on the floor in front of it, clearly having been pushed under my door. Someone is out there. With slow movements, ones hindered by fear and uncooperative limbs, I edge over to the door and pick up the letter. My hands shake. I press my ear to the door first but I can’t hear anything. Then I brave a peek out of the peephole. A shadow darts across the wall, as if someone is skulking away and I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to prevent a squeak escaping.
I stand there with my eye pressed to the peephole for a while but don’t see anything more. Finally summoning the courage to look at the envelope, I press my back to the door and turn it over. My name in the same careful writing that was on the flower cards. The ripping of the letter as I open it seems insanely loud to my ears. Can whoever delivered it hear me? Are they still out there somewhere?
I draw out the letter and a strong sweet scent hits me. The paper is perfumed. That makes this even more frightening. Like maybe this person bought the paper especially for me. Who owns scented writing paper in this day and age? The words on it make my vision blur. The letter and envelope drop from my finger before I even realize I’ve let them go and I scrabble for my phone on the kitchen side.
It takes me several tries to find Hunter’s name in my contacts even though I have very few in there. I press call and hold my breath until the ringing stops and I hear a click.
“Jess?”
“Hunter, I need you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone… someone is outside my apartment,” I whisper.
“Stay there. I’m coming over. Don’t answer the door to anyone apart from me.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be about thirty minutes. I’ll try to be quicker.”
He hangs up and I listen to the dial tone for a while, still frozen. Hunter is coming though. I’m not sure when I became so reliant on him but knowing he is on his way soothes my racing pulse a little.
Footsteps again and the pounding in my chest picks up. I yank open a kitchen drawer and pull out a large knife. Back pressed against the door, I clutch the knife and wait. My knees tremble at the thought of someone out there, waiting for me. Why are they trying to torment me? Could Hunter have been right? Someone wants to hurt me?
The word whore plays over and over in my mind. Is this to do with my past? I will forever regret my desperate decision to take part in porn films. The only time I don’t feel like a fraud or dirty or a whore is in Hunter’s arms. No wonder I couldn’t resist kissing him today. With him, it’s like I’m normal again. I can forget I had sex with strangers for money—not very much money at that. When I was invited to do a shoot, I thought it would be big bucks but turns out only the famous porn stars earn a fortune. Half the girls I met worked second jobs or sold themselves on the street.
For most people, doing porn is as close to being a prostitute as you can get without standing on street corners. Perhaps someone has figured me out and wants to teach me the error of my ways. I snort and grip the hand of the knife until it digs into my palms. No need. I figured that out long ago. If it hadn’t been for an empty belly and time on the streets, I never would have even considered doing something like that, but the studio made it all sound so easy. A few shoots and I could earn enough cash to set me up for life. Idiot.
My muscles begin to hurt and my back aches as I wait. I’m not sure how long I’m stood there but it seems too long. What if something has happened to Hunter? Then the thump of boots rings out and I tense, straining to listen. Is it my tormentor or my saviour? And if it’s both, could Hunter end up in trouble? The thump in my chest turns sickening and I feel light headed.
The knock on the door sends my heart into overdrive and I leap away.
“Jess?”
I release the air from my lungs and fling open the door. He steps in quickly and shuts it behind him. Before he has a chance to say anything, I throw my arms about his neck and cling on tight. The knife clatters to the floor. Hunter shushes me and smoothes his hands up and down my back. My pulse slows and my throat loosens.
“What’s going on, princess?”
“There was someone outside my door.” I wave a shaky hand toward it. “They left me a note.”
He releases me carefully, as if I might fall to the floor without his support. He might be right. How did I go from living on the streets and fending for myself to needing someone else so badly? But then I never had someone—what?—stalking me before.
When he pulls open the letter, I wince, bracing myself for his reaction. Maybe he’ll figure me out. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight with someone hanging around outside my door. So much for enjoying just one day of Hunter’s company and sending him on his way. Between the kissing and the fondling and now inviting him into my mess of a life, I’m doing very little to keep him out.
Hunter scuffs a hand across his scruffy chin and ponders the letter. “Whore? What’s that about?”
I shrug. In denial? Perhaps. Scared? Hell, yes. But I can’t uproot myself over some psycho. I pray my life isn’t going to come crumbling down around me.
“An ex?” Something hard glitters in his gaze.
“I don’t date.”
“At all?”
“Not for a long time.”
“You’ve attracted someone’s attention. First gun shots, and now this.”