Stalked By A Serial Killer

Chapter Nineteen: When You're Ready Come and Get It

Chapter Nineteen: "When You're Ready Come And Get It."

Two weeks later

I'VE BARELY EVEN TALKED to Tyler since that one night I kicked him out.

He's sent texts and calls saying he's just checking in and wants to know if I'm okay, which I'd answer and respond with 'I'm fine' then the phone hangs up on both ends. But I haven't heard from him this past week. At all. No calls or texts. I've checked my email and voicemail, both coming up with nothing I was looking forward to.

He knows I needed space and time to cope and fix myself, and I'm not going to lie, I've been content with it. But maybe he took my warning and is actually giving me space. I have a bad feeling about this, this time.

Of course the threats are still rolling in. In fact, last nights had me sitting at the edge of my bed with one of my Dad's guns in my hand, pointed at my door and window all night. Nothing happened, and I was pissed. I wanted everything to just happen all at once and get done and over with so I could either 1) die, or 2) move on.

*Flashback to the night before*

I grabbed the popcorn box from the pantry and took one out of its packages. The flavour was Salt and Butter, which was probably my ultimate favourite popcorn flavour that was prepackaged and not from Kernels.

Placing it into the microwave, I went to my fridge to grab some juice and brought it all with me upstairs to my room on a tray.

Tonight was Friday night; a night Tyler and I were always together watching Criminal Minds marathons and gaining five pounds throughout the night. It was odd without him last week, and lonely.

I got tired of watching the show two episodes in, and by then it was already midnight, so I decided to hit the sack.

Nuzzling into my comforter, I shut out my lights with a clap to my hands and begin to drift to sleep.

Until my phone buzzed.

I nervously snatched my phone off my dresser, hoping it's Tyler. Not even bothering to read the ID.

I swiped 'accept' and nervously said into the phone, "Hello?"

Nothing was said on the other line for several seconds. "We're coming." Was said through the speaker, and hung up. Hesitant, I pulled my phone from my ear and read the caller ID through my call log.

Unknown Number.

They're coming? Tonight? Are they serious? Is this some joke again? But last time I checked, they never joked. Everything that was a joke to them was havoc for me.

I jumped from my bed and ran to my Dad's room. Typing in a code, the closet wall opened to an indoor stash of metal and revealed a bunch of artillery and police guns. Grabbing his SIG Sauer P226, I ran back to my room, locking the door behind me and keeping my back against the headboard. I need to be fast, expectant, and quick. There is no room for error, tonight. Not when I'm wanted to a hitman.

I was waiting twelve hours since I received that message, and I've forever been exhausted since.

When morning came, I gave up on protecting myself from my stalker. I had no strength left, and the only way of protecting myself in the future was sleep.

I collapsed in my bed with the gun nuzzled to my chest and sleep overcoming my body that hasn't slept for twenty nine hours.

*Present*