Stalked By A Serial Killer

Chapter Thirty: I Hate You

Chapter Thirty: "I Hate You."

MY HOUSE IS EMPTY.

No Belmont-Grey member in sight, and it's honestly such a huge relief, because I just want to be alone. I throw the stupid cursed black heels in the closet where they'll never be touched again, and lock my door before stomping up to my room. I collapse onto the bed with a pout, and scream into my pillow like my life depended on it; which it does, in a cruel and twisted and worrisome way. Once I'm done my little fit, I let out another huff and drag myself to my ensuite, throwing the dress to the hamper without a look back, and warming myself into the heat of the shower.

I ignore Borealis' cries to come into the bathroom, and continue warming myself up under the heat.

I unconsciously trace along all the visible scars I can see, most commonly trailing my fingers along the big one that's all across my stomach. It took me a while to realize that the stitches I was given were ones that were dissolvable. Whether the uncertified S.S. doctor was aware of that, I don't know, but I panicked a little when I seen them there one day and gone the next.

I finish up my long shower, and throw on one of Tyler's shirts. I may be mad at him, but the fact that I won't be falling asleep with him makes me uncomfortable and it's his heat and comfortability that helps me fall asleep at night. Bo is stepping on my heels with every move, but it doesn't bother me right now.

Once dressed, I throw my hair up in a bun, rub Bo's belly for a few seconds, and make my way downstairs to look for some binge-eating food worthy candidates to help me calm down. The shower worked wonders for me, and the only thing it's done is made me less tense and exhausted, even though I can stay up for hours with no problem.

I check the clock on our big wall in the living room, and see that it's around two in the morning. How long was I in the shower? Or did we actually leave the house at eleven or midnight? Or was I there a lot longer than the hour minutes I thought?

I don't see anything I want, but the Nutella, strawberries and Neapolitan ice cream I found sounds convincing. I grab all three of them, and grab the house phone off its charger in the kitchen. I dial the familiar number of Little Caesar's, and order a large half-pepperoni-half-cheese pizza. Maybe this will make the hangover not be as bad if I eat it all.

When I hear my doorbell ring almost an hour later, I grab my wallet and take out a $30 bill. I open the door and I'm flooded with the smell of greasy food. I don't say anything as I hand the young delivery guy the money, give him a polite smile as I stare at my pizza, and tell him, "Keep the change."

"Thanks Morgan!" He says.

Should I have looked at the delivery guy? Who's voice do I know that from? Oh no, please don't tell me. . .

I look up slowly, and sadly, I'm face to face with Matthew. Does this kid work everywhere that I order delivery to? God, this is so creepy. "Matthew, h-hi. You work at Little Caesars now?"

"I've been working here for a while on the night shift."

"Right," I say, stretching the word. "Well, um, thanks for the. . . pizza, Matthew."

I begin to back away, but he suddenly grabs hold of the door. Try anything and I swear. . . "I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime."

I give him a nervous smile. "Um, I'm not sure if you remember the conversation Tyler and you had that one time. . ."

"The one where you have a boyfriend? I thought you guys would have been done." He points out, and gives me a large smile.

"Well, you thought wrong." I tell him, moving my hands around the bottom of the box because it's starting to burn my palms.