Stalked By A Serial Killer

Chapter Fifty-Five: Are You Freaking Kidding Me?

Last chapter before the epilogue!

Chapter Fifty-Four: "Are You Freaking Kidding Me?"

MEGAN AND I exchange worried glances as we're all gathered around the living room. We try talking through reading each other's mouths, but that's proven difficult so I sigh.

'We need to tell them now.'

She nods, a worried look now etching on her face.

"Come with me." I say to Megan, and she nods again, Bryce dropping his arm confusedly and she follows me up the stairs. "Help me wash this off."

"Are you sure about this?" She asks, grabbing a makeup remover wipe.

"Yeah, you're right, we need to tell them."

"We can always tell them when we get home," she says, applying the cool cloth to my hidden bruises. "We're leaving in a few hours."

"I know," I sigh heavily. "But the sooner we prolong it, the more they'll be upset."

"I suppose." She frowns.

"Ow!" I yelp out as she applies too much pressure.

"I'm so sorry," she says, immediately pulling her hand away.

"No, no, just hurry up, I can handle it." I say, biting my lip to hold in the pain. They're very tender, and it hurts a lot, especially when it's all at my windpipe. Out of all the years I've been abused, I've never once been strangled and I have to admit, the bruises that come with it hurt a lot–just not as bad as the wooden spoon I've received before. I think this comes in second or third place.

The guy has a freaking giants hands; he covered most of my throat.

A few minutes later, all of the makeup is removed and I watch her eyes widen greatly. Her hands move up to her mouth to stifle a gasp, and I frown at her shock.

Thankfully she wasn't there to see me when I emerged from the warehouse.

I turn around to look in the mirror to see the damage, and I grow angry and my eyes widen when I see that somehow, the bruises have darkened in colour. It didn't feel like Xavier squeezed that hard, but apparently I'm wrong. These are borderline plum purple.

"Oh my God," she whispers, "I'm so sorry. I should have done something."

I shake my head stiffly, and turn to face her. I can't even stand looking at these marks. "No, you shouldn't have. I knew that man, Megan. He had bad intentions, and he wouldn't have gone easy on you. He would have killed you or taken you hostage. It's good you didn't do anything."

"But. . ." She stutters. "But I could have helped. You wouldn't have hand marks on you if I interfered."

"I would have been hurt either way, Meg. But you or me or both of us could be dead if you did." I explain softly. "Remember about the story of the warehouse?" She nods. "Well, it was a lot worse than this tiny little mark. This is nothing compared to that."

"It's not a tiny mark." She mumbles.

"Hey, it's fine." I smile reassuringly. "It's over, okay? We're both alive, Meg. That's all that matters."

"But your dad is still out there."

"I know," I say sadly. "But you heard me on the phone."

"You'll really kill your father?" She asks.

"I don't want to kill anyone," I say in truth. "But he's tried to kill me on more than one occasion. He. . . he killed the woman who helped raised me. He killed a little girl, Megan, and he won't stop until he gets what he wants. He wants me, and he wants me dead."