Bounty Hunter

Zinnia

The following day, I dragged myself to work. After dallying in bed the entire day, too lazy to carry along with my daily activities due to thoughts of my stalker residing freely in my head. By evening, I decided I couldn’t keep dragging along. I quickly showered and wore an outfit appropriate for my mood.

At work, I barely smiled, barely returned the flirty remarks from clients. I didn’t care that my mood might affect how much they tipped. And my mood only worsen whenever I looked in the corner of the room and my stalker was nowhere to be found.

The days after that dragged on. My mood hadn’t gotten better. If anything, it got worse, mostly because I hadn’t heard from my stalker in over four days. Four whole bloody days since the bastard pinned me against my wall, fucked me with his hands then walked out on me.

I should be happy, like any other girl, that she was finally free. But I wasn’t. Perhaps it was knowing that his silence could only mean his return would be more brutal and that made me antsy. Or maybe I was just lying to myself and I feared his silence meant he was bored with me and decided to move on to the next victim.

And why that made me gloomy was beyond my fucking comprehension.

I stood outside Brookside Club in the early hours of Sunday morning, waiting to hail a cab. It was cold and the hoodie I threw over my crop top did nothing to shield me from the cold breeze slapping against my body.

I felt Alex’s arm over my shoulders. “Come on, I’ll drive you home,” she murmured.

I unfolded my arms, getting ready to decline her offer, but she was already pulling me towards her car.

“I am not taking no for an answer.” I sighed and allowed her to drag me.

Alex drives an Audi A5. It almost came as a surprise to me, but then I remembered she comes from a wealthy background. I put my seatbelt on and rested my head against the window.

We rode in silence. Barely minutes on the way, I feel Alex’s gaze digging into my skin. I could tell she had something on her mind, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, she didn’t. And I was so fucking thankful for that.

I noticed Alex drove past my bloc and it was only then that I realised she was probably imposing on me, a sleepover in her apartment. Again, I was thankful for that.

We were gradually pulling into the fancy side of Brookside, where each townhouse and bungalow looked identical, with only the gardens and paintings differentiating them from each other.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

The engine died in front of a bungalow. Alex quietly took off her seatbelt and followed suit, then I grabbed my backpack and followed her up the pavement leading to the doorstep.

She fished out her key and opened the door, granting me the courtesy to walk in first. The smell of citrus engulfed my nostrils as I took in her apartment. It was everything I imagined Alex’s apartment would look like. It was maximally decorated, matching her bubbly personality, but the elegant paintings on the wall matched her exquisite side.

I’m not a big fan of paintings, but I couldn’t help but admire the black and white painting of the Eiffel Tower, and the silhouette of a woman carved with flowery outline. Another was a picture of a flower, but after a thorough look, I realised it was no ordinary flower.

Alex stood next to me, her hand on my shoulder.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“My ex painted that. She says she’d been to Paris once and fell in love with it. She wanted to share her favourite city with me. Too bad, she turned out to be a lying cheating bitch,”

Ouch. I could sense the bitterness in her voice.

“There’s a bedroom down the hallway, first door to your left. Its well equipped,” she explained and I nodded.

I followed her instructions and soon, I was stripping off my work clothes and walking into the shower.

I emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later, dressed in grey sleeping shorts and an oversized T-shirt, with black socks on. I hadn’t realised how tense I had been these past days until the warm water burned my skin, subsequently releasing the tension in my muscles.

I walked back into the living room to find Alex curled up on her couch, zapping through channels until she sighed and switched to Netflix.

“Hey,” I greeted, joining her on the couch.

“Hey, feel better?” she tilted her head quizzically and I nodded.

The seconds that passed were spent in silence, with Alex intensely staring at me.

“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on with you? I know it has nothing to do with lack of sleep,”

I sighed and shrugged. “Come on, Zinnia. Let me be there for you. There’s only so much you can bottle in before you finally explode,”

I didn’t know what to say, or how to even begin explaining the fucked up things happening in my mind. I’ve never had to confide in someone before. I’ve never had the kind of friendship Alex was so generously offering to me on a platter of gold, and so, I didn’t know what to make of it.

But she was right. There was only so much I could keep in before I finally exploded. And with that, I adjusted myself on the couch, sitting Indian style. I began explaining everything to Alex, from when we first went shopping and I received the weird message, then returned home to find a box in my room, his messages, the hand, every darn thing.

Not once did I meet Alex’s gaze. The shame and the fear of being judged especially as I expressed my disappointment to him ghosting me was too much for me to bear.

When I finished talking, Alex sighed and then ruffled her hands through her hair.

“So, if I understand correctly, the man from the club has been stalking you. He sent you weird-ass gifts, fucked you, then ghosted you?” she asked, and I nodded.

“Well damn. I don’t know about you, but I need something strong to help me process all this,”

My eyes followed Alex as she walked to her bar, and took out a bottle of scotch as well as two glasses.

My phone vibrated making the hairs on my body stand on ends.

It’s him. I know it’s him.

With butterflies doing summersaults in my stomach, I picked up my phone.

‘Missed me, little flower? Have Alex pour a glass for me too’

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