Bio
Ryan is a writer, editor, and web strategist, living and working in Ottawa, Canada, who graduated with a BA in English and Politics from Trent University in 2002. He enjoys writing fiction, writing poetry, running, and going on long nature walks. Ryan previously published, Events Quarterly, an online magazine which showcased short stories, poetry, articles, interviews, and digital art work from writers and artists around the world. Some of the more notable interviews included Tiffany Thiessen (Saved by the Bell), Steve Alten (NY Times Best Selling Author), and Brad Roberts (Crash Test Dummies). He has worked on social media campaigns, email marketing, and many web sites and online campaigns.
Trigger Warning
This story contains violence, sexual content, and sexual violence.Have you ever felt like someone was watching you? What is that feeling? Do you hear someone off in the distance but not really recognize the sound? Do you smell the faint smell of another person in the air? Do you see movement in the corner of your eye, not really knowing there was anything there? I’m sitting outside the library, which is now closed, waiting for my friend to pick me up, so we can go for drinks. She couldn’t get here soon enough. I feel so creeped out right now, and the lighting is really bad around here.
My phone rings, so I reach into my pocket, and pull it out. I recognize the phone number; it’s my boyfriend.
“Hi Sam. Did you miss me?”
“I missed you so fucking much baby!” he says back to me with a weird tone in his voice.
“Where are you? You sound like you’re in a tin tube or something.”
“Oh. It must be the phone reception,” he says in a very breathy voice.
“Did you just come back from a run?”
“No. I’m just really excited to be talking to you!”
“Oh! I know what you’re doing. You dirty boy.”
“Yeah, I bet you fucking love that don’t you!”
“Maybe I do,” I say in my sexy voice.
“Show me,” he says in a much more authoritative voice than I’m used to.
“Ah, oh ok. Close your eyes, and imagine I’m running my fingers up your legs and kissing your neck.”
“No. Show me. Show your tits,” he says.
I’m trying to stay sexy and in the moment, but he’s being a bit too demanding.
“OK. I’m taking my shirt off, and you can see me, standing in front of you with just my bra on. Do you like that?”
“Take it off,” he demands.
“OK. I’m taking my bra off. You see my breasts exposed. Do you want to touch them?”
“I want to see them. Show me,” he says.
“What?”
“Show me,” he repeats.
“Show you what?”
“Your tits. I actually want to see them,” he says.
“Sam, I’m outside right now.”
“I don’t care. You better show me those tits.”
“You’re so bad.”
“Show me,” he repeats.
“OK, OK dirty boy. You better be a good boy if you want to see these beautiful breasts.”
“No. I’m bad. Now, you better show me,” he says.
“You know Sara is coming to pick me up. What if she sees me with my breasts out?”
“Maybe she’ll suck on your whore tits,” he says.
“Uh, Sam, uh, I don’t like…”
He interrupts with: “you better show me, or I’m going to come get you.”
“What?”
“I see you. I see you right now, sitting there, playing with your hair, trying to talk dirty. Show me.”
“Sam, you naughty naughty boy. Are you watching me?”
“I’m watching you!”
“You’re soooooo bad. How about you come over here, and I’ll show you whatever you want to see.”
“I want to see your whore tits and your slut ass!”
“Sam, I don’t like that. Please don’t use that language.”
“Do you see me?” he asks.
“Is that you?” I ask as someone is walking towards me, but there is no answer. The person is holding a phone to his face, but it doesn’t look like Sam.
“Sam. Someone is walking towards me. I’m getting freaked out. Are you here?”
“Sam’s not here.” I see the man’s lips move as the words are coming through the phone.
“Who are you?”
“I’m the guy who is going to slit your whore throat and watch it bleed while I fuck you in your whore mouth because that’s what dirty whores like you want. Isn’t it?” he asks while pulling out a fisherman’s knife.
“Dude. You fucked up. I’m going to give you one last chance to walk away,” I say, as I see him positioning the knife.
“You stupid fucking whore. This is the part where you beg for your life.”
In a monotone voice I say: “Oh – no – please – don’t – kill – me – I – am – begging – you,” while pulling a stun gun from my pocket, pressing it into him and stunning him to the ground, just before he could get the knife to my neck.
I pick up the knife which is now laying on the ground, and I put it through the hand he was holding it in. I grab his phone and start looking through it. He’s using a number spoofing software to fake my boyfriend’s number.
Sara pulls up, sees what I’ve done, and asks: “how did he find you?”
“I spotted this one a while back. I left my phone open for him at a bar. He hacked it, and I left his hack in place so he could come get me.”
“Oh, Jessica, you’re going to get in trouble one of these days,” Sara says.
“Probably, but today isn’t that day.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you both,” he says while his bloody hand is trembling.
I put the stun gun to him again, and he shakes on the ground. Sara pulls ties from her purse, puts them on his wrists and legs, and we lift him into the trunk of the car. This takes quite some time because he keeps kicking and screaming, then we drop him, stun him, and start all over again. Eventually, many of his muscles remain contracted, which seriously affects his mobility, and we’re able to muster enough strength to get him in, gag him, and close the trunk.
“I love the ties, where did you get those?” I ask.
“Oh, online purchase. I figured we needed to be prepared, especially after what happened last time,” Sara says.