“What’s going on, Kassia?” Jason marched up to me, grabbed my arm and looked right into my eyes.
“It’s nothing. So how about that beer?” I moved around him, went into my fridge, and took out a beer Darios had left.
Without asking, Jason took the other box that I had left on my counter and opened it, finding the mp3 player and the dead flower. He took the piece of paper out and read it.
“Kassia! What the fuck is going on?” he roared.
“Are you serious? You go through my things and ask me what’s going on? I don’t have time for this! I have a deadline,” I fired back. The fear was beginning to take over me.
“A deadline?” he repeated. “Then why did you go out with me today?” he yelled.
“Because you asked me,” I retorted. He lowered his head, putting his hands on his hips.
“I shouldn’t have bothered you,” he bit out.
“Why did you?” If I asked him, maybe he’d tell me what I wanted to hear. He looked at me for what seemed like forever.
“It’s my birthday,” he said quietly. “I don’t have much family and I wanted to go to Coney Island with you.” All the air inside me escaped.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I nearly sobbed.
“It’s not a big deal. It’s actually the first time I celebrated it. Usually, I work and don’t mention anything to anyone.”
I put the beer down on the counter and inched closer to him. I took him in my arms and held on tight.
“Happy birthday, Jason! And thank you for wanting to spend your birthday with me.” I caressed his back as I held him close. He finally reached up his arms and hugged me back. His one arm wrapped around my waist while his other cradled my head.
The phone rang again, but neither of us wanted to let go. The machine caught it and this time it was the Violent Femmes’ “Prove My Love.” Jason let go of me and peered in my eyes.
“If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I'm going to make your life a living hell,” he threatened me.
“It’s…”
He inched closer. “Don’t you say it’s nothing!” he warned.
“I got that package a few days ago and now this package.” I pointed to the one I had left on the counter. “And now the messages. I honestly don’t know what’s going on. I haven’t had anything happen since I got the first package,” I admitted. He then stepped away from me.
“You’re kidding me, right?” he asked.
“Look, most of this crazy shit gets delivered at the publishing house, but some of my fans do end up finding out where I live and send me stuff here. Even though I make sure everything is privatized. I still can’t control what some fans will do.” He began pacing as I was explaining.
“So, you didn’t see the need to call me and tell me about this?” he seethed.
“Call you? It’s not like it’s the first time I got creepy shit. It is, however, the first time I got these kinds of phone calls. I’ll just cancel my line. It’s not like I use it anyways.” I pretended I wasn’t scared.
“This fan knows where you live, Kassia. That’s not okay,” he hissed.
“Well, it will have to be because I'm not going to leave my home for whoever is doing this.”
He looked at me, dumbfounded.
“Then I'm not leaving tonight,” he barked.
“Jason!” I yelled.
“Either way, girl, I'm staying so you can yell and scream all you want. But I'm not leaving you on your own with some crazy fucker calling you and leaving packages!” he roared.
He then passed me and picked up the beer I had left on the counter and sat himself on my couch.
“You better get your writing done, because if this gets any worse, you’re coming home with me,” he said bluntly.
I had no choice but to get to my writing. The man was impossible, but I was happy he had stayed. As I wrote, Jason called a few of his SWAT team members and asked to get someone to trace the numbers, which were calling me. He then unplugged my phone. He even opened up the other package and found a locket with my picture in it and another dead flower. I could hear him hiss and growl to himself as he sat, patiently waiting for me to be finished. It wasn’t easy, but I got my work done in a few hours and emailed it to Tiff. I texted her and she replied with an annoyed emoji.
“You can go now. I'm done,” I said meekly.
“What part of I'm not leaving, don’t you understand?” he gritted out. I sighed heavily and gave up.
“Fine!”
I marched up the spiral staircase and made my way to my linen closet, where I took out a blanket and a pillow. I walked over to the edge of the railing and threw it at him.