You Own Me (Owned 1)

But it was.

Dean was there tonight. I had seen him. Mentally ill or not, he had been fucking there. The whole time. Watching me. I wasn't safe.

When I woke up, I considered filing a police report; however, the morning sun was bright, and I felt safer. Still, I knew the feeling of safety would be short lived. Dean was out there lurking and waiting for me. He was waiting for the perfect moment to strike and do God knows what to me. It wasn’t a pretty notion.

Let’s be real, a police report wouldn’t help me. That flimsy piece of paper was about as useful to me as an umbrella against a crashing meteor. I needed Dean behind bars or institutionalized. I need him away from me. I didn’t need an entire room full of files on Dean, which, at this rate, was what was going to happen. I’d already gone to the police once; and they told me to come back when I was dead—well, not in so many words, but close.

I felt stupidly helpless. All I could do was sit in my apartment and think. Think about my fate, think about my zero options, and think about how I had gotten here. Naturally, my mind wandered to Vic.

Vic had been at the party last night. True, I hadn’t seen him with my eyes, but I had felt him, smelled him, been held by him. How did a landlord received an invitation to the most prestigious party in Santa Barbara? I don’t know. The more I learn about Vic, the more I realize he’s not just a landlord. Hell, he’s not just a man. He’s so much more. He’s Vic Wall. Infuriating, enigmatic, and captivating.

I hate him.

I love him.

I really fucking love him.

I don’t want him in my life right now, but I need him. I’ve never known a person who enthralls me so much. That’s the word: thrall. I’m in his thrall. I can’t stop thinking about him. Despite the fact that I was the one to put the moratorium on our friendship, or fuckship, whatever it was, I still can’t stop thinking about him.

Vic is in my dreams. He’s in my reality. He’s in my head when I brush my teeth, and he’s in my mind when I put a potato in the microwave. I can’t stop thinking about him. I Google him at least twice a day, hoping there’s something concrete I can read about him. There’s nothing, of course. He’s a mystery.

That’s not why I love him, though. I’m not in love with the mystery. I’m in love with the security he wraps around me. I’m in love with the fact that every time we’re together I smile. I’m in love with the fact that he doesn’t bullshit, even if it hurts my feelings. He’s the only man I’ve met, nay, person who could tell me I’m stupid and I wouldn’t argue. Every brazen word he says is thought-out and articulate. He isn’t a dick for the sake of being a dick; he’s a dick because he says the truth.

Still, he would never call me stupid. In fact, sometimes he’s the only one who says I’m smart. Brilliant. Intelligent. All adjectives Vic has used to describe me. He doesn’t compliment me to boost my ego; he just says what he believes is true. And he makes me believe it’s true.

I love him.

None of that matters. My love, my reasons for love, and my dreams of us; because he doesn’t love me. Vic has made that perfectly clear. Which is what I should want, right? If we were to consider the pros and cons of a romantic relationship between me and Vic, the cons would win out.

The cons: I’m only in Santa Barbara until the Dean situation dies out. Oh yeah, Dean; he’s a pretty big negative. Not to mention that Vic and I don’t know much about each other; we had built our foundation with blindfolds on.

Hmmm, I can only think of one pro, and it’s a big pro: Vic is my other half. It’s like I was wandering around missing a big chunk of my soul, and then I stumbled upon the other part of the puzzle. How am I supposed to walk away from that? Knowing my other half exists, how am I supposed to keep living as half of a whole? Especially when the answer to my completeness is literally living in my building?

I don’t know. I’ve been saying “I don’t know” a lot since Vic. I’ve never felt so empty and so uncertain before.

Someone knocked at my door. I ignored it; it was early evening so it was too late for the delivery man, and I wasn’t interested in any neighborly visitors. Dean was closing in, so I’d decided the smartest thing to do was to not answer random knocks.

I’d also decided it was smart to not leave my apartment. Did I mention I had the day off? Well, I did call in sick this morning, but that’s close enough. Every now and then, my rational side takes over and so I decided my life is more important than a stupid job that I had worked irrationally hard to achieve. So, yeah, I’m stuck in my apartment until Dean gets tired of chasing me or I become nothing save dust and bones.

My money is on dust and bones.

The knocking at my door increased in pace and volume. My heart rate started to speed up as well. I reached for my smartphone, ready to dial 911. This could be it.

The pounding at my door stopped, but in its place I could hear muffled voices. I went to the door, trying to hear the voices. Maybe it was Zoe. Maybe it was delivery food gone to the wrong place (score!).

“Do it!” I heard a male voice say.

Dean.

My intestines turned to ice. I couldn’t move. Was this the flight or fight instinct everyone talked about? If so, it was poorly named; they should call it stand-in-one-spot-and-look-like-an-idiot.

“No

!” I recognized that voice instantly: Zoe! I opened my door without hesitation.

Dean had Zoe and it was all my fault.

Zoe’s eyes bulged when she saw me. She was squirming in Dean’s grasp. Instinctually, I reached for her.