Three weeks have passed since my visitor has come by. I’ve been counting the days ever since. I’m beginning to think it was all a dream and my mind was playing tricks on me. Honestly, it's all I can think about. There isn't much else to do around here besides cook and clean. There are no children to care for, John is at work from the early morning to the late evening, so the only thing to occupy my time is to draw, clean, and think.

And for some reason, I cannot erase that man out of my head. Almost as if he’s been my imaginary friend following me around the house as I piddle around with house work. I’ve even drawn him in my sketchbook. I finally grew the courage to add him in the other night, and now I can’t wait to get my hands on the book to look at him some more. The only tangible evidence I have of him.

I know I vowed for better or for worse, but I honestly pictured my life being better than this. I thought he would be better for me. It's wrong to fantasize about another man, especially one that looked ready to rip me in half with his bare hands. But I can't help it. I’ve always had a wild imagination.

Blame it on the cartoons I watched growing up or the astounding loneliness of my childhood. But lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like to be wanted, craved even. Wondering if the masked stranger feels the same way I do.

There is something about him that has me in an absolute chokehold and I need to know more. It's the only thing that’s gotten me through these last few weeks. I’ve caught myself staring out the window longingly, waiting for him to appear with his white mask out of the woodline.

Does he intend on coming back? If he does, will he rescue me from this Hell that I’ve survived the last six years? Or will he kills us both?

Maybe he was right, maybe I am a curious mouse?

I’m curious about him, that is for certain. His presence that night shook me to my core. Rousing me from my deep slumber that I've been in since as long as I can recall. I’ve been in a dream-like state since childhood. Just flowing through the motions, walking on eggshells most of my life.

Once I laid eyes on him it's like the persistent humming in my ears has disappeared and I’m finally becoming aware of my life around me. Now that I’m awake, I’m not sure how much longer I can live like this.

I want to venture out past the meadow, away from this prison in search of the stranger. I’m aware how unsafe that might be, but honestly I didn't notice a weapon on him. So maybe he wasn't here with ill intent?

Who am I kidding, he was splattered in blood and hiding his identity. He was probably here to rob the house and made eye contact with me instead. Probably thinking he could make a game out of it while robbing us blind and taking what he wanted from me in the process.

So why do I want to see him again so badly? It's not like he’s been back to see me since then.

There has to be something wrong with me. A screw that’s loosened with each beating I’ve endured over the years. Leaving me broken and twisted in search of anyone who will provide me a sliver of grace. Even if it's someone potentially dangerous.

I twirl the length of my french braid longingly, eyes fixated on the empty field ahead through the same window I first spotted him in. There is no movement, no inkling of a being beyond the tree line. The sun is setting, leaving a fiery red across the clouds in its wake. My heart sinks down into my stomach when I hear the familiar sound of tires crunching against the gravel driveway, then begins to thump on overdrive when I realize I haven't fixed dinner.

I haven't even started on it.

Like a caged tiger that’s been released into the wild, I ravage through the cupboards in search of something, anything that will be quick enough to make it look like I started cooking already. Spam stares me right in the face and as much as I hate the stuff, John never complains so I rip the lid off and slide it out of the can. It makes a wet suction noise that causes me to gag, ignoring the slimy substance that coats the processed meat as it stares back at me on the cutting board.

“You just wake up or something?” John asks, unusually chipper.

“I got carried away cleaning and lost track of time I guess.” I lie, slicing the meat thinly as the frying pan heats beside me.

He leans in to kiss me on the cheek, a good indication that he hooked up with another girl while ‘at work’. The scent of Chanel no.5 wafts into my nose, a scent that indicates infidelity to me because whoever he sleeps with must fucking drench themselves in it. It stinks.

He never arrives in a good mood unless he slept with someone else the same day. I pull away from his kiss, skin crawling with the thought of his mouth being on another woman.

“You know how I love Spam.” He coos, rubbing my shoulder roughly. It hurts more than brings pleasure.

“Mhmm,” I hum. Not wanting to provoke anything that could squander his good mood.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“I’ll be upstairs in the shower, make me a plate when you’re done.” He half orders before walking away.

When do I not make you a plate, asshole?

My eyes roll upward then lock on another set of eyes, fantastically green and practically glowing, staring right at me through the window in front of me. I jump back, startled at first but my heart skips a beat. We do our same dance as before, standing completely still and staring into one another's souls.

The sun is setting behind him, leaving this beautiful orange and lava red glow behind his giant body. My mouth dries, anxiety riddling my nerves as I realize that this man wasn't just a figment of my imagination. He’s a real, live person that has come by my house twice. Possibly more than that.

And for some reason I’m enamored with him. A complete stranger.

He’s the spark that my life has been missing. The light at the end of a dark tunnel. The adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I release a breath I didn't know I was holding, shoulders relaxing some. His head tilts slowly, playfully. Bringing his finger to his nose again he slowly signs the word ‘mouse’ and my cheeks flush.

His presence has melted my feet to the floor. The feeling of cement bricks tied around my ankles hold my body in place, preventing me from running away, not that I want to. My body moves without permission and leans forward over the sink, hand pressing against the glass timidly with a curious expression. Begging for him to reach through the window and yank me to freedom. Craving tangibility of this stranger who’s turned my world upside down in the course of a few short weeks.

A large hand comes into view, dirty and rust colored from old blood just as before. It presses against the other side of the glass, fingers towering over mine almost as if they could swallow my hand twice over. I suck in a breath, realizing the size of him and jolt backward. He could easily smash through any window and get inside, so what is he doing back here if not to kill us?

My mind races with thoughts of what those hands could do. What they’ve already done. And I begin to wonder what their plans are for me when blood rushes to my cheeks. There’s humor in his eyes, as if he’s smiling under the mask.

My curiosity grows, wondering what his smile might look like when the faucet above turns off. My attention turns to behind me, double checking that John did not develop super speed and run down the stairs.

Whipping my head back around I notice the stranger looking up as well. The humor has left his eyes, and all that's left is heated anger. Or something close to it. His body language is tense, proving that the semi-relaxed moment we shared is over.

My expression saddens, realizing our time has been cut painfully short. I stare down at the uncooked meat, pan smoking behind me as it anticipates something to cook. The desire to play house with a man that mistreats me is quickly dwindling, and I’m ready to run out of the house and toss my bets on a complete stranger. Deranged, I know. But sometimes it feels like anything is better than this.

“I thought I told you to make me a plate?” John huffs, snapping me out of my dreams.

My eyes jump up to the window, realizing my visitor is gone. I feel my heart sink, the painful reality beginning to seep in and how awful this night is about to be now that I’ve wasted precious time. I should have been cooking his meal rather than eye-balling a masked psychopath.

He grabs me by my braid, yanking me backward and pressing his mouth to my ear. A signature move that he always performs before harming me. “You would’nt be fucking around on me would you?” he hisses against the flesh of my ear.

I shake my head frantically, “No, John.” I whimper.

“You’ve been real spacey lately. Almost like someone else has been on your mind.” He teases viciously. He wraps his fist around my braid tighter like it's a rope, pulling aggressively against my scalp and I cry out in pain against my will.

I know how he gets when he hears me in pain. I can feel his pleasure hardening against my back the moment the sound escapes my lips. I tighten them together, refusing to let any other sounds escape me. But he doesn't relent.

He slams my head down on the metal sink, forehead splitting open immediately. I hear a crunch and my eyes roll back, realizing it's too late to try and talk him down from this high. He’s ready to break me, and my only hope disappeared from the window.

Warm liquid pools down my face and into my mouth as I pant, disoriented from the blow. My legs tremble beneath me, begging to run but too weak to try. Tears spill over my cheeks from the pain pulsating inside my skull but I don't dare make a sound. I grit my teeth and brace myself for the next blow.

He throws me down on the ceramic tile floor and I land face first, cooling my cheek and bringing some relief to my wound. I feel his hands fight with my underwear, yanking them down to my knees. His towel lands beside me, laying lifeless just as I do on the floor and I brace myself for what's about to happen.

I hate being here, I hate being alive.

Please come back, take me with you.

I force my eyes as far to the left as they will go to see if I can find my visitor standing by the glass doors but there’s nothing but darkness. Even if he was there, I don't think I could see him from here. I squint them closed, begging to be released from this hell I’ve found myself in when a loud bang startles us both.

The sound came from the front door. Loud and abrupt like someone threw their body against it. My nerves settle, praying it's the masked man and he’s come to save me. John slowly climbs to a stand, snatching the towel from beside me and leaving me on the floor with my underwear around my knees.

Part of me is thankful for the interruption while the other is itching to know who or what caused the sound. Either way, I can't seem to fight my way to a stand. My arms push against the floor, shaking with weakness as blood strings from my lips and connects to the floor. Leaving a brightly colored stain beneath my parted lips as it continues to pool down to the tile.

Eyes hazed over with pain and confusion, I look over my shoulder toward the sliding glass doors leading to the back porch and smile when I see my masked visitor standing there, propped against the old railing with his arms crossed over his chest. I perch myself onto my haunches, which is about as much as I can rise from the floor when I hear John approach the front door.

I feel a smile creep across my lips, relief washing over me as I realize this is the end. Finally, I’ll be free.