…The feeling of not being secure anywhere in the world. She knew he would find her, she just knew it. Everything she did, every time she breathed...he was watching her every move. No matter where she was, no matter where she hid, he knew all of her security information. He could even steal her identity if he wanted to. She never ceased to be frightened every night he snuck into her home. She locked her door…he broke through…She boarded her windows…he broke through…she slapped him…he kept hurting her. The never ending amount of pain she felt after he was done with her and the day after was too much for her to bear. She wished so hard that someone, an angel maybe, would come and save her from this earthly torment. His voice moaning in her ear at the sound of her sobs made her cry even louder so that maybe, possibly someone would hear her. But, no; nobody listened, nobody listened.
As Psychologist looked at her with a piercing glare, she still didn’t say anything. Thoughts ran through her mind. She couldn’t say anything; he would find a way to hurt her! She heard his shouts in her head; “Stay quiet!’ ‘It doesn’t matter where you are, you worthless piece of crap!’ ‘You can’t hide!’ ‘Why don’t you ever listen?!’ ‘I OWN YOU.’” While thoughts screamed, “Help! Someone has to be able to find him…Please don’t hurt me! Find the will to trust someone...find it,” Psychologist turned to look at her left wrist to check time. Grace looked at the clock on the wall that read 1:45 P.M. and then back at her hands in her lap. “All right, that’s enough. I’ll see you next week. Have a nice day, Hilary.”
“D-don’t call me that...” She stumbled over her words.
Psychologist started, “Excuse me?”
“Don’t ever call me that again; ever. M-my name is Grace.” She said hastily.
“Right. Sorry.” Said Psychologist.
Grace stood up and rushed out of the room to the exit in the lobby. She told Psychologist not to call her that because that is what he called her. She used to love her name, “Hilary”, given to her by her loving parents, although they were gone now, she knew they loved her with all their heart. She ran as fast as she could, not watching for other cars, to get to her car in case he was there to catch her. He made her drive the old, beat up thing because it had a tracking device in it so that if she ever tried to get away from him he could track her, could find her, could hurt her, would hurt her.
She sat; sobbing with her hands on the steering wheel...this was enough. She was 20 years old and didn’t deserve this hurt. She turned the key, dried her face on her old “A Day to Remember” t-shirt and accelerated forward.