"Hardly." He gives me a disappointed look, and I can just imagine him adding 'likes cats' to the list of cons he has for me in his head. "Come on now, Georgina. We don't want to miss our reservation."

I nod, grabbing a light jacket and locking the doors behind us as we leave the apartment. I feel the prickle of eyes on the nape of my neck again as I walk with Andrew down the street. As if somebody's watching me. A quick glance over my shoulder doesn't reveal a thing – the street is empty save for a mom pushing a baby carriage a little behind us. It's just my imagination playing tricks on me.

We drive to the restaurant separately at my request. I don’t want to be stuck with him on the way back if things go south. Andrew seems displeased but he says nothing.

His hand finds its way to the small of my back as we walk up to the building. I shift uncomfortably beneath the weight of his touch, but he doesn't move it, and I feel too nervous to ask him to stop touching me. I remind myself he doesn't mean me any harm, but still breathe out in relief when we arrive at the restaurant and are seated across from each other at the tiny table covered with a checkered tablecloth.

The waiter arrives with the menu, but Andrew brushes him off, ordering for the both of us. I knit my brows together when he does it, not liking how he took the liberty to get me food. What if I had an allergy, or didn't eat certain foods? He never checked with me, and it's hard for me to fight off the feeling of annoyance.

He orders our wine too, red, even though I prefer white, and I sulk through the evening as he goes on about his medical achievements. The food is delicious – not something I would've picked for myself, but still yummy, and it's a small reprieve to the evening. Somehow, we manage to go through the entire bottle of red, and I decide to stop with my third glass. I never drink, and the booze has gone straight to my head, fraying my nerves.

The evening is pleasant enough, but I already know I won't go on a second date with Andrew. There's just no chemistry there, and I don't casually sleep with men, either, so I don't really see a point in us continuing this.

It seems Andrew doesn't feel the same way, though. He keeps reaching for my knee under the table, and I feign ignorance, carefully maneuvering my body so we never touch for longer than a couple of seconds. When the bill arrives, he gallantly offers to pay, though his expectant look only softens when I say I'd like to pay for my share. I don't feel comfortable making him pay for me since I won't go out with him again, and even though it makes me cringe because of the exorbitant price, I count out the bills to cover my half of the dinner and hand them to him.

I only realize just how tipsy I am when we get up to leave. My knees threaten to buckle. That third glass of wine was a step too far, and I'm regretting it as Andrew slips my jacket on my shoulders and we leave the restaurant. We walk through the parking lot and I start to find the whole situation ridiculous, giggling softly when we nearly crash into one another.

There's a moment of camaraderie when a smile passes between us, but Andrew must mistake it for me wanting more, because before I know it, he's caged my body beneath his against a car.

"I knew you wanted me," he mutters against my cheek as I awkwardly twist my head away from him. "It was all over your face."

"I'm sorry, Andrew, I –"

"No more excuses." His tone is demanding, and he starts to feel me up, making me cringe as his hand slips between my legs and fight its way to my crotch. I resist him, trying to make it clear I don't want this, but he disregards the situation completely. "You nurses are all the same. Put a title in front of a man's name, and you're putty in their hands."

I couldn't give two shits about him being a doctor, but I have a feeling telling him as much will only make him angrier. Instead, I grab his hands and try to pry them off my body, but he overpowers me easily, laughing in my face.

"Andrew, please stop."

My voice is firm and collected, though there's a tremble in it, and I do my best to hide it as I slip away from his touch. But he keeps grabbing at me, his hand brushing against my tits, against my crotch. I want to kill him, but he would easily overpower me.

He presses himself against me, his hands rough as he feels me up, and when I cry out, he backhands me. I gasp from the unexpected pain, my eyes filling with tears. I struggle against him, but he raises a hand and hits me again.

I’m so shocked I can barely breathe and it seems as if we’re both rendered speechless by his slap.

But he’s not done yet.

He continues trying to grab hold of me while I desperately fight him off.

Then, there’s a loud beep like a car being unlocked, and he's momentarily distracted. I use the moment to slip from his grasp and take off toward my car, rattling with the door handle and praying he’s not fast enough.

I get in the car and lock the door just as Dr. Martin runs up to me. I rev the engine and get the hell out of that parking lot.

I hate what tonight has turned into, but not as much as I hate myself for agreeing to this date in the first place.

The drive home is quiet and sad, and when I walk into my apartment, my cats greet me with loud purrs. I fight the urge to cry. I feel utterly exhausted from the disastrous date, and I'm tempted to run to the deli beneath my apartment for another bottle of wine. But I don't let myself do it. The only reason I’m still sane is because I keep my demons at bay.

Instead, I curl up in bed with Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hudson, their warm bodies a welcome comfort against my shivering form. I shut my eyes tightly and will myself to sleep.

I dream of someone comforting me.

 

 

5

 

 

Jasper

 

 

A doctor.

That’s who she’s wearing the lingerie for. The one she dolled up for and put on perfume.

He seems in his forties, clean cut with golden blond hair and bland blue eyes that appear washed with bleach.

Or perhaps that’s what I want to do to those eyes. Carve them up and wash them with bleach —or wash him, I’m not picky.

They’re having dinner in a secluded restaurant at the urban side of the city.

Secluded because the little doctor here is hiding from his wife. I’ve seen him with her at the time I was watching Rebecca and then again when I was following Petal. This is probably where he brings his mistresses.

Does she know?

I lean back against my car that I parked in a hidden area, but still gives me a partial view of the restaurant. My binoculars are glued to my eyes again as I tilt my head to the side.

Petal is getting drunk; her cheeks have reddened and she’s been giving that fake smile more than usual.

Is that what this is all about —fucking a married older man? Is that her kink?

My grip tightens on the binoculars as he brushes his hand against hers. Petal doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t give in either. Her expression is frozen in that fake smile that she’s struggling to maintain the more she drinks.

Interesting.

This couldn’t have been going on for too long. Otherwise, she would’ve been sucking his dick in the bathroom by now.

A dick that will be cut off, by the way.

I stand in the cold, only wearing my suit and no coat. My fingers have turned numb from all the time I’ve spent here, but I don’t focus on that.