The Lonely Hearts Club

Chapter 1: The Present (Bree)

I'm not a violent person, but if given the chance, I would kill him.

And I would enjoy it.

I have toyed with the idea for quite some time now, and it's the best option.

The only way I'll ever get him to leave me alone.

I hate him for making me consider the possibility of ending someone's life-I'm quite literally a vegetarian-it goes so far off my moral compass richter it's not even funny.

I sit on my bed, knees pulled to my chest, staring at the front door. I painted it light blue and drew a constellation of colorful birds all over it.

The landlord in my apartment building loves me as a tenant, she lets me decorate the walls and surfaces because it covers up the blood stain residue from the previous people.

Staring at the birds provides me comfort, it kinda makes me forget about him.

"Give him a chance!" I was told.

"He really likes you!" I was told.

"Don't be bitch and just date him!" I was told.

If I could talk to my past self, I would tell her to listen to her instincts.

I would say she is not a horrible person just because she doesn't like someone romantically...or physically, or emotionally or sexually.

I would beg her to stay away from him.

I listen to the rhythmic tick of my clock, my heartbeat quickening with each passing second.

Any moment now, the postman will deliver a package to my door.

It's a weekly ritual that never gets any easier.

I wonder what he'll send this time.

He used to only write letters, but over the last year, things have escalated dramatically.

Heavy footsteps, pause, light knock, harder knock, pause, gentle thump, heavy footsteps retreat.

I count to one hundred before sliding off my bed and running to the door, glancing out the peephole before opening it and dragging the box inside.

It feels strangely light, but when I shake it, there's a wet thump each time the mysterious object hits the cardboard walls.

Grimacing, I settle on the floor and drag a box cutter along the tape.

I try to imagine what's inside, but my imagination is blank...I don't know...I don't think I want to know.

Well, let me say nothing prepares me for what actually is.

As soon as I open the box, an unpleasant odor hits my nose and when I glance inside, I scream.

It's human fecal matter thick with fat, wriggling worms.

I'm going to be sick.

He sent me human shit...with worms in it.

I shove the box away from me and shudder as I dry heave. Every time I glance at the box, I gag and tears form in my eyes.

I don't know what to do anymore.

So far I've kept every letter and trinket so the police stop saying I have no evidence against him, but how am I supposed to keep this?

I sob big-racking sobs that shake my whole body.

I can't get the disgusting image out of my mind—I can't breathe.

I rush to the bathroom, gripping the toilet bowl and upending what little contents are in my stomach as tears leak down my face.

The worms.

"Why can't he leave me alone?" I weep. "Why did he have to pick me?"

It doesn't matter where I go, he finds me. It doesn't matter how many times I call the police to make a report, they say it's not enough.

"It's not illegal to send someone mail, love." The chief said to me. "Sending a few letters and weird things isn't a crime, he hasn't hurt you."

But he did hurt me.

I curl up on the bathroom floor and try to stop the feeling of pain erupting over my skin every time I think of him punching me.

I can still feel his hands, his angry face is branded in my mind and he's rendered me terrified.

But no, that's not enough, he has to stalk me, sending me uncomfortable letters and emotionally tormenting me.

It's only a matter of time before he catches me off guard and attacks me, taking me back to his house and chaining me up.

I cry again.

I look up at my ceiling where I've painted an angel with large rosy cheeks and a golden halo emitting streaming beams of light.

"Please," I whisper. "Please, help me!"

I don't even know how I can be helped.

I'm twenty, spending my party years cowering in a cheap apartment in a bad neighborhood trying to escape my psychotic ex and failing miserably.

"Fuck you Rowan!" I scream.

I've been too scared to say his name aloud or say anything against him because I was worried he installed listening devices in my place, but I'm at my wit's end.

They say you should ignore people who want to hurt you, ignore them and they go away.

I've been ignoring him since I was eighteen, since I left high school and he became scary.

Ignoring him isn't working.

I creep out of the bathroom and over to my phone. It's pink and bolted to the wall, I drag off the receiver and hold it up to my ear, dialing 911.

Surely sending me worm-infested shit is illegal.

It's a biohazard!

Chief Winton does not agree.

He laughs in my ear.

"Now that, that's hysterical!" He hacks out a cough and my cheeks burn.

"What do I do?"

"Look, little lady, you've called this number too many times for my liking." He says, tone scalding. "Put the crap in the bin."

"But—"

"I've just about had it with you young girls calling up all the time," he says. "Learn to take some responsibility for yourselves."

He hangs up and my heart drops.

If the police don't care, no one will, I'm completely on my own.

My eyes shift over to the box and I feel my stomach churn, I have to get rid of it.

Slowly, I edge closer, picking it up and refusing to look inside.

I'm going to be sick again.

I open my curtains, unlatch my window, yank it up and throw the entire box outside.

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A/N: okay, that's the first chapter done! I'm super excited to continue writing, please feel free to comment whatever you want  and again, thank you so much for reading my story so far🩵