him

02 | blocked

Ariella was shaking at this point. Of course, her mind began coming up with endless and completely illogical theories in an effort to explain to herself why some strange man would be calling her at this time.

Does this guy know where I live? Is he planning on murdering me? Is this simply a prank call? Did he just dial the wrong person?

She was so buried in her thoughts that she didn't even realize the man on the other line had said something to her.

"I'm sorry, what?" She whispers, her voice trembling.

"No need to apologize, baby. Just keep talking. Your voice drives me wild," He emphasizes the last word, the solemnity of his tone sending chills down her spine.

"Sir, I think you have the wrong number," She sternly blurts out, getting more and more anxious by the second.

"Oh, I definitely don't. You already confirmed it was you, Ariella," He lets out a low chuckle, sending her over the edge.

"You know what, fuck you. I don't need this right now," She spits, and quickly hangs up afterwards.

Ariella stares at the ominous screen, the words Call Ended glowing among the red background, signifying the end of having to deal with that bastard.

She inhales slowly, before blocking his number, and feeling slight relief after doing so.

She places her phone down on her dresser before pulling a blanket over her head, engulfing her in a sensation of temporary safety.

She knew it obviously wouldn't keep anyone from hurting her physically, but it sure did shield her from any harm mentally, which was all she needed for now.

As long as he had no other personal information about her other than her phone number, Ariella was nowhere near being afraid.

She wasn't going to let some unknown pedophile get in her head, she was smarter than that.

And with that final thought, Ariella felt content enough to fall asleep and let her worries fade into the peaceful void of slumber.

____

Ariella's alarm soon went off at 5:30, only a few hours after the "incident", making her groan and pull the covers over her exhausted body.

After a minute of irritating, consecutive beeping, she finally gave in, turned off the alarm, and sat up in her bed, her eyes squinting from the obnoxious morning sun.

She stretches her arms and lets out a loud, satisfactory yawn before getting up and starting her grueling morning routine.

She ran a brush through her tangled locks, wincing at the harsh tugging at the the roots.

Afterwards, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, changed into her work uniform, which consisted of a button up, dark jeans, and a black apron, and pulled her hair into a high pony tail.

She tiredly patted a thin layer of makeup onto her skin before applying some mascara and a swipe of lipgloss.

After lacing up her well-worn high tops, she grabbed the purse that hung from the coat rack, and locked the door of the tiny apartment, a habit she's been trying to get into after she discovered someone had stolen the necklace her mother gave her at her high school graduation not too long ago.

Before she knew it, she was taking the bus to the diner, the one place she felt most comfortable.