Page 65 of Until Joy

“There’s too much space on a couch. This way, you can’t get away from me.” I forced her to cuddle close, with her legs hanging over the side of the chair and her head resting against my heart. Her shirt tugged upward, and I didn’t even give a shit if she was wearing panties or not. All I cared about was comforting her while she was telling me her story.

“Then what happened?” I prompted.

“Eventually, I forgot about the shoe and the flowers. It must have been a month later. Susie was only four years old, so she still had a baby monitor in her room. It was connected to the one in my room. I was asleep one night when I heard a man’s voice say, ‘Joy, why are you fighting it? You’re meant to be my wife.”

“Fuck,” I breathed out. Hell, I even shivered. I hugged her closer. “That’s creepier than fuck.”

“I ran to Susie’s room with the monitor in my hand.” She looked up at me and gave me a cheeky grin. “I wore a full set of pajamas with panties when I lived with the Smythe’s.”

I felt relief run through me at her joke, and I swatted her butt. She giggled. Good, she was laughing, not trembling. This was very good, because I knew she would be getting to some dark stuff, soon enough.

“Keep talking, brat.”

She sighed. “Of course, there was no one in Susie’s room. The window was partially open, but it was locked at that height so nobody could get in, but they could have said it through the window. I had to wake up Mr. and Mrs. Smythe. They were nice…kind of.”

“What do you mean, kind of?” I clenched the arm of the recliner. It was a wonder I didn’t break it.

“They told me it was my over-active imagination. That I must have dreamed it. I insisted I had heard a man’s voice over the baby monitor saying my name. I could tell they didn’t believe me. Finally, Mr. Smythe said it could have been a frequency overlap with a neighbor’s monitor and left it at that. Mrs. Smythe said she’d take Susie’s monitor for the night, and she insisted I take one of her sleeping pills.”

I jerked upward, jostling Joy. “She what? You didn’t take it, did you?”

Joy nodded. “I did. But you’ve got to remember, I was twenty-one, and this was the first time I was away from home. Mrs. Smythe was my mom’s age.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.” I tucked her closer. “I understand.”

Joy looked up at me from under her lashes. I could see her hesitation. Once again, I’d fucked up on my reaction. I rested my hand against her back and started tracing soft circles against her t-shirt, trying to soothe her.

“Do you want to hear the rest?”

“Absolutely.”

Joy’s arms crept around my waist, and I could feel her breath as it wafted against my neck. “I started getting Snapchats. It would be of a blacked-out silhouette of a man asking me to marry him. Or he would say we should start a life together. The first time I tried to show it to Mrs. Smythe, they’d already deleted the chat. I could tell by her face that she was considering firing me. She thought I was crazy. So, I shut up when it kept happening.”

“Fuck her. You needed to go to the police,” I rumbled softly, taking care to keep my voice soft.

“No, she was right. I learned later that they couldn’t have done anything, anyway. It isn’t until someone makes physical contact with you, they can do something.”

“You learned that after he cut you?”

Joy didn’t say anything. She just nodded against my neck.

I continued to gently stroke her. I needed to touch her as much as she seemed to need my touch.

“Can you tell me what happened next?”

“I deleted my Snapchat account. Nothing happened for a week, but Mrs. Smythe told me that my contract was ending sooner than expected, and I would be going home at the end of the month. That was three months early. No big shocker.”

“Bitch.” I growled.

Joy snorted. “That was my thought, too. Then one morning, we woke up to the words ‘Marry Me’ spraypainted on the inside of the garden wall. Mr. Smythe called the police. A spray can was left at the scene. I knew they were mad at me when they had me taken in for questioning and fingerprinted.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” If Joy hadn’t been on my lap, I would have jumped out of the chair.

She sighed. “Yeah, it was pretty awful.”

It took everything I had to continue tracing soft patterns on her back. I wanted to fly to London and beat the shit out of that fucker, Mr. Smythe. “Tell me what happened next, baby.”

“I told the police everything that had happened, starting with the posy. The detective that I talked to seemed to believe me in the end, but Mr. and Mrs. Smythe had everything packed up for me by the time I was released from the station. Mr. Smythe must have talked to the detective and felt guilty because he was waiting for me outside the station with a check for the entire two and a half months left on my contract, along with a wad of cash and a business class ticket back to the States for the next day. He dropped me off at a posh hotel downtown.”