I CANT ESCAPE HIM

Psycho Stepbrother

***

~SOPHIE~

***

The last thing any heartbroken girl needs in her final year, is a stalker. Especially one that knows or might not know all her dirty secrets.

I’m numb as I set foot inside my father’s mansion.

I don’t look around as I cross the living room, straight for the grand staircase, needing nothing but the soft spot of my pillow, my actual pillow, not Clairmont’s hard lump of an excuse, to cry in.

The sharp clink of footsteps cuts through the silence.

I stop short. I don’t even have to turn to know she’s seen me. I swallow a groan as she runs forward, worry etched on her face.

“Sophie? What happened? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Claudia. Mom’s replacement.

A complete gold digger.

I recoil before her hands can touch my face. “Leave me alone, Delilah. I don’t need your fake concern.”

There’s a pause.

“My name is Claudia, which you already know. I’m sure you’re trying to make me feel inferior by purposely screwing up my name every time you see me, but it’s not working. I’m here to stay, Sophie, whether you like it or not.”

That statement really pisses me off. God i don’t have the energy to argue with her today.

“Oh yeah? How about you stick to your lane and stop trying to mother me?” I seethe. “Focus on your retard child!”

She flinches, but doesn't back down as I’d hoped. “Tell me the truth Sophie. Did someone hurt you?.”

“That’s none of your business.” I try to sidestep her. she blocks.

“You can’t just show up out of the blue. No calls from the dean, no explanation. I have to ask questions.”

"God! Can I not show up to my own father’s house without being interrogated? Can I not be left alone? Can I not be angry? Can I not be away from you, Delilah?!”

She stares at me, eyes rimmed with disbelief. Just then, my eyes catch the mother-of-pearl necklace on her neck, and my jaw tightens.

She sees it too, because she tries to save face, wrapping her hands around her neck defensively. “Your father insisted I wear it for dinner tonight. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Of course he did.

I push past her. “Enjoy the spoils while they last, Delilah. Today you’re the shiny new prize, tomorrow you’ll be the woman getting replaced. Just wait and see. All men are scumbags and my father is no different.”

“I won’t tell him you’re here.” She calls after me, unfazed. “I won’t tell him you ran away from school.”

“How saintly of you Delilah,” I bite back, bolting up the stairs to my room before I lose it completely.

~~

My throat is dry and scratchy when I wake up.

I glance at the nightstand clock. It’s almost 11 p.m. How did I sleep this long? Realization hits me harder again.

I have a stalker.

I ran away from School, something I’ve never done before because apparently i’m sophie the nerd rich girl.

I check my phone.

There’s a text from Sebastian. Just one. My stupid heart flips as I tap on it, hoping it’s an apology.

It’s not.

Sebastian [3:24 p.m.]: I see you’ve left school. think about what I said alright? An open relationship is what we need to spice our love story. Oh and The guys from lacrosse are coming over. You don’t mind if we make use of your juice blender do you? Xoxo your cuddle bunny.

I blink. Juice blender. Seriously?

Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking down, or hauling this phone against the window, I move instead, to the dozen texts from Delancy.

Del [10:32 a.m.]: Where are you?

Del [11:08 a.m.]: Sophie? I’m in the restroom. Where are you? Are the cramps that serious? Please pick up!

Del [1:33 p.m.]: I’m just coming out of your dorm. Please call me when you get this.

Del [4:03 p.m.]: OMG. Sebastian and Blair Myers? Please tell me you’ve seen this. ^attach link^

My heart does a slow, painful roll.

I tap the link. It takes me to Sabastian’s social media page. And there, posted five hours ago, is a high-res, candid shot of Blair Myers curled up on Sebastian’s leather sofa, wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, her long legs bare, glowing under the apartment lights.

The caption reads: SHE’S NO VANILLA, AND IT’S NOT APRIL FOOL, GUYS. ^love emoji^

I feel my throat closing in. That f*****g bastard!

The comment section is a bloodbath. Speculation, fire emojis, and tags.

^Is he finally over the ice queen?

^Sophie who?

^#TeamBlair.

I feel the “ice queen” insult like a brand on my skin.

Another text comes from Delancy.

Del: I know you’ve seen my texts. I don’t need the details. I just want you to know that I’ve got your back. If you need help paying back Sabastian with his own medicine, I’m here.

“Del, I appreciate your support, but I don’t want to sleep with some guy to get Sebastian back,” I type back and almost facepalm.

Her response comes instantly.

Del: OMG, I was right. That asshole cheated. Listen to me, payback isn’t about getting him back. Who needs his cheating ass anyway? You’ll be doing this for yourself. For fun. While you’ve been studying your life away and reading data reports, your boyfriend has been f*****g Blair Myers. Let that stick in.

“Oh God,” I shut my eyes, feeling like she’s right in front of me, drilling the words.

Del: Remember that hookup app I told you about? No-strings?

I frown, not understanding where she’s going with this. ‘No, I don’t.’

Del: It’s okay. Heartbreak tends to mess with your brain. Anyways, Nostrings is the app I met Mike. That guy that took us on a yacht cruise last summer.

‘I remember. But what does that have to do with my present situation?’

Del: ^eye roll^ My point is, you could get a hot, rich dude to shag over there. And it’s extremely secure. Anonymous, even. Oh, and you can even hire a bad-boy boyfriend. Someone that could totally play the role and pick you up in the presence of everyone in Clairmont. Let’s see them call you ‘vanilla’ after that.

I sigh. Head spinning. Delancy’s never been in a relationship that didn’t end two or three weeks later.

She doesn’t understand that it takes more than a hookup app to forget about a person you’ve been in love with for almost five years.

‘Sebastian and I are on a break’ I type back. “It’s all just a misunderstanding. He’ll come around soon and we’ll be happy together.’

I sigh, switch my phone off, and stand up.

The room suddenly feels too small, the air too thin.

The house is busy as I creep downstairs to see the maids moving, setting the dining table.

Using the distraction, I creep towards the backyard. Where the moon is just the right amount of brightness over the gigantic pool.

Setting my phone down, I strip. Top, pants, underwear, glasses, everything hits the tiles in a messy heap.

Taking a deep breath, I dive in. The cold water is a freezing shock to my system that feels better than pills. I swim laps until my muscles burn and my lungs scream.

Then, I cry, scream. Shout. letting my rage dissolve into the chlorine. It’s not just the heartbreak or betrayal that’s making me go crazy. It’s the fear. The feeling of being. Exposed.

It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. Sebastian was my first, but he won’t be my last. I’ll move on. I’m only nineteen. I’ll forget about him. His mouth. His d**k.

Liar. I still love him. Too much.

I need to hear his voice. I need to tell him that I’ll accept an open relationship as long as i get to keep him. I’m that desperate.

With that in mind, I dart out of the water. Shivering. Naked. I reach for my glasses, then my phone.

But then I smell it. the acrid scent of cigarette. I recognize it all too well. My father has spent more time with those than with me.

Acutely aware of my nudity under the moonlight, i curse, rushing for my clothes.

But then as I turn toward the far corner of the pool. My breath catch.

Hidden just within the shadows, is the silhouette of a man lounging on the pool chair.

The orange tip of a cigarette glowing.

“Who the f**k are you?” I shriek, jumping into my pants and top, not even bothering with underwear.

Shame crawl up my spine.

The asshole doesn’t move. Just continues smoking, thick swirls curling around his face like a mist.

Swallowing hard with anger and andrenaline, I walk toward him and flick my phone light at his face, half expecting to see one of the workers who’s most definitely getting fired.

What I see, is a ghost.

A face I shouldn’t look twice—but I do. God help me, I do.

Black hair. An unfamiliar jagged scar from brow to cheek. Wicked blue eyes.

A mouth that looks entirely too soft on a face set like granite.

He’s smirks. A piercing glinting on his lower lip.

I jerk back like I’ve been slapped.

There is only one person on this planet, capable of sending my pulse into chaos for a totally different reason other than fear and heartbreak.

Chase.

“Hello, stepsister.” He says.