My Biker King, My Stalker

Svetlana’s POV Today is my three-year anniversary with my abusive boyfriend, and yes, I’m fully aware of how insane that sounds. I literally hear it in my own head the same way other people would say it out loud—with that judgmental tone, like I’ve lost every bit of common sense I was born with. Like I should have packed my bags and disappeared a long time ago. But here’s the thing… it’s been six months. Six whole months without a bruise. Six months without standing in front of the mirror trying to figure out how to cover up marks with long sleeves and makeup. Six months without that reflex where I flinch just because his hand moves too fast to hit me. That has to mean something. Right? I shift the small box in my hand as I climb up the stairs to our apartment, my legs already aching from the kind of day that makes you question all your life choices. Classes, back-to-back shifts, and a baby that depends on me for literally everything—I don’t even remember the last time I sat down without thinking about the next thing I had to do. And still, I got him something. It’s not fancy. I’m not suddenly rich. It’s just a watch. Simple, clean, something he can wear every day. Something that says I noticed you trying. Something that says thank you for not hurting me lately. Which… wow, when you actually think about it like that, it sounds pathetic. But I push that thought down before it can fully form because I don’t have the energy to unpack that right now. And yes, I have a baby. Before you start doing the math in your head, I’ll save you the effort. I’m twenty-two, single mom, and the father is Fred. Things happened. Not the fairytale kind. The messy, complicated kind where one bad decision stacks on top of another until suddenly you’re here, carrying a tiny human and pretending you’ve got everything under control. I stop in front of the door and just stare at it for a second, my heart beating a little too fast for no good reason. Why am I even nervous? It’s not like this is new. I’ve stood here before, hand on the handle, silently praying he’s in a good mood. Praying today doesn’t turn into one of those days where he hits me for being too loud. But lately… it hasn’t been like that. He’s calmer now. Not nicer exactly—let’s not get carried away—but calmer. Quieter. Distant, if I’m being honest, but I figured that was better than the alternative. He hasn’t touched me in anger. He hasn’t really touched me at all. And that part… yeah, that part confuses me because Fred is not the kind of man who just suddenly decides to keep his hands to himself. Not when it comes to something he considers his. And I am his. I shake that thought off quickly because I’m not about to spiral in the hallway like some overthinking i***t. Maybe he’s just stressed. The gang stuff alone is enough to mess with anyone’s head. He never talks about it in detail, but I’ve seen enough to know it’s not something you just walk away from. He’s not like normal guys. Then again, nothing about this city is normal. When my mom dragged us here years ago, she kept saying we belonged here, like it was some kind of destiny. She died before she could explain what that even meant, and now I’m stuck trying to survive in a place where people like me clearly don’t fit. The academy I attend alone proves that. Same classes, same subjects, but the people? Completely different level. Stronger. Faster. Like they were built for this place in a way I wasn’t. The way they look at me and my sister sometimes… like we’re background characters in their story. I learned to ignore it. For her. My sister is nineteen now, and everything I do is for her. When I found out she’d started going to clubs just to make money, I shut that down immediately. No discussion. No negotiation. I told her I’d handle it. And I meant it. So I worked more. Took whatever jobs I could get. And when Fred handed me money after those nights—those rough, breath-stealing nights where I just… endured as he took me roughly because he likes rough s*x, I took it, everything. And I said thank you. Because at least it paid the bills. At least it meant my sister didn’t have to sell pieces of herself just to survive. I tighten my grip on the small box and let out a slow breath before pushing the door open. “I’m home, Fred,” I call out automatically, keeping my voice low so I don’t wake my baby. He’s resting against my shoulder, warm and calm after I fed him before leaving work. No answer. Not surprising. Fred answers when he feels like it, not when he should. I step inside, closing the door quietly behind me as I slip off my shoes. My eyes move around the apartment out of habit. Everything looks normal. His jacket is tossed over the chair. His boots are by the wall. So he’s here. Good. Maybe this will actually go well. I adjust my baby slightly and press a soft kiss to his head before walking further in. “Fred?” I call again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. Okay… that’s weird. His bike was outside. He wouldn’t just leave it. I take a few more steps, my gaze scanning the space as I head toward the living room—and then I hear something that makes me stop. At first, it’s faint enough that I almost ignore it. Like maybe I’m just exhausted and my brain is playing tricks on me. But then it comes again. Followed by a breath that sent straight signals to my brain. I go still, listening harder now, my heart picking up speed without my permission. Then I hear it again. And this time, there’s no confusion. It’s a moan. My fingers tighten around the gift box, the edges pressing into my skin as something cold and heavy settles in my chest. No. No, that doesn’t make sense. Fred wouldn’t— I shake my head quickly, trying to shut the thought down before it gets out of control. Maybe it’s the TV. Maybe he’s watching something weird. Maybe— Another sound cuts through that lie before I can even finish forming it. Clear. Female. My stomach twists so hard it actually hurts. That’s not a TV. That is very real. I swallow, my throat suddenly dry as I just stand there, frozen like an i***t who can’t decide what to do next. I could walk away. Pretend I didn’t hear anything. Give him space and save myself the humiliation. But something in me refuses to move in the other direction. Instead, I start walking toward the sound. Each step feels heavier, like I already know exactly what I’m about to find but I’m still clinging to this tiny, stupid hope that I’m wrong. The closer I get, the louder it becomes. There’s no denying it now. My chest tightens, like something is pressing down on it, making it harder to breathe with every step. “Fred?” I call again, and this time my voice betrays me completely. No response. Just another sound. The exact same tone he uses when he’s—well…when he's driving into my wall on some rough nights. I stop thinking and just walk My grip on my baby tightens instinctively when he stirs, but I barely register it because all my focus is locked ahead. I round the corner into the living room— And I freeze. Because there he is. Fred. And he is definitely not alone. He’s on the couch, his back partially turned to me, his body moving in a way I recognize instantly, in a way that makes my stomach drop so fast it feels like I missed a step on a staircase. And the girl under him— What?! Her hair is spread out beneath her, her hands gripping his shoulders, her legs wrapped around him like she wants him there, like she’s the one holding him in place. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m surprised they can’t hear it. I don’t even realize I’ve stopped breathing again. Because there’s no way. There’s just no just f*****g way I'm seeing this. I take a step forward without meaning to, my eyes locked on them like if I stare hard enough, this will somehow turn into something else. Something less… this. “WHAT IS GOING ON…” I say, my voice coming out soft, almost unrecognizable— “Fred? Loma?”