average human’s Reviews > Don't Touch > Status Update

My pretty little mate,
You may not have realised this, but I’ve been watching over you for a while now. Every move you make is mine for the watching. Fate has declared me your eternal shadow, and it’s my job to keep you safe.
You’ve been a good girl, little mate, such a good girl.
Your solitude is sweet music to my ears, the way you don’t let anyone touch you stirs an arousal in me that’s hard to be contained, and I know it’s because you feel our connection, too.
I’m the only one who truly understands the purity that resides in you, the only one who can appreciate the goddess that you are.
I long for the day when I can claim you as mine, when I can finally mark you as my mate forever.
I just need to prove myself worthy of your love, first. And I will, my mate, I promise.
Earlier today, I observed you in that stunning, vibrant pink dress, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. That smile you bestowed upon another man sent a wave of fury coursing through my veins.
It hurt me, Maeve.
You hurt me.
But then I realised you weren’t the one at fault. My perfect little mate would never deliberately hurt me that way.
He did it.
That mongrel dared to lay eyes on what belongs to me, dared to steal some of your attention, and for that, he has paid a grave price.
I couldn’t help it, little mate. You understand, don’t you?
He called for you, treated you as if your eyes and your smile were his to possess, but I refuse to let anyone defile what is rightfully mine.
I had to hurt him, little mate. I had to make him pay.
He’s been removed from your path, erased from existence, and he’ll never be seen again. Don’t be alarmed, little mate, when you see him.
I had to make him understand. I had to make them all understand. He was a worthless mutt, but in death, he’ll stand as a stern reminder to everyone that you are not theirs.
You’re a goddess, my mate, a work of pure perfection, and the worthless people that surround you don’t even deserve to breathe the same air you do.
Rest assured, he’s gone, forever, and you’ll never need to worry again about the disgusting vermin that plagues the streets and steals your purity.
With all the love that my soul can offer,
Your Mate

I read the letter twice. The words blur together. My brain races. Half of it makes no sense. Why would someone write this?
It’s not just a letter, it’s a threat… a warning.
I rub at the pain in my chest, the beating of my heart so painfully fast that it’s going to explode. My chromius is torn between angry hissing and desperate whines.
I stumble, my lower back bumping against the kitchen bench, inciting a scream from me. My back feels like it’s burning from where I was touched, my breathing no longer sounding calm and steady.
My chromius can no longer be heard, my mind racing so loud and fast that nothing makes sense.
I lose my grip on the letter and watch with wide eyes as it flutters to the floor. But instead of relief at letting go, a sense of dread fills me. My veins are ice cold, the goosebumps easily seen across my arms.
I see more bright red script on the back of the letter. There’s more that I’ve not yet seen.
What else could he admit to?
My legs are trembling, but I don’t hesitate in crouching down and picking it back up.
PS: Don’t be alarmed about the blood. I don’t know what diseases he carried, and I would never dream of risking you, so I used my blood instead of his to write this note.
Now, you’ll carry a part of me with you, and the sentiment is the same—he’s dead and won’t ever disrupt your day again.

“Blood?” I utter.
He wrote this letter in his blood?
My stomach churns violently. Bile rises up my throat, and I gag on the acidic taste. Tears blur my vision as I spin around, spitting into the sink, retching until my stomach is empty.
How did my life become this nightmare?
The words I thought were elegant and pretty were etched in a madman’s blood.
My sobs are just as loud as my chromius’s cries as we purge out the contents of our stomach. He’s disgusting. I’m disgusting. I wipe my mouth as soon as the vomiting stops, but cleaning that little part of me doesn't erase the dirt that’s covering me.
I’m dirty.
Filthy.
I’m disgusting.
I wash my hands over and over until the skin is red raw and sip at a glass of water as I read the note over again. The words don’t change, and the odd scent is now easily placed as blood.
I can’t help the hysterical laughter that bubbles out at the constant reference to being his mate. My inner chromius is so fucking far gone from sexual desire that I don’t even think mates are possible for me.
I’m not worthy enough of having a mate. Not anymore.
But even if that weren’t the case, I would not select this… this monster.
“You’re a goddess,” I scoff, imitating him in a high-pitched voice, as my panic continues to build. “If I were a goddess, mate of mine, I’d be a lot happier. Believe me.”
Don’t I ever get a break?
Why are people so fooled by an arguably pretty face? Can’t they see how dirty I am? Can’t they see the damaged aura? The brokenness?
Can’t they smell the filth?
Can’t they see how fucked up I am?
I’m so fucking tired of this shit. So tired of men treating me like such an important object of their desires… when I’m nothing.
I’m worthless.
My chromius cries out, and I can feel her annoyance directed towards me.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, my words hard to discern with the husk of my tears. “I don’t mind being this way. I know the truth. I know I’m nothing. But that’s okay, as long as we’re just left alone.”
Her snarl is ferocious. This is the biggest disagreement we have, but I can’t give in.
I won’t give in.
Life isn’t worth living when men like this monster exist.
I’m not going to be the girl who gets a happy ending.
And I’m okay with that.
Because happiness isn’t my goal. Survival is. Freedom is.
Solitude is.
I leave the note on the table and go through to the living room to grab my laptop so that I can deal with the other shit situation that’s been thrown into my lap today. One is far more pressing than the other.
But then I freeze, putting two and two together. Julian Graves and a mysterious stalker showing up in one day?
Coincidence, I think not.
My chromius settles as we both go back to the letter, searching for any clue, any indication that this might not be as terrifying as I first thought.
Tears blur my vision as I re-read, my anger bubbling up, entwining with my fear. How dare he? How fucking dare Adrian do this to me?
The repeated reference to my purity is something Adrian and Dr Jones have been trying to drill into me for years. That I was hurt and abused, but I’m still pure.
It’s a load of fucking shit.
It hurt me, Maeve. You hurt me. The words echo Adrian’s. It’s his go-to phrase as he justifies his terrible actions. Whenever he makes a decision that I don’t immediately obey, or whenever I do something he disagrees with.
It’s the emotional manipulation that narcissists like him wields ever so well.