Delusional Tormentor Read online

  Delusional Tormentor

  Celia Crown

  Copyright © 2021 by Celia Crown

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are from the author's imagination or folklore, legends, and general myths.

  The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public names, movies, televisions, and locales, or any references are used for atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.

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  Contents

  Delusional Tormentor

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Author’s other works!

  Follow the Author

  WARNING: This contains sensitive material that will be triggering to some, reader discretion is advised.

  Delusional Tormentor

  by Celia Crown

  A man, filthily rich and devilishly handsome, is most people’s dream husband.

  Money open many doors, but it also closes many windows. He doesn’t hesitate to use what he’s earned to forge the best locks and chaining the gilded irons around her.

  She’s the reason why he cleaned up his act; he wants her to be proud of him, to rely on him instead of running away.

  Never again, he’d think.

  He had terrorized her, put her mind through a limbo of paranoia, and stalked under her skin until his haunting presence is inscribed across her bones.

  The restraining order had been lifted.

  He’s going to try again. And again. And again. And again, again, again—until she realizes a delusional, influentially wealthy man loves with everything he has.

  Chapter One

  Jenny

  Some days are better than others.

  Some days I don’t wake up with my heart pounding, a layer of cold sweat clinging to my body, and his face staring down at me from the white ceiling.

  Today is not one of those lucky days.

  I saw him in repeated nightmares, his attractive face lurking behind my eyelids as I tried to will him away. I heard his amused baritone whispering my name with such adoration that it made me feel sick.

  “Don’t be afraid, pretty girl.”

  I spent thirty minutes dry-heaving when I woke up.

  The rest of the day hasn’t been any better. He’s everywhere I look, stalking across my mind with his haunting presence.

  If I had more willpower, maybe I wouldn’t anxiously look out the window at the nearby man on a skateboard and briefly mistake him for the one who terrifies me.

  I have to admit I’m doing much better than when I first arrived here. I couldn’t leave the confines of my apartment for the entire first month; my roommate was an angel who put up with my paranoia.

  Audrey didn’t ask any questions, offered to split the grocery bill as she did all our shopping, and never brought home any of the men she swooned over.

  She’s an open book: a broke college graduate with a degree she can’t use to find a job, an emotional mess when a man breaks her heart, and a good friend who sometimes snorts when she laughs.

  Audrey is just a girl living her life to the fullest. I try, but my fear of that man never fades enough to let me feel free.

  “Miss Tutor?” I hear a familiar voice coming from behind me.

  I blink in relief before turning to face a boyish grin. I smile back, then flick a wary glance toward the window.

  That man isn’t here. He will never find me on a tourist-filled island where I can easily blend into the partying crowd.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, clearing my throat. “I didn’t sleep much last night and just got distracted.”

  “You need to sleep, so you don’t get dark circles under your eyes,” the boy says. “You’re not going to be cute anymore.”

  He’s a flirtatious fifteen-year-old boy, but he means no harm. It’s part of his charm; when I first met him, he curtsied and greeted me with a medieval title.

  This island paradise has some unusual residents, far different than those I met as a child when I vacationed with my mother.

  My heart twists painfully. Mom thought I should leave the city I grew up in, saying a fresh start would do me good.

  I still call her despite the time difference, but the detective on my case says it is unwise.

  He tried to warn me and gave me tips on protecting myself as a stalking victim. I carefully followed his advice but gave into homesickness after three months away and ignored his security precautions.

  Somehow, irrational choices felt rational to me.

  I called Mom, and she picked up the phone while sobbing my name.

  Was it a mistake to call? I don’t know, but I don’t regret doing it.

  I’m happier now that I feel connected again. I’m finally moving on from that frightening experience, and I swear to return home one day. I can’t leave Mom by herself; she doesn’t do well with loneliness.

  “Dad made some mean chicken adobo; want to stay for dinner?” he asks, tapping his mechanical pencil on the table. “I’ll convince Dad to cough up the family recipe.”

  “So, you can make it yourself?” I question with a chuckle. “I’m not going to be your partner in crime and contribute to the destruction of the kitchen. Your dad takes pride in that place.”

  “True,” the boy agrees. “He’s got twenty cutting boards, yet somehow doesn’t have a single cheese grater.”

  “Let’s call it a day,” I suggest while I scan his math homework. “I’m sure you’re dying to try out the new game.”

  “I blame you for showing it to me.” He groans, tossing the pencil down to stretch his arms over his head.

  “It’s addicting,” I concur as I nod.

  As I stack my notebooks and shove them into my worn backpack, his father knocks on the door to get our attention.

  “Hey, Jenny!” he greets toothily. “You’ve got to try dinner this time; it’s perfection on a plate.”

  “I can’t stay, Mr. Maja,” I politely decline with a sheepish smile. “Audrey said she was making dinner at home tonight.”

  “Oh!” The man’s eyes light up at her name. “How did she like the food last time?”

  Mr. Maja is a kind man who makes extra food when I tutor his son. He feels guilty for using my time off to help improve the boy’s miserable grades.

  “She’d be willing to shave her eyebrows to have that meal again,” I relay her words to the cackling man.

  “Let me pack some for you to take home,” he offers and runs off before I can decline.

  “Yeah,” the boy mutters as he leans back in the chair. “Good luck telling him you don’t want his food. It’s freaky the way he mopes around.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  He rolls his eyes, standing up to walk me to the door. “You don’t have to live with him, but I have to suffer through it. Maybe you want to join us; “Stepmom Jenny” has a nice ring to it.”

  “It does not,” I scowl lightly as I laugh at his cheeky grin. “I’m only twenty-four. Being a mom is the last thing on my mind.”

  “What about being a wife?” His brows lift suggestively.

  “You’re too young for me.”

  “I was talking about my fat
her! But okay, I’ll just wait until I’m eighteen to sweep you off your feet.”

  Shouldering my backpack, I lightly flick his forehead as he whines about the nonexistent pain.

  “If you put half the effort into studying that you do into flirting, your dad wouldn’t be so stressed.”

  “Eh,” he quips, shrugging effortlessly. “It’s not a big deal. He stresses about his basil leaves wilting.”

  His father’s heavy footsteps thump across the floor, stopping in front of us with a bag of delicious-smelling food.

  “Come on,” Mr. Maja urges while he shoves the bag into my hand. “I want you and Audrey to eat while it’s still piping hot.”

  I bid goodbye to his son while Mr. Maja opens the front door, ordering his son to wash his nasty hands before eating.

  “See you next week, Miss Tutor!”

  I turn to the older man. “You don’t have to walk me home.”

  The man pauses, silently weighing his options. He always offers me a ride home, and I always decline, saying the extra food and generous pay for my tutoring are more than enough.

  I wouldn’t be tutoring on weekends if I didn’t need a significant fund for emergencies.

  “Alright,” he caves, “I want you to text me when you get home.”

  I nod and step down from the porch, moving in an opposite direction from my destination as a safety precaution. I trust this man, but not enough to stop my routine of taking an indirect route to my apartment.

  Slowing down in front of my darkened unit, I carefully approach the door.

  Is Audrey watching a movie? She should be home from work by now.

  I shrug away the dread in my stomach. Audrey either goes to bed early when she has a morning shift or stays up late watching a horror movie.

  Unlocking the door, I mumble softly to announce my arrival so as not to frighten her. She always complains about my quiet entry into our apartment.

  I place my backpack by the couch as I blindly search for the kitchen light switch. As expected, the landlord hasn’t yet fixed the circuit box like he said he would. Beggars can’t be choosers; it is a cheap apartment.

  Placing the bag of food from Mr. Maja on the kitchen table, it loudly rattles a plate sitting there. I wince, holding my breath as I strain to hear Audrey call out my name.

  “Clumsy as ever, pretty girl.”

  My body shakes so violently that I stumble back, my heart in my throat. The silence is deafening, and I wonder if he can smell my repulsive fear.

  He gets up from a chair, and the moonlight outlines his massive body.

  The power of his thick muscles is intimidating, putting me on edge and shattering the fantasy of safety I’ve tried so hard to keep together.

  My lungs burn as I fear this hallucination will turn into a reality. It’s not the first time my mind has imagined his presence, but it’s never been this real.

  Yet, under the crushing scrutiny of his bright eyes, I know this is the day I’ve been dreading. I force myself to swallow, easing my agitation before it can drown me.

  Run, my feet stubbornly root to the ground. Scream, my voice betrays with a whimper. Fight, my strength travels through my blood as it circles protectively around my heart.

  A big hand comes down on my shoulder. I flinch at the sudden contact, jerking me back to the nightmarish present.

  I wrench away from his hand, my tailbone hitting the stove. He steps closer, effectively blending into the shadows while I frantically look around for him. I’m seconds too late when his threatening fingers curl around the back of my neck and hold me.

  “Don’t stand too close to the stove, darling,” he whispers hoarsely. “I just finished cooking dinner.”

  He’s not bothered by my stunned silence and kneads the back of my neck, a gesture of comfort that is anything but soothing.

  “Have you eaten? I made your favorites.”

  Haunting memories flash behind my eyes. Notes had been taped on the refrigerator when I was still living with my mother. We both thought they were exchanged between the two of us, and it was a world-shattering moment when we realized that wasn’t the case.

  Remo was in our house back then, just like he’s in my apartment right now.

  How—

  I gasp. Audrey is in the apartment. The look in his eyes forces me to push her safety to the back of my mind. I can’t help but think he’s done something to her.

  Clenching my teeth to calm the jittery nerves, I glare up at him and hold his amused gaze. I want to rip his hand away, rip the proud smile off his face, and push him through the wall.

  I can’t. I know what he’s capable of with those vindictive hands, and I need to protect Audrey.

  “You’ve worked hard,” he says, his chest rumbling. “I’m sorry about leaving you for so long, but I’m here now.”

  I try to escape, only to be caged by his big hand slamming down on the counter.

  “Don’t touch me,” I squeak, and he smiles widely at the first words I’ve spoken to him.

  Still, that doesn’t stop his fingers from pressing into my delicate jaw.

  He’s meticulous in the way he smiles, testing my ability to hold his gaze while I am paralyzed by fear.

  “I’m home, pretty girl.”

  Now, I understand why Remo is everywhere I look.

  The sky, beautiful and liberating, allows the wind to travel freely. He’s always been here, sky trapped in his cerulean eyes, strong fingers forming iron bars when he smiles with so much corruption.

  Watching, stalking, guarding; I was never out of his sight.

  Instinct brings my hand up to push against his thick chest, but he clamps his other hand around my wrist to keep me defenseless. He pulls me flush against his muscular frame, heightening my sense of helplessness.

  Wake up. I want to scream. This is just another vivid dream; it must be.

  “I’ll take care of you.”

  I want to fight him, to release my anguished fear and blame every misfortune in my life on him. It’s his fault that I’m here alone instead of with my mom. It’s his fault that I’m forced to see my therapist whenever he slips into my dreams.

  I’m so afraid of him.

  “What—” I force myself to speak. “What do you want from me?”

  You, I expect him to say.

  He knows, and I know, so he doesn’t bother to say it. Remo settles for a deceivingly soft brush of his thumb across my throbbing skin. My jaw quivers at the gentleness, knowing not to fall for this sinful man’s façade.

  “Make sure you eat before showering and don’t sleep with wet hair,” he mumbles, lips moving against my temple. “We wouldn’t want my pretty girl to get sick, would we?”

  Possible responses flit through my head, asking questions and demanding answers. His lips press harder against my skin to silence me.

  It feels like a lifetime before he pulls away.

  I stop myself from asking any questions and wretch my face out of his grasp. He doesn’t bother to fight me, an insult I don’t want to dwell on. Remo’s much stronger than I am and could easily keep me trapped if he wanted me to obey him.

  “I love you.”

  It’s not an emotional declaration said in the night as he turns over to kiss me. It isn’t a confession after we made happy memories together with heartfelt laughter and stars in our eyes.

  It’s something between a promise and a threat.

  I focus on his heady scent as it causes a familiar knot in my stomach. I’d rather not think about his deadly finger softly outlining my jaw, inching down my neck, and pressing on the rapid pulse.

  “I’m glad you missed me,” he notes blissfully.

  I haven’t missed him. I want him gone from my life for good, every trace of him.

  Remo is insane.

  I moved across the world just to get away from him, but he hasn’t gotten the picture despite the restraining order.

  “It’s late,” he says gruffly. “I don’t want to disturb the sleeping guest.”


  My heart lurches. The only person who lives with me is Audrey, and Remo just made it clear he knows about her.

  He’ll use it to his advantage; he’s not above using her as leverage to make me obey.

  A wave of nauseating déjà vu overcomes me. Remo has indirectly threatened my mother in the past, and I had no choice but to keep quiet about it.

  That was the mistake I made that resulted in a cascade of problems.

  “Manipulators will lie and threaten; it’s in their nature to do so,” the detective on my case once said.

  “Forgive my intrusion, pretty girl,” he whispers, cerulean eyes gleaming. “I just missed you too much, and I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  Home invasion or barging back into my life, I don’t know which intrusion he’s referring to. I just know the apology is not sincere.

  Remo, forever a diabolical apparition, eases back into the darkness as gray clouds swallow the high moon.

  The only indication that he’s actually gone is the soft click of the front door.

  My legs buckle, sending me to the floor. I just sit there with no way to ground myself in all the confusion.

  “Jen?”

  I almost don’t hear Audrey talking to me. She stumbles out of her room in a tank-top and cotton shorts, hands rubbing the sleep from her eyes while she yawns loudly.

  “Heard you in the kitchen making food, but I fell asleep again,” she grumbles and crouches down at my side.

  The dryness burns my throat when I speak, “D-did you see him? In our home…”

  She blinks rapidly with confusion in her eyes as she rocks back on her heels.

  Audrey clicks her tongue and gripes, “Who? Did Fin use our balcony to do a cannonball in the pool again? I swear that idiot is an accident waiting to happen.”

  She didn’t know that a dangerous criminal was mere feet from her bedroom.

  His name is still enough to strike fear in my heart.

  Remo’s here for me.