Poisonous Love (Serial Killer/Stockholm Syndrome Romance)

Georgia was soaking wet. The rain glided off her head and down her face, making her eyes burn slightly on the way down. Her shoes splashed loudly as she ran to the pavement and onto Morris Street, dipping in and out of large puddles along the way. By the time she reached the other side, even her knees were drenched. Her feet felt damp and wrinkled, her trainers doing a poor job of keeping water out. Her socks were soggy and disgusting as they splotched with every step now.

 She pulled her hoodie tighter over her head, lamenting the thought of how her hair was going to frizz up. Her backpack bounced behind her, weighed down more by the rain. She hoped the waterproof material would hold up and dreaded the thought of what her books might look like if it didn’t. The wind was beginning to howl and it sent the rain swishing in different directions. The chill was bad today. This time of year in Milwaukee usually spelled the end of the cold season but despite it being the last week of March, winter still stubbornly clung on. It was the third time this week she missed the bus.

 Being one of the only seniors at Beldon High without a car was at the forefront of her mind. Beldon was a public school so it wasn’t like the other kids were all wealthy or something, but still, she felt the mediocrity of being an electrician and a caterer’s daughter all the same. How could she not? Especially when popular students like Susan Green had parents with cool jobs. Her dad was an architect. Emily Bale’s mom was a food blogger. The wind began whipping at Georgia’s face now as she pushed against the rain, trudging her way towards Warbler Road.  

Oh, for goodness sake! Georgia’s mind lashed out as she was pushed left and right by the wind. Her parents said she was “petite. It was just a kind way of saying “tiny”. Barely scraping five foot two, all one hundred and thirty eight pounds of her was miniscule in comparison to most of her classmates. Right now, that meant even the wind got to bully her. She kept her head down as she tried to walk a straight line. She could only imagine how silly she looked trying to fight her way down the street with the wind routinely tossing her off course.  

This must be what it feels like to take a sobriety test when you’re tanked.                             

She smiled to herself at the thought. Somehow it made her feel better. She could always laugh at herself. She needed that thick skin now to avoid feeling like the eyes of the world were on her as she wobbled her way down the street like a baby antelope learning to walk for the first time. The stores on this end of town were all closed and starting to mist up. 

The sky overhead was a dreary gray and looked even darker on the horizon. Thankfully the weather meant the sidewalk wasn’t its bustling self today. There were still plenty of cars passing, but even at a glance, Georgia noticed the familiar sight of people lost in their own little morning routines. Some spoke on bluetooth as they rushed to meetings; others kept one hand on the steering as the other caressed the warmth of a Starbucks cup.

 Even the few people on foot were under umbrellas, too busy with their own fight against the torrid weather to notice the mousy little girl they passed. Gaining some comfort from these facts, Georgia quickened her pace. She could still make it to school on time. The walk wasn’t that far. Her mom had left early again, dashing off to a catering job at some swanky business conference.

 It was amazing how much time and effort she could put into meticulously prepping the meals she provided her clients but still forget to pack a lunch for her husband. Of course touching fifty five meant dad didn’t quite understand that in today’s world, a woman’s place was no longer at a man’s beck and call. The irony was  not lost on Georgia when she had to step in and quickly throw together some ham sandwiches for herself and him. 

The circumstances were familiar; the end result always the same—missing the school bus again. Georgia’s teenage angst annoyed her, or at least it did when she was aware of it. She was now. She reminded herself that she was midway through and in a year’s time she would be in college, chasing her dream of being a writer, and all these crappy days would be a distant memory. 

The timing of her reverie was unfortunate. The moment she heard the grunt of a familiar engine behind her, she sensed something awful was coming next.  

Splotch. The plastic cup made a sound as off putting as the mulch that splashed all over Georgia as it struck her right shoulder. Her cotton hoodie had seemed a good choice when she checked the weather report that morning.

 As pink bubble tea stained the white fabric and dripped all the way down her shoulders and arms, she regretted wearing white now. Some of the black tapioca pearls stuck to her as she hastily brushed them off her; the little balls bouncing along the pavement and running away with the current as they left dark streaks behind.  

“Oh my God!” Georgia shrieked. 

For good measure, Tyler Norton’s Mazda 3 swerved into a large puddle as it passed and splashed her with more icy water. Her legs and thighs winced as the water got through her double-layered tights and found bare skin. A hand stuck out the window of the car and flipped her the bird .  

“We thought you could use some breakfast, Dot face,” 

Joey Swinton’s obnoxious voice trailed off as the car sped away. Georgia was livid. Inside, she was screaming at the top of her lungs. On the outside, she fought back tears, willing herself not to cry. She hated the nickname “Dot face”. As she passed a store with tinted windows, she caught a brief sight of her reflection. Her eyes had their usual dark circles. Her small cheeks and pouty lips did nothing to brighten up an otherwise ordinary face today. 

The black beauty spot that sat dead in the center of her nose glared at her. She hated it. It was the reason why so many of her tormentors only ever referred to as “Dot face” instead of her name.  

Just six more months. Just six more months. Just six more months. The words repeated in her head like a mantra. She couldn’t wait to leave her nightmare of a school behind; her teachers, idiots like Tyler and Joey, this town, everything!  

Just six more months. Just six more months. Just six more months. It took fourteen more repetitions of those words before her mind finally began to calm itself. Most of the pink goop was being washed away with it. Georgia knew she probably still looked like a train wreck. It didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. This place didn’t matter. She kept walking.  

Just six more months. The words were barely a whisper in her head now. She reached Warbler and turned left. Three more blocks, then down South Road and she would be there. The wind was a little less intense in this direction, the tenement buildings on Warbler were higher than the little shops on Morris Street and kept her insulated from the worst of it. She walked faster, still a little charged from the adrenaline of being hit by the cup. Her breath was frosting in front of her, even though her neck was starting to feel a little warm. Up ahead, she heard an angry voice.  

Oh God, what now?  Georgia lifted her head up tentatively to see what the commotion was. Ahead, she saw a smartly dressed man on the floor and a younger kid, around her age, who appeared to have knocked him over. 

“What the hell man?” 

the older guy yelled as he got to his feet and brushed off his expensive black overcoat. The kid looked dazed.  

“Watch where you’re going idiot,” the man spat out.  

The kid looked frazzled, like his mind was caught between wanting to stop and needing to keep going. In an instant he seemed to decide that leaving the scene was the better option. As he turned to walk away Georgia was almost alongside the pair now. 

The old guy grabbed his shoulder and spun him around angrily. Georgia tried to see the kid’s face but he kept looking down and to the side, making twitchy movements with his head and neck. His hair was long, soaked with rain, and hanging over the sides of his face in wet clumps. Georgia almost gasped with shock when she saw what his clothes looked like. Though he wore a nice, white button-down shirt, black formal pants, and black formal shoes, his appearance was the opposite of someone that usually dressed that way.

 The shirt was out of the pants, top buttons missing, and it had tears all over the chest and arms. The pants were dirty and looked like he’d been running through a bush; clumps of dirt and remnants of wet foliage still clinging to the bottoms. The shoes were scuffed and muddy, stubborn bits of damp earth still stuck to the sides. His face was streaked with a brownish grime that was washing out but still visible at it streaked down his chin. 

The shirt was stained with mud and the same brownish substance. As the rain stuck his shirt to his chest, Georgia couldn’t help but notice that he was toned, his muscular frame visible beneath it. His eyes were dark brown and darted around like he wasn’t completely lucid. His breathing was heavy and held a feral quality—almost sounding like deep, hulking grunts instead. As he spun around to face the man, they both finally got a better look at the kid’s face. Georgia was right next to them now, panic rising within her. The man who had seemed so assured and full of anger a moment ago suddenly seemed to back down. There was something about the kid’s eyes that was scary. Georgia felt its ferocity, even though its gaze wasn’t directed at her. 

The man stumbled back, his confidence suddenly abandoning him as he was stared down by a kid half his age. The kid was tall and lean but it was his scruffy, torn clothes, wild hair, blazing stare, and huffing breaths that shut the man up. Seemingly losing his voice with fear, the man just involuntarily took two steps back. The wind and rain howled around them, the kid’s hair blowing about wildly with it as he snarled at the man. Seeming to come to his senses, the man suddenly put both his hands in a white flag pose, wrapped his overcoat tighter around himself, and walked away as fast as he could. Georgia had stopped now, transfixed by the scene.  

That’s not true.

His words were cold, his voice deep, and throaty as he said, 

“What are you looking at?”  

Georgia’s lips parted to speak but no words came out. She fumbled in her mind and tried to speak but before anything could come out, the boy turned and walked away in the opposite direction. She watched him for a while. His movements seemed almost pained as he lumbered away in the rain. Georgia was entranced for a moment.

 She couldn’t figure out what could have happened to him. Where did he come from? What happened to him? Where was he going? The questions peppered her mind. At first she thought he must clearly be on something; no could seem that trashed and still be sober. She turned and carried on her way to school, trying to get him out of her head. Somehow she sensed there was something else to his story. Whatever it was, Georgia was both afraid of him, and on some level, disgusted by him. Beyond these, some uncharted feeling caused something else to stir within her. As much as she hated to admit it, she was inexplicably and intensely attracted to him too.