In the following days, fear and its fangs bit at her brain, to the point of exsanguination. The fear drinking her blood. Colin was her vampire. He was her poltergeist. He was invisible, yet everywhere. And she had worsening, terrifyingly vivid nightmares of him as a cat burglar crawling in through her bedroom window at night, and eating her alive, like a zombie. Or him cackle-fucking her with a
Cancel Culture | Kim Cancer broken beer bottle and then slashing her throat, licking sticky spurting bursts of blood off her open wound.
There’d been a recurring dream, too, of his hired mafia goons driving by, in a black Cadillac, shooting her dead in the street like Paul Castellano outside of Sparks.
Colin had been a big fan of horror movies and mafia movies and had watched tons of them with her. Who knows what ideas he was concocting… The asshole could literally pick almost anything from a Stephen King book and try it on her.
And he had the cash to get away with it too…