//be prepared for some emotion, and let this be your trigger warning for sexual assault. if reading the story behind flora's fear is uncomfortable or triggering for any of you, skip past the large chunk of text in italics toward the end of the chapter and I'm sure you'll manage to pick up what's going on throughout the rest of the story/chapter comments 😩//

I hadn't been punished before. It's not that my mother was particularly lax, more so that I never used to do anything. My bed and I, the television and I, the laptop and I, Skylar, the reclining chairs and I... I hadn't exactly been very wild or adventurous in my day to day doings. It seemed that my mother now looked at me in an entirely new light.

Upon our arrival home, she'd given me barely a moment to sit down before she launched into a hysterical rant. Granted, Mrs Montgomery was well within reason to do so, but I was finding it extremely difficult not to bite back. It still hadn't been safe to tell her anything, not until I had a plan to get rid of Ian without the possibility of him hurting her. It was somewhere between blaming Parker for every bad thing that had ever occurred in my life and the suggestion of a restraining order that something within me snapped. Though I hadn't let anything slip about Ian's true identity, I had rather vocally voiced my thoughts about him. That he was Satan's spawn, he was a vile, disgusting man that shouldn't be under our roof, that she barely knew him and it was far too soon for him to be there. Of course, after having heard that she would listen to no claims of Parker's innocence and shut the situation down completely.

I'd spoken to the police in my living room, my mother refusing to let them take me to the station. Whether that was because the memory of my father would have been too strong what with him having worked there or whether it be because I was now under an extreme level of house arrest, I wasn't sure. Nor was I sure what to say to the police. My mother had taken away my phone in case I tried to reach out to Parker and so I had no idea whether I was supposed to describe Jason or not. There was a chance that if I told them of my attackers identity that they'd take Jason into custody and he'd spill his guts about Parker and the guys' dealings with Ian. If one went down, they all did. It wasn't people involved in this case, but domino pieces. So I claimed never to have seen who stabbed me. A shadowed figure, I said, impossible to make out. Parker had saved me. Their faces betrayed their acceptance of my statement, utterly unbelieving. At this point, I didn't care. What I'd said couldn't possibly get Parker in trouble for I'd painted him out to be the hero that he was. My mother, who had been listening behind the door during, had not looked happy.

Soon after the police left did the terms of my house arrest get made abundantly clear:

"There will be no free time until I trust you again, Flora. I'm sorry but it's what has to be done both for your safety and my sanity. You leave for school, Ian will drive you. He's kindly cut back on his sessions with clients until this whole thing blows over. When at school you do not talk, borrow pencils from, or even look at Parker Heywood or any one of his delinquent cronies. I've spoken to the headmaster and he has agreed that this be for the best. Your teachers have been made aware. No after school lingering or clubs or anything of the sort. Ian will pick you up the moment that bell rings and bring you straight back home." She paused. "Don't give me that look, young lady. You think rolling out your bottom lip and making your eyes shine like that will make this all go away? It won't. This is for the best and you'll understand that when you're older. He's been an awful influence. Now Skylar can visit, of course. She's a lovely, trustworthy girl, but she may only come here. You cannot go to her house in case you're sneaking off to Parker's house. No matter how lovely she is, she's your friend not mine. I can't chance it. Have I made myself clear?"

She'd made herself as clear as crystal. Ultimately, I'd gone from being a free undercover agent to a prisoner in my own home. My mother couldn't possibly have known that this be the worst of all punishments. A guaranteed forty minutes worth of alone time in Ian's car each day followed by dinner eaten together "as a family" because apparently I "need to get used to Ian" as he's "very important" to her.

Six weeks had gone by painstakingly slow and I was craving Parker's company like an addict might his drugs. Glances in corridors weren't enough to keep me sustained, the feather-like brush of his fingers along my forearm as he passed my desk to reach his own in the farthest away corner were a cruel reminder of what could have been. Technically I was eighteen. An adult. I could make my own decisions. However when it came to speaking to my therapist, I was an "impressionable teen with a fragile state of psychological health" and of course that overruled everything. I was a helpless butterfly trapped on a board and Ian had the pins exactly where he wanted them - especially the one slap bang in the centre of her heart.

It was Saturday today; the weekends were always the worst. On the first weekend of Let's-Make-Flora-Miserable, my mother had organised that we all go grocery shopping together. This had possibly been the worst trip of my entire life. First of all, she'd chosen to go to my old work place to purchase the vegetables where coincidentally I hadn't been since the fiasco with Parker and the firing. When my old work colleague served us she proceeded to ask how my hot boyfriend was and whether we were still together. This had my mother screaming incoherently, slapping money down on the counter without receiving change and dragging me out of the store. Cue running straight into Parker and his friends outside.

"Flora," Parker choked. His eyes were rimmed with smudges of charcoal and he hadn't styled his hair to swoop up in that infamous wave at the front of his head. It looked ruffled like he'd just woken up. My fingers itched to brush through it.

"Parker," My voice was a rasp. I only broke eye contact with him when Matthew, Axel, Topher and Hayden suddenly appeared. They each looked extremely uncomfortable due to something over my shoulder. I turned to find my glaring mother and a very blank Ian.

"Let's get back to the car," Ian said, and he put his hand on my shoulder that felt like it weighed ten tonnes. With the force it had come down on, I wouldn't have been surprised if my feet had been driven into the concrete a little. As it was, I only stumbled slightly and bit through my lip to stop me from crying out and batting him away. I knew it would only last a few seconds, he was just making a point for Parker to see it. If I didn't make a fuss it'd be over soon. A metallic taste filled my mouth and my eyes started to sting.

My mum, noticing my severe discomfort, eyed his hand warily in complete distraction from the boys in front of us. "Ian?"

"Exposure therapy, love. Remember?"

Parker's jaw ticked and Axel's arm shot out to prevent him from lunging. Ian, smiling now, then retracted his hand. He'd got what he wanted. We walked to Ian's car in silence, the shouts from the boys behind us distant and unintelligible. I couldn't even spare a glance behind me as we drove off for it would have been too painful.

After that my mother didn't protest to solitary weekends. She made sure she didn't need to catch up with work and stayed downstairs watching television all day. Either I could join her, or I could spend my time in my room. I tended to opt for the latter and Skylar would sometimes swing by to keep me sane. Today, however, was one of the few days she couldn't manage. Unfortunately it just so happened to be the day I needed her most.

"I'm off to work today," Said my mother. Upon hearing the words I almost inhaled the cereal spoon. Was she finally leaving me alone? Trusting me? Of course I'd find my phone immediately. Call Parker. If I couldn't I'd sprint to his house. A flat out sprint all the way there couldn't take that long, could it? As if hearing my every thought, her face darkened. "But don't think you'll be here unsupervised. Ian's taken today off. I'll see you at dinner time."

"Ian?" I echoed, uncomprehending. "Ian's going to be here? No, mum I-"

She sighed. A deep, terribly exhausted sigh. It was enough to make me feel fleetingly guilty. If only she could understand. "That is what I said, yes. I'll see you for dinner."

Once the sound of the door closing behind her filtered down the hallway and into the kitchen, I was up and out of my seat and leaving my bowl behind on the table.

"Where are you going, Flora?"

I froze halfway up the stairs. "To my room where you are not allowed to go. I'm locking the door behind me and that's that."

"I could get your mum to take that off, you know." He said thoughtfully, and I whirled around to stare at him. Surely he wouldn't... But why wouldn't he when he'd already done so much? His name was a synonym for destruction. "The lock, I mean. You're a bit of a danger to yourself, wouldn't you say? All of these supposed feelings you possess for that immature boy. You need a mature male figure to reinforce what's right. What if something was to happen in that room of yours? What if you needed checked on?"

"What, so you could come in with the camera I know you stole from Skylar to take more photographs of me during the night? You sick bastard." I clenched my shaking fists together. They were shaking out of fear, but I hoped against all hope he thought it was from anger.

"That'd be a bit pointless," He shrugged. "There'd be nowhere to put the pretty portrait. The police have my darkroom under investigation. You didn't need to provide them with a name, Parker did that for you. Smart boy. He knew I'd have something to hold over Jason in order to blackmail him not to talk. If he went down, he'd bring me down with him. I suppose all you care about is whether Parker gets put behind bars. Once upon a time I might have cared about that too, but not whilst he pines after you. Not whilst you pine after him." He moved forward and I hurriedly mounted another step closer to my room. "I have to ask, why do you like him?"

"Lets see," I wiped my sweaty palms against my jean clad thighs. "He isn't a creep. He isn't more than twice my age. He doesn't take photographs of me without my knowing. He's smart and caring and funny and everything you're not. The list could go on."

"Smart," He mused. "I'd say I'm intellectually superior to an eighteen year old boy. In fact, I'm far superior to mostly everybody intellectually. There's not a single person in this town who I haven't successfully fooled. If anybody was to be my unwravelling, it would have been you and your mother. Who'd have thought that I'd manage to pull the wool over both of your eyes with such extreme ease." He laughed, and it was the most unsettling of sounds. It held great amusement, even pride. It'd be the soundtrack to my future nightmares. "Did you know my real name isn't even Ian Greene?"

"What?"

"Ian Greene was a therapist I happened to know around ten years back. He was one of my biggest customers, actually. If it hadn't been for his hollowing cheeks from all the drugs he'd been buying, he bore an uncanny resemblance to myself. Just in the face. Not so much the shade of his hair or the colouring of his eyes..."

"I found dark contact lenses in the bathroom bin. I already knew that wasn't your real eye colour." I blurted, nerves getting the better of my brain which was screaming at me to keep my mouth shut and my legs moving until I was safely locked behind my bedroom door.

His smile glittered. To some perhaps it might have seemed charming, but I saw it for what it really was. The dangerous glint of light against an unsheathed blade. "You're like your father. He was a smart man."

"What do you know of my dad?" I mounted another step, still facing him. He stayed standing on the lowest step but I didn't doubt his long legs could reach me in two simple strides.

"I know everything of your dad, Flora. More than even you."

"Y-you've been here like five minutes. My dad left us the night of my tenth birthday! He's probably in another country now with some other family thankful that he escaped his freak of a daughter or-"

"Or he's dead." He said it with such a causal tone that I almost thought I'd misheard him. He brought up one of his shoulders into a half hearted shrug as if he'd suggested a restaurant to eat at rather than that of my father no longer being able to breathe.

"Excuse me?" My blood ran cold. It already felt like I was getting frost bite in my fingers as I asked the dreaded question. "Why would you say that?"

"You clearly want to be well informed and I'm the only one who can do it. Come," He curled his fingers inward, beckoning me closer. I didn't dare move. He gave another shrug. "Or here is fine, too. You might want to sit on that step then in case you fall down the stairs. Emotional news sometimes causes people to faint. I should know, I am a therapist, after all." He smiled as if at a secret joke upon saying the last sentence. If this story wasn't a complete fabrication from his psychotic mind, he wasn't a therapist at all.

"Spit it out."

"My first kill was Ian," He said offhandedly. "Your work life is separate from your home life. There's a definite division. Dealing drugs is a dangerous business, a whole other world, and one that doesn't allow your home life to stay completely separated. If you have angry buyers they'll come to your door. If you refuse to sell them your stash they'll stalk you. Terrible nuisance. Figured that out the hard way. So I bought another house. One that I could live my day to day life in. I hired more trusted employees to do my dealings for me and created a new persona. My next door neighbour was a lovely fellow named Ian who lived alone. He was a bit dim but knew how to comfort people well enough. Lived vicariously through his work, that man - and, of course, my produce. He didn't have any friends. None save myself and your father, that is."

The floor seemed to be tilting. I clawed through the air, hand hitting the wall on one side and clasping the banister on the other. Before I knew it I was lowering myself onto the step. Ian didn't have to say I told you so for me to know it was what he was thinking. His face said enough.

"Having a second home, one that I could live in comfortably knowing I wouldn't get a knock on my front door at three in the morning demanding I supply whoever it was with more drugs even if they didn't have the sufficient amount of money, was refreshing. It didn't, however, keep everybody at bay. Some still followed me from my old house where I did some of my business - the house you were in, Flora - to my new one. They still knew what I looked like. Truly problematic, it was, until good old Ian pointed out how similar we were to one another. It was undeniable once it had been said. If I were to dye my hair that eye-sore orange, darken my eyes and gain some weight around my middle, we'd have looked like twins. All I had to do was wash the dye out and take out the contact lenses and I was business me. Put the disguise back on and I could live my life in peace. It was a sign. So of course that had to be the end of Ian and I's friendship. It's amazing how something as harmless as a household appliance, a lamp no less, can turn into a dangerous weapon if wielded correctly. A tap to the head and he was gone."

"You- you murdered somebody? In cold blood? Y-you just- killed him? I-" I was in the house with a murderer. I was in the house with a stalker and a murderer. I couldn't stop the vomit that had been rising in my throat from suddenly projecting outward. It burst through my fingers that I'd hurriedly splayed to stop the oncoming stream and splattered the carpeted staircase.

"Perhaps," Ian began after a short while, apparently choosing his words very carefully. "You ought to go clean up."

I nodded my head furiously and dashed upstairs. The cool water from the bathroom sink felt heavenly against my burning skin. It also did wonders with rinsing the horrendous taste from my mouth. I'd left the door open, not paying a second thought to the prospect that Ian might consider trailing after me. For one, he'd have had to play hopscotch around the remnants of my sick, and two, he had looked incredibly disgusted - too much SO to follow. The mirrored cabinet above the sink, however, showed me his reflection clearly as he leant against the wall.

"I buried Ian in the back garden of my first house," He continued as if there hadn't been a break. The tap was still running, a soft murmur in comparison to his hard, cold voice. May as well keep all the crimes in one location. I sold my new house and moved into Ian's next door. I dyed my hair ginger, bought myself some coloured contact lenses. None of his colleagues noticed the change. Save one who noted that I was friendlier, easier to get along with than what he used to think of me. Of Ian." Ian - if I could even call him that anymore - snorted. "Even his patients thought of me as more helpful. The man studied to be what he was and in I swooped, already better than him on day one without even so much as a minute of training."

"I don't want to hear anymore." I gasped out between splashes of cool water against my face. I might not have been able to feel my fingers from having them in the water for so long, but my face was drying off almost immediately after it was covered. My skin hadn't felt this dry and hot since the infamous fever of 2012 where I was stuck in bed for a solid week. My mother had fretted about my bed with cold compresses and sick bowls and home made chicken soup.

"But don't you?" He said. "Introducing your father, Mr Ethan Montgomery. Smart man. Far smarter than I gave him credit for. See, it turns out that he and Ian had studied at the same university and were much closer than I'd presumed. It was difficult pretending I knew what the guy was talking about, but considering the situation I think I did pretty well. I looked through all of Ian's files, his emails, his phone contacts, and found his old school year book. I thought I had Ethan fooled. He invited me around often enough to give me that impression. And yet he knew I wasn't Ian. All of the visits had been tests. Ethan had been trying to decipher my true identity based on what facts I would let slip and what questions I couldn't answer. Our hang outs started becoming more and more like interrogations. The fact he was a police officer didn't exactly improve the matter. I think he knew when I started getting suspicious. One night, the night before your tenth birthday, he invited me round for drinks. Both you and your mother had gone to bed. You were such a cute little thing... Guess you always have been."

"I do not want. To hear. Anymore." I said through gritted teeth. There was bile in my throat again and I knew it wouldn't be long before I began to retch.