BooksBarbecue
Back Stalker Save as PDF
Chapters (66)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. EPILOGUE
  63. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  64. MORE FROM GEMMA ROGERS
  65. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  66. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

The rest of Christmas Day was spent mooching around the flat, carrying a tin of Celebrations wherever I went, making my way through them one chocolate at a time. When dusk came around, I felt so sick I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything more than a couple of crackers with cheese. I rang Mum to wish her a merry Christmas, but she was three sheets to the wind. It sounded like she was in the pub, a rowdy group singing The Pogues’ ‘Fairytale of New York’ in the background, and I couldn’t get much sense out of her. I had a text from Ian wishing me a merry Christmas at around eight in the evening. I waited until just before I went to bed to reply, wishing him the same.

Ben still wasn’t home by the time I’d watched Home Alone and Scrooged, so I assumed he was staying out. In the end I went to bed with a bottle of Baileys, trying to calculate how many calories I’d consumed. Sod it. It was Christmas after all.

Thursday 4 January 2018

During the holidays, the days blurred into one. The rest of the festive season whizzed by; Ben went back to work the day after Boxing Day and normal service resumed. Jason didn’t want me back at the gym until the second of January and I was grateful to have a bit of downtime. New Year’s Eve was a washout, it poured with rain and I stayed in to watch fireworks out of Ben’s window whilst he was at work. He’d suggested it, a better view from his side apparently. I resisted the urge to look around his room. Poor Jane had to work too. She sent me a selfie of her amongst a group of nurses, all wearing party hats, and blowers in their mouths. In the photo, which didn’t come through until the following morning, she was pointing to her fob watch pinned to her uniform

There were no resolutions. I couldn’t plan anything whilst I still had Ian hanging over my head. But I did allow myself to look back at how far I’d come, mainly in the last few months. Physically and mentally I was stronger. I was no longer Ian’s victim. I’d taken control of my life, changed my job, paid my debts and was moving on. I’d even cut right down on smoking. No longer using it as a crutch to get me through the day.