This is a story based on a situation that happened to me that I submitted elsewhere a few months ago in an "all stories here are real even if they aren't" fashion. I don't mind if people think it's believable fiction. It was hell to live through, so being able to detach myself from it as simply an author made it easier to relive.
I've heard all the insults, the jabs, the "she deserved its". I've seen the dirty looks, the disbelief, and most recently the "stop trying to write your own 'Fifty Shades' story" comments. I've heard it all. And I understand. It's much easier to write something off as someone's imagination than to accept that the things that go bump in the night could be someone you know. That that shadow you thought you saw move actually did. That the feeling of being watched is being caused by someone you trusted.
The events I'm about to share happened roughly six years ago, though it's written in "real time".