Diaries of an Urban Panther Read Online Free PDF Page B

model Bronco, something made before both of us were born. The back was full of various and sundry things covered with a canvas tarp that rattled as we drove and the leather on the seats was cracked. It didn’t even have a tape player in it, just one of those radios with the sliding, light up dial. But he looked like he belonged in it somehow. And it was more than just the dark jeans and flannel shirt he was wearing.
    He turned in the seat to face me but I stared at my house, like it was a foreign country. “I’ll check in everyday.”
    I nodded like a child, looking down at my hands folded on top of what was left of my shirt and skirt from the attack, dried blood stiffening the satin. I’d decided after he made me scrambled eggs that morning that he wasn’t going to kill me. He wasn’t necessarily giving me the whole story, but he wasn’t going to kill me.
    I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave his car, though, and walk into my house. It looked so different from across the street. Or maybe it was me who was different.
    “Here,” he said softly as he handed me something. “Just in case.”
    I slowly took the piece of paper from his hand. On it was a phone number scrawled in black ink.
    “Stalkers have business cards? Is there a union too?” I smiled weakly.
    Garrett chuckled. “Jokes. You must be feeling better.”
    I looked at the paper in my hand and flipped it over. Nothing special, just a piece of cardstock with his number on it. It was fitting somehow. No frills.
    “What happens next?”
    “I’ll keep looking, keep asking to try to find answers. You just need to keep an eye out. Call me if something goes wrong.”
    “What hasn’t gone wrong already?” I finally looked up at him. Backlit by the morning sun, he looked like he should be shooting a GAP commercial and not walking me through a traumatic aftermath. The golden highlights in his hair danced with the sunlight and his eyes were more of a hazel this morning than the dark chocolate from last night.
    With a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped out into the morning. The heavy metal door slammed shut with its own weight, shattering the silence of my perfect street. Tentatively, I scanned the street to see if anyone was anywhere. Nope, just me. I took in a deep breath amazed that there was no pain and took my first step to cross the street.
    “Hey,” I heard as I stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of my house.
    I turned around and had to shield my eyes from the rising sun.
    “It can be done,” he said as he stood by the driver’s side, looking over the hood of his car. “Lots of people do it.”
    I didn’t have a witty comeback, so I kinda waved and walked up the sidewalk to my house. It felt like the walk of shame back in college, like everyone was watching me as I turned my key in the door, like everyone knew what happened to the poor single girl in 2G.
    A fter my shower, which was clean and filled with my scented soaps, I was able to see my back. As of 8:30 on Tuesday morning, the four wounds that caused nerve damage and severe blood loss were nothing more than four dark shadows across my left shoulder. The bite marks and other small scrapes on my hands and knees were nothing more than a bad memory and writing fodder.
    I dressed in a pair of comfortable lounge pants with a white tank top and sipped coffee out of my favorite mug, a ceramic turtle mug I had gotten at some aquarium with swimming Ridgley’s on it. Something about the blues and greens usually calmed me. But not today.
    As I stared at the perky curtains in my kitchen, my brain was filled with thousands of questions, racing around so fast I felt dizzy. What just happened? Was he telling the truth? Am I meant for something more? Have I been lying dormant? Am I destined to attract insane men for the rest of my life or is it just a phase?
    I needed to do something. I couldn’t just sit here. Idol hands and everything.
    So I did the one thing I knew I did well, something that would