Call me freak a dark sta.., p.1
CALL ME FREAK: A dark stalker romance and psychological thriller, page 1
CALL ME FREAK
J.A. ROLES
Copyright © 2023 by J.A. ROLES
CALL ME FREAK
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical
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writing from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover by TMT Book Cover Design
Cover Model, Dmitry Roslyakov
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CALL ME FREAK
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
This book is a dark stalker romance.
It contains potential triggers.
I won't list them here, but if you'd like to see what they are before reading you can do so here:
TRIGGER WARNING
If you feel there are any triggers missing from the list feel free to contact me and let me know.
Thank you.
Please note this book uses UK spellings. These are not mistakes.
CALL ME FREAK
J.A. ROLES
Everyone has trauma, therapy can't fix.
And that's okay.
You're okay.
We'll get through this life together.
Prologue
"Shush. Don't make a sound. That's it, my Little Sparrow. I didn't mean to wake you," I whisper in her ear, one hand over her mouth as I hover over her on my knees and steady myself with my other hand, making sure to keep my body weight off her... for now.
She reaches for her silky black eye mask, I grab her wrist.
"No. Leave it on." I guide her hand back to her side. "That's it. Just relax. I promise I won't hurt you." I breathe into her ear and watch as goosebumps spread down her neck.
She lies silently.
I press my hand a little firmer over her mouth, my other hand trails over her tank top. I push the straps down to reveal her beautiful breasts. I admire them and watch as she moves slightly. Her nipples harden as the breeze from the open window blows through the room. I waste no time cupping them, caressing them. Wanting to lick, to taste, to suck on her perfect tanned nipples. But I wait— instead I kiss the side of her neck, then lick it slowly up to her ear feeling every goosebump that I caused her to have.
Fuck, you smell exactly how I imagined.
My stiff cock presses hard against my jeans. I unzip myself and move my hand from her breasts and take hold of my cock pushing my boxers out of the way. I use my knees to push her legs apart and to my pleasure I find she's not wearing underwear.
"Did you know I was coming?" I whisper and lick her neck again.
I know she can't answer with my hand over her mouth, but it doesn't fucking matter.
I know you want this just as much as I do, don't you?
I slide my hand between her legs and run my fingers up and down, slowly, gently. I don't want to be rough, not yet. There's plenty of time for that.
For me to take what I craved. What she vowed to never give up so easily...not after her past. I fucking remembered.
And I'd fucking open up a whole new world to her. A world where I'd visit her at night whenever the fuck I wanted and I'd have her over and over again.
And you'd wait for me, wouldn't you?
You'd enjoy the stolen moments just as much as I did.
She'd leave her window unlocked each night in the hope that I'd visit. The three months of summer each year with her gave me the best memories of my life.
I'd catch her standing there, curtains drawn, exposing herself, hoping I'm watching, and I fucking watched. Every summer I'd watch.
She'd turn her back on me, teasing me before climbing into bed and falling asleep. I'd wait. It usually took thirty minutes before she completely passed out. Then I'd climb up onto the roof and creep through her window, only waking her with my cock buried deep inside her waiting pussy.
It was a game we loved to play. A game she enjoyed.
I'd count her contraceptive pills and make sure enough had gone since my last visit... and if ever there was one too many I'd place it on my tongue and force it into her mouth with just enough of my spit for her to swallow it with ease.
We were only seventeen and too young to risk her getting pregnant. I wouldn't want her pregnant whilst she still lived with her father. He was an abusive piece of shit. She was too scared to leave. I knew she got the pills from her older cousin. I'd seen her dropping them off for her. I'd found her cousin's name on the prescription when I searched through her waste bins at night.
I was fucking obsessed with her.
The bloody tampons told me the pills were working. Sometimes, I'd hold them to my face and inhale her scent.
The tampons never stopped me from climbing through her window and taking what was mine. I'd force her to suck my cock. Her moans told me she enjoyed her mysterious stranger visiting her and showing her love at night each summer. By the time we were eighteen the blood no longer deterred me from entering her. In fact, the sight of blood smeared across her thighs after I'd fucked her so rough turned me the fuck on.
She was my release. My escape from reality. My escape from the fucked up life I lived. And the beauty of it all was that she never stopped me. She never said no. She never truly resisted, because I was her escape, too.
This would be our ritual, every summer from seventeen to twenty-one-years old, until one day I had no choice but to leave. On my final visit I left her something to remember me by.
A parting gift.
Chapter One
SEVEN YEARS LATER.
Seven fucking years of this bullshit. Constantly in and out of these mental asylums. I've figured out exactly how to get out of here with ease, and you... you believe me, don't you?
The way I nod and smile in agreement as though I'm your twenty-eight year old pet. I know how this works. I know what I have to do.
The nurse in this fucked up crazy asylum passes me the pills in a paper cup and water in another. I toss them one after the other into my mouth, tilting my head to the side. I crunch my teeth together and swallow the water.
"Open," the nurse says.
I open my mouth and flick the pills under my tongue before flicking them back on top to show her underneath.
"Good boy," she says as if she's praising her fucking pet.
I bite my tongue and force a smile. I play along. I want to get the fuck out of here.
You're dumber than I thought. Stupid bitch. I'd love to force the pills down your throat.
I force my darkness to submit, be quiet. We can't afford to fuck this up. Can't afford to be stuck in here any longer. I'll wear a fucking suit if I have to when I go in front of the panel. Crack a smile, but not too wide, I don't want them to know I'm still fucking nuts. I'll give them a half smile, a soft smile, a smile that says hey this guy is friendly, approachable... trustworthy. He was just having a moment, but he's better now. He's calm, collected, ready for the outside world again. He'll be a respectable member of society... I would say again, but who the fuck am I kidding, I've never been respectable, but who really is? Society is full of kiss asses. The kind of people that pretend to be everyones best friend. The one who licks his bosses balls on a Monday morning, whilst secretly coming down from his cocaine fuelled weekend. Fakes. Not me. I am who I am. Well, usually. I mean, we all play a role at some point. We all pretend to be stable. I don't believe there's a single human that isn't really fucked up by life, by experiences... and if there is, then that's one lucky motherfucker right there.
"Mister Rushlakov," her squeak pulls me back to the room.
Fuck did I drift off? Did I look like I wasn't paying attention? Shit that's bad. I hope I wasn't gone for too long. Fucking attention lapses fuck me over far too often. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Get it together.
"Yeah?" I ask, trying to keep my composure.
"You can go now." She smiles.
I look at her and grunt as I turn to leave.
I run my fingers across the door frame, the cool steel reminds me this asylum is nothing more than a prison. I strut down the white washed corridors, counting the doors as I go. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... my favourite number. I tap my knuckles against the pane of unbreakable fake glass to let my psychologist know I'm here.
"Come in," her soft voice calls.
"Hey, it's that time again." I lick my lips.
"It is. How have you been, Dmitry?" She asks as she places her pen onto the desk. Her long lilac painted fingernails run down the length of her notepad.
"Better now I'm seeing you," I reply and add a wink.
"You know what I meant."
"And
"How are you feeling? Tell me," she prods.
Like a fucking prisoner. Bitch stop questioning me.
"I'm feeling good. Thank you. I'm optimistic about my meeting with the board. I feel so much better. I know how to handle my anger, my outbursts don't happen anymore," I tell her what she wants to hear. I always tell them what they want to hear.
"And how do you manage your anger instead?"
Another question.
I fucking hate this place.
"I use the techniques from the C.B.T classes. You know breathe, count, think..."
More like cock, balls, and your pretty tongue. Now that would make me feel better.
I smile in amusement at my thoughts, but also at her. I have to keep her on side.
"I'm glad to hear that. I must say I haven't had any behaviour reported to me to cause me any concerns at all. You've improved drastically in the last six months that you've been here with us at Highspring Hall. Your records from the other institutions are as though they're describing a completely different person."
"Thank you. That means a lot. I'm in agreement. The facility is nothing like the others. This place is pretty amazing. The staff are exceptional at what they do— in all departments."
Yeah, exceptional arseholes. Forcing mentally ill patients into situations they can't control; into situations they can't refuse. Yeah, your staff are a bunch of bastards. Every last one of them... well except for you, with your big heart pounding beneath those big tits of yours. Oh yeah, I see them through that shirt you're wearing. But you know that don't you? You always wear something slightly see-through whenever we have our little meetings.
"That's really sweet of you to say so. I'm glad to know our hard work doesn't go unnoticed." She lifts her pen and scribbles on her notepad.
"It's true," I lie... again.
"Can I ask you another question?"
You asked me a question to ask if you can ask me a question. Is this part of the psych test? To see how I react. Everyone knows I hate being questioned... but for you I'll always answer... respectfully. How can I not when I see the way you twirl your pretty auburn hair between your fingers and look into my dark soulless eyes with your love-infused ocean blue ones. I could dive into them a thousand times and roam forever content. Not lost, but content. You might be a shitty psychologist, but you're definitely what the doctor ordered to get me the hell out of here. I'm almost certain you got your job because of beauty and not brains. But who gives a fuck. I'm doing it again. I'm lapsing, my mind wanders. Get back in the room Dmitry.
"Sure. Ask me anything you like. I'm all yours." I run my fingers through my hair and lean back slightly on my chair. My sleeves creep up exposing my tattooed arms.
You suck a breath. Don't think I missed that. Your chest is moving quicker than before. You like what you see. Don't you?
"If the board decide that you're better, what's the first thing you're going to do once you're outside of these walls?"
She wants to know if I'll relapse. How can I relapse when I'm acting? How does she want me to answer this?
"I'd make sure to take your number before I leave and then I'll call you. Take you out sometime... somewhere nice. Somewhere sophisticated, like you." I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees which are already spread open. I lower my head but look up at her and smile
"Oh, stop it. Get out of here, you." She giggles and flicks her hair to the side, her cheeks blush and her lips redden.
You fucking love it. You love being a little tease don't you? Lips reddening with ease yet my cock hasn't even touched you... yet.
"You're doing wonderfully. You can leave now, Dmitry." She smiles and I glance back to see her checking out my arse. It pays to know all of those sessions in the gym working on my physique haven't gone unnoticed.
I pace the corridor and hope to retreat to my room but I have no such luck, not on a Sunday. I always die a little inside on Sundays... not that I'm not already fucking dead inside, anyway.
"Come on, Mister Rushlakov," Nurse Conniston pats my back and guides me to the chapel.
"Anything for you, darling." I smile and wink.
Stupid bitch, you think I find you attractive, don't you?
I'd rather vomit in my own mouth and swallow it back down. Even a whole bottle of vodka wouldn't be enough. But, I've got to do whatever it takes to get out of this fucking loony bin... I need my psych report to be glowing.
She leads me into the asylum's ultimate room of crazies— the fucking chapel.
I feel like a fucking idiot as I sit down on the pews facing a poor representation of Jesus. Fucking guy looks more like a busker you'd see in the centre of Moscow than the Lord and Saviour, whatever the fuck they call him.
The priest stands at the front. At least I think that's what he is, he might be a chaplain. Who gives a shit? If God was real I wouldn't be so fucked up. What kind of God let's someone live the life I've had... well, unless he's twisted and fucked up just like me. Or maybe I'm the devil's work. His little project.
My thoughts race away with me.
I do as they say. I sit still and try not to fidget. I don't want to bring any unnecessary attention to my arse.
I join in with the crazies as they gaze up at the priest.
"Welcome, everyone. Today we're going to start off by saying The Lord's Prayer," the priest addresses the chapel full of loonies.
The guy on my right needs to stop twitching the way he is. His hand keeps hitting my leg and it's starting to piss me off. I'd fucking break every finger if I were on the outside. The image of his fingers snapping and him screaming in pain plays out in my mind causing me to smirk.
"Let us pray," the priest insists.
Hands together in prayer I look down at the roots that spiral from my wrists and run up my arms. My tattoos, they're my fucking saviours. They remind me of who I am. I'm not just another patient in this place.
"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil," the priest drones on.
I try to hold in my laughter and look down at the floor closing my eyes. That line always amuses me.
Keep your shit together, Dima.
I remind myself.
Next, it's time for a song. Not again. Not this piece of hippy shit. I'm sick of this fucking song — True Colours. These workers don't see any of our true colours. All they see are projects, victims, play things, and pets. I need to keep playing along if I want to get out of here.
"Dmitry, you're not singing," Nurse Cassidy snaps at me, shoving the back of my head with her song book.
"Sorry, I was lost in thought. Thinking about my own true colours. How I've progressed since being here. I really see myself, you know," I give a reply that makes me sound sane when all I want to do is take that book and shove it down her fucking throat. Stupid bitch.
Fuck, it's not hard to look or sound sane in this place compared to the rest of them. Half of these guys need a lobotomy. My wiring might be bad, but I'm fully sane. I guess I was lucky to have been sent here and not to prison in the first place. I mean, mother would've had me sent to prison if she could, luckily she didn't make a statement in court. My rage got the better of me, and I've more than fucking paid for it.
I hum along and sing the meaningless lyrics as the crazies around me smile, stare, grunt, you fucking name it and those expressions can be found on their faces. This place is full of the demented.
The singing soon stops and we're given our freedom back. If you can call it that. I gather myself and head outside into the yard for a cigarette. I really need to stop smoking this shit, but it's addictive, you know, and it helps to pass the time. You get more outdoor time if you're a smoker in this place. I learned that the hard way the first time I was here. That stay lasted far too long. I don't intend on being here much longer. In fact, it's almost time for me to go before the crazy board, and beg and plead my case, fein my sanity and get the fuck out of here. This time for good, because I swear on my dead grandmother's ashes— I'm not coming back here again. I'll do whatever the fuck it takes to stay on the outside. I despise crazy people.
Chapter Two
I retreat to my room and fall asleep. Sunrise doesn't take long before she awakens me to another day in this shithole.
