I Can’t Believe I’m Saying This, But I’m Deathly Afraid Of Cakes After What’s Been Happening To Me

Well, that doesn’t help me, I thought, biting my fingernails as I nervously paced back and forth. I hated to let good food go to waste, but I was smart enough not to eat something that, as far as I knew, could have been laced with rat poison. If the sender eventually revealed himself as someone other than Brad, then I would lie through my teeth and tell them I loved the cake. If it was from Brad, then I was definitely not eating it, whether or not it he’d sabotaged it. For my own peace of mind, I tossed the cake in the garbage bin, and went to bed.

I woke up the next morning feeling rejuvenated. As I walked through the kitchen, I could smell the sweet scent of cake rising from my garbage can, reminding me of my woes. Brad knows where I live, I worried. I went about my day, trying not to think about him. It was my life and I was in control. I didn’t want to be a slave to his abuse any more, yet it was hard to stop hearing his disapproving words whispered in the back of my mind. You’re not good enough. You’re a bitch. Button your top, you whore. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to keep my head held high.

Another package was waiting for me when I got home. Same white box, same pink ribbon.

“Enjoy your Just Desserts!” it read, same as the bakery’s motto.

The cake was different this time. Chocolate with cherry icing, or so the Just Desserts Bakery hotline claimed, when I called to check the order. I was surprised that they were still closed, but not shocked to find out that the order was sent anonymously. Chocolate was my favorite, so throwing that cake out was more painful than the first. Still, my safety was far more important.

The following day, another cake found its way onto my welcome mat. I didn’t even have time to debate whether or not I should throw it out, because when I opened it, the message inside frightened me so much that the box slipped through my fingers, and the cake splattered onto the floor.

“I’m going to slice you up like a birthday cake.”

It was Brad. It had to be Brad. He was fucking with me, like the scumbag that he was. I called the bakery, but still couldn’t get through to a human being.

Like clockwork, another package showed up on my doorstep the following day. This time, it contained four cupcakes, each with a different letter written in bold.

“S-L-U-T”

Lovely.

Canadian Horror Author

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