Pacing

I can't stop pacing back and forth from my back door, to the front window, to my bedroom window, to Nick's window, and to the back door again. It's a slow pace. I'm standing, peering into the darkness just waiting. Watching for movement. Making mental notes of which house lights are on or off. Listening through the closed, locked windows for a dog bark. I'm just waiting for this son of a bitch to try me one more time.

As I lay in bed a little after 11 this evening reading, my mom comes running in saying there are sounds. The look on her face is SHITYOURPANTS fear. She tells me the sounds are against the house next to her room. I grab my knife and I start scanning. I can hear something on that side of the house too, but now it's not AGAINST the house, just near the house. Trying to convince Tate to get her big ass up and come look doesn't work. Here I am, shorts, a shirt, no bra, but a knife. I walk into my back yard, slowly. As I peek around the corner of my house, I see a head and a set of eyes over the fence and then they drop. I stood there long enough for them to drop then I ran inside. Immediate I'm fighting with this inserted doggy door Bullshit to close and lock the door. My mom is in a panic calling 911 and I'm pacing. Staring. Waiting.

The house has never been more boobytrapped and locked. But I'm pacing. The lights at the front door and back door are motion sensors but they aren't going off. The wind is blowing and keeping the lights on with twigs, decorative thingies, and whatever else is hanging out there. Everytime I peak out the curtain, I expect to see this sonofabitch's face directly on the other side of the glass. I may only have a knife....but I'm pissed and protecting my kid and my mom. You better bet your ass that if something happens, I WILL RAGE....

P.S. tomorrow's is gonna be a LOOOooOooOoooNNnnnnnG day.