If he wants to kill me, why not just get it over with?
“You don’t make a move where I’m not watching. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nod, a whimper escaping as tears fall down my cheeks. “This is because of what I did? Because I left you?”
“Why? Are you going to apologize for leaving me in the middle of the road that night?”
I don’t get a chance to answer. He whips me around, backing me into a computer chair, which slams into the desk in front of it. “Tell me, poison, did you cry for me? After you drove away from mydeadbody, did you weep?”
Breaking into sobs, I nod. “I did. I still do.”
Leaning his ski-mask-covered forehead against mine, he sighs. “You’re the one that got away, and now I have you. You’ll never escape again.”
His words spill through my brain like a bleed, my head aching from the pressure of them.
“How did you find me?” I manage to ask through my emotions.
It’s odd, I should be more afraid of him. I am, don’t get me wrong, but part of me is… relieved.
It’s finally over.
I’ve been afraid for so fucking long.
I’ve been overwhelmed with guilt for even longer.
Now, it’s over.
All of it.
“You don’t remember?” he asks, his voice a mere whisper. There’s a dark husk to it, and it causes a shudder to move through me.
“No.”
Stepping back, he removes his mask, all of his sharp features coming into view under the light of all the screens he’s used while stalking me all these months.
Something about him seems… familiar, but I can’t quite place him.
“I’ve seen you before…” But where?
I step into him, my tears finally drying as I look him over.
The angles of his face are sharp, his cheekbones are high, and his dark eyes are framed with thick lashes.
His lips are full, and they have a slight pout to them. A massive scar runs the length of the right side of his face, making it harder for him to blend into a crowd.
Every bit of his appearance gives the warning that he’s a threat.
“You bumped into me in town once.I need to get better at watching where I’m going,” he mocks.
All of a sudden, all the pieces come together in my mind. His face, his damning, sinful face as I back toward my car. The way he looked at me… Like he knew me. Like my bumping into him had offended him. Like I was his next obsession come to life.
“The notes started the next day,” I realize.
“They did. Well, I left it that night, but you wouldn’t have found it.”
I swallow. “You followed me home?”
“I did. Then, I snuck inside. It took time for me to work up the nerve to touch you, but once I did… The noises you made for me,” he recalls, closing his eyes as if to relive moments I don’t remember even if I try.
