I enter the bathroom and lock the door, then I turn fast and head to the window. I knew it was here, and it opens enough for me to slide out.
The wind feels like knives cutting my skin, and the rain is pouring down; still I ran fast.
I can’t stop, not until I’m far away from them all.
This motel is nicer than I expected for the price. The wallpaper is faded but clean, the air thick with the scent of cheap detergent and old rain. A single lamp glows beside the bed, throwing a soft amber light over the worn carpet.
It’s almost eleven. I took a long shower, trying to wash away the fear that won’t come off, and now my clothes hang near the heater, dripping quietly. The steady hum fills the silence. I still have to decide what my next move is. Maybe flee the country; it’s the only thing I haven’t tried yet.
When I ran from the coffee shop, I left my phone behind. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve gone through in six years, each one a tiny death, another name erased.
I lie on the bed in my underwear, skin still damp, hair curling against the pillow. The room is warm; at least the heater works while rain drums against the windows. My throat tightens. I can’t believe I’m doing this again: running, starting over, pretending I don’t care.
This time it’s harder. I really like Viviana. She was becoming the sister I never had, loud and bright and stubbornly kind. Even Declan and his brothers felt like a constant. For a while, I felt safe in that mansion, seen.
She gave me a chance when no one else would, invited me to build something real with her. All because she believed in me, in my work, in my talent. No one ever did that before.
Waking up at the hospital after the fire to find her there with Declan and Flynn.
That moment should’ve told me everything, but I didn’t want to see it.
This is my fault. When the first message came, I should’ve run or at least done what he said. Keep quiet. Hide.
Shit.
I was angry when he found me again. Angry and reckless. Stupid.
Losing my virginity to Flynn… part of me knew it would piss the stalker off, but I thought maybe it would make him lose interest. That he’d see me as ruined, that he’d finally leave me alone. Instead, I made him even angrier.
The paper on the window was another childish idea, and it got my apartment burned down.
This morning he sent me a video of myself, standing by the window, watering the little cactus I’d bought an hour earlier. Then three more videos. Me shopping. Me trying on a coat. He’d followed me the entire day.
When Flynn texted to say he was coming by, I should’ve said no. I knew he was watching. So I acted like an idiot and kissed Flynn right there at the door, like I was proving something.
Next thing I know, a brick flies through the window. Flynn pulls a gun.
Why did he have a gun?
It never even crossed my mind that Flynn might own that apartment. But now… it makes sense. The realtor showed me the worst places I’ve ever seen, all while complaining about rent prices, and then suddenly she took me there.
Even Kian was suspicious. I remember the look he gave Viviana, but then he spoke with the realtor, and now I get it; she told him it was Flynn’s. That’s why Kian said I was safe there.
Why did Flynn do it? He could easily rent that place for a fortune. Instead, he put himself between danger and me. The way he moved… like a man who’s done this before. Was he in the army?
I don’t even know what to think anymore. I’m tired, and my heart feels splintered into pieces. I just want a normal life, work, breathe, maybe date someone without fear. That’s all I ever wanted.
Over the years I’ve gone through every name and face I can remember, but I still can’t figure out who the stalker is. A therapist once told me it could be someone random, someone I was simply kind to. Holding a door, offering a smile. That thought still terrifies me.
He never makes a move. Why? If he wants me, why doesn’t he approach me? Maybe he already did. Maybe I turned him down, and that was enough to set him off.
I don’t remember rejecting anyone. Men don’t usually approach me. They don’t flirt. The only time anyone did was at the hotel, that guy, and the one who spoke to me when I left the elevator.
The lights go out. I jump off the bed and grab a broom that’s leaning in the corner. My pulse hammers in my throat as thunder rolls and the window rattles.
It’s just the storm. Power’s out, that’s all. I’m safe here.
Am I?
