Is that a picture of me in a frame beside her bed?
I move closer.
It is.
And she must have photoshopped herself in it, because she’s beside me, staring up at me with adoration on her face.
Okay, that’s a little odd.
I study it. It looks like the one on Ivy’s Instagram page. Except, I can’t remember if I was wearing that shirt in it.
Not exactly evidence she’s stalking me.
I continue my search, bumping around things as I move.
Fucking whiskey.
I grab her desk chair... and notice a binder lying there. Probably something related to her job.
Curious, I flip it open...
And my heart stops.
I’m sweating more profusely now as I blink, then keep flipping through it.
Wait... this is my daily schedule.
With dates.
The time I get up.
My morning routine.
My stomach knots.
Favorite foods. Drinks. Dislikes.
What the hell?
The room sways.
I’m drunk... right?
I mean, this isn’t real.
Is it?
I step back, shaking my head like this is a bad dream. A nightmare.
I hit the chair leg, which is on wheels.
It slides, and I stumble back, trying to get my balance.
The chair slams into the wall. I grab onto her desk, but it tilts and everything hits the floor.
Books.
Pens.
