Page 25 of Creep

“What the fuck? Get out of here!”

I blinked at her through the hood, taking in everything, from her facial expression to the way her body huddled against the shower wall. She shouldn’t be scared of me. I was the last person in the world who would ever hurt her, but she didn’t know that. She didn’t know me.

“I mean it,” she said. “I’ll call the police.”

I smiled beneath my mask. How cute. Did she think the police would be able to do anything to me?

I let my eyes roam over her one last time before I calmly walked out of the bathroom, leaving her apartment the same way I came in and locking it behind me.

I didn’t want any fucker to come in and hurt what was so fucking precious to me, after all.

9

LIA

My legs shookas I leaned against the wall, trying to get my bearings.

He was here.

It didn’t feel real.

How could he be here? How could…

I couldn’t even think. My mind was going crazy. Perhaps I had imagined it?

I shut off the water with a shaky hand and wrapped a towel around myself. My movements were slow as I got out of the shower, trying hard not to collapse to the floor right there and then.

He was… he was gone, wasn’t he?

He had to be.

I peeked out of the bathroom, but there was no sign of anyone being there besides me.

No sign of him.

As if I had imagined it.

It had to be, right?

My lips trembled. Even I could hear the lie in my thoughts.

I was afraid to leave the confines of the bathroom, which I knew was stupid. If he was still around, the last thing I wanted was to be trapped in a small, enclosed space with him. I just couldn’t make myself move.

My feet felt like they were stuck to the ground, and my heart felt like it was moments away from fluttering outside of my body. I wouldn’t survive. How could you survive without your heart?

Nausea built, and it was taking everything in me not to curl up on the bathroom floor. What was I supposed to do?

Weapons.

I needed weapons… something, in case he came back. I needed to protect myself. But how?

I gasped when my eyes landed on my mirror, taking in the letters there.

MINE

I didn’t write this. That sick fucker did. And it didn’t take a genius to know what he meant.

I was his.

---