Page 31 of Stalk Me

I push open the door to my next class, letting my mask settle back into place. Time to be the perfect student again, the ice queen everyone loves to hate. Let them whisper, let them judge. They have no idea what it takes to survive in this world of monsters and masks. And by the time they figure it out, it'll be too late. Because the only rule in this poisonous paradise is that the game never stops. Survival doesn't end, not ever.

Because for people like me, playing the game is the only chance we have at winning.

And maybe, just maybe, winning means surviving a little longer.

I'll do whatever it takes to win.

Even if it means becoming the monster they always wanted me to be.

The Eye of The Storm

Outside my window, the wind howls like a wounded animal. The gothic panes are shaking so hard that I think they might break. The afternoon sky is a scary shade of gray-green, which means a nasty storm's coming. Dark clouds have been gathering all day, making their way to the island. The ocean beyond Shark Bay's cliffs churns angry and dark, white-capped waves crashing against the rocks with thunderous force.

A voice crackles over the ancient PA system, tiny and distorted: "Due to severe weather conditions, all students are to remain in their dormitories until further notice. Evening activities and study groups are cancelled."

Great. Trapped inside with nothing but my thoughts or worse, stuck in a room alone with Belle. Not to mention, the ghost of sick perverts' hands still lingering on my skin, both the ones inside and outside the school. It's been three days since I got back from that terrible party, but I still can't get rid of the way their hands, eyes, and demands weighed me down like chains. Even though the bruises are getting better, the memories are still as clear as glass.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room, followed almost immediately by a thunderclap that makes the windows rattle in their frames. The storm is directly overhead now, nature's fury matching the tempest in my head. Fortunately, Belle's still not back from wherever she disappears to these days—probably finding new ways to destroy me, new secrets to leverage. The room feels both too big and too small at the same time. The walls are pushing in on me, and the shadows go on forever.

I pace the length of our shared space, my designer heels clicking against hardwood floors that have witnessed generations of rich kids' secrets. There are five steps between the door and the window. Five there, five back. The rhythm should be relaxing, but all it does is remind me of other patterns, like the steady tick of expensive watches as hands wander, the click of camera shutters recording evidence, or the slow, measured steps of animals circling their prey.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memories. They're everywhere, stalking me like ghosts. My hand twitches, itching for the pills or anything that could take my mind off just about everything. But if I had them, using the drugs would feel like admitting defeat. I can't afford to fall apart, not when they're watching, measuring, judging.

Another crack of thunder, and suddenly the lights flicker and die. Perfect. Because what this day really needed was literal darkness to match the metaphorical kind. As I look at the weather map on my phone, the screen gives off an eerie blue glow. The storm system covers miles. It forms a huge red blob that covers the whole island. The night is going to be long.

A soft knock at the door makes me freeze mid-step. "Luna?" Erik's voice carries through the wood, concern evident in his tone. "You okay in there?"

My heart does that stupid little flutter, as it always does when he's near. "Peachy," I call back, aiming for casual detachment but probably landing somewhere closer to barely contained panic. "Nothing like a power outage to really highlight the charm of our prison."

He laughs softly. "Mind if I come in? I have a surprise."

I shouldn't. Being alone with Erik is dangerous—not because he'd hurt me, but because he makes me want things I can't have. Safety. Connection. Trust. But the thought of spending the night alone with my demons is even more terrifying. With a sigh, I open the door, revealing Erik standing in the hallway. The only light comes from emergency lanterns and phones, casting weird shadows across his face.

Erik slips inside, looking unfairly good in the dim light from his phone. His uniform shirt is slightly rumpled, and his tie loosened just enough to be distracting. He's carrying what looks like a laptop and some snacks.

"Thought you might want company," he says, holding up his offerings. "I've got the entire Marvel collection downloaded, plus enough candy to put us both in sugar comas."

"Trying to save me from the dark?" The words come out sharper than intended, brittle with defensive edges.

He meets my gaze steadily. "No. Just offering to wait it out together."

Something in my chest breaks when I hear how honest he is. Erik never tries to fix me or save me. He just keeps showing up, being there without putting pressure on me. It's more dangerous than any attempt at rescue could be. I could handle an attack—I'm used to people seeing me as a burden or a problem to solve. But the warmth in his gray eyes when he looks at me, as if he sees past the icy exterior and knows exactly who I am… it's a drug more potent than anything I've tasted from my parents' friends.

"Fine." I gesture to my bed, the only comfortable seating option in the room. "But if you try to make me watchThor: The Dark World, I'm kicking you out."

A ghost of a smile crosses his features. "What kind of monster do you think I am?"

We lie down on the bed and make sure to keep a safe space between us. Erik puts the laptop on a pillow in between us, and soon, the screen is filled with the blue light from the beginning ofIron Man. Even though there is a storm outside, we have our own little bubble of peace and quiet here.

Except nothing about this is normal. Not the way my skin prickles with awareness of his presence, not the comfortable silence that falls between us, not the way he somehow knows exactly when to offer commentary and when to let the movie speak for itself. Erik's different from anyone else at Shark Bay—he doesn't want anything from me except my company, and that terrifies me more than any demand ever could. Because for the first time since I arrived, someone sees me—the girl behind the armor, the brokenness beneath the confidence—and they don't run away.

I jump when another thunderclap shakes the building, and Erik stops the movie. There's concern etched in his features.

"We can watch something else if you want," he offers. "I've got comedies, documentaries?—"

"It's fine." I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to stop the trembling I know he can see. "The storm just… reminded me of something."

He doesn't push, doesn't ask for explanations I can't give. Instead, he simply shifts slightly closer, offering warmth without demanding contact. "Want to talk about it?"

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