Page 35 of Stalk Me

"You're lying." He finally writes. "Something's happened. Let me help."

A bitter laugh escapes me. Help? No one can help me. I'm trapped in a web of my parents' making, every struggle only entangling me further. The only way to protect Erik is to make him hate me.

I scroll the photos, finding one from a particularly wild party. It's not as explicit as the ones in the box, but it gets the message across—me, straddling some faceless guy, clearly in the middle of something heated. I send it with the caption: "This is who I am, Erik. Last night meant nothing. You mean nothing. Find someone else to save."

It's easier than it should be, typing out the messages, being the ice bitch everyone expects me to be. Easier than admitting my parents won. Easier than telling him the truth, as dangerous and damning as it would be. Sending those final messages is so easy. I can practically see him, reading them with pain and disappointment and betrayal on his face.

The three dots appear and disappear several times. Finally: "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want. But stay away from me, or you'll regret it."

"Luna—"

"And delete my number. Next time, I won't be so nice."

Silence. Long enough that I wonder if he believed it. Long enough to reconsider, to risk trust over self-preservation. I turn off my phone before I can change my mind and text him again, my hands shaking so badly that I nearly drop it. The box of photos seems to pulse with malevolent energy, a cancer spreading across my desk. I should burn them, destroy the evidence. But that won't solve anything. Whoever sent these clearly has copies, probably digital ones, ready to spread across campus at the click of a button.

A knock at my door makes me jump. "Luna?" Erik's voice carries through the wood, concern evident in his tone. "I know you're in there. Please, just talk to me."

The thought of letting him in makes me freeze. I know I can't. I shouldn't. The pictures that are covering the majority of my desk are reminder enough of what happens when I let people get too close. To protect him, I have to push him away.

I step back until my spine hits the wall, the dark wood paneling cold against my skin. Don't open the door. Don't give in. My nails bite into my palms as I fight the impulse, my heart a war drum in my chest. I can feel the walls closing in, the gilded cage around me tightening. Part of me wants to open the door, to find refuge in Erik's steady presence. But another, louder voice reminds me that hiding in his arms will only make it worse later.

"Luna, please." Erik's voice sounds almost raw.

"Go away, Erik." I'm proud of how steady my voice sounds. "I meant what I said. We're done."

"Bullshit." The door handle rattles. "Something's wrong. You're not acting like yourself."

A broken laugh escapes me. "You don't know me. No one does."

"I know enough." His voice softens. "I know you're scared. I know someone's threatening you. Just let me help."

"I don't need your help." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "I don't need anything from you."

There's a long pause. When he speaks again, his voice is different—harder, more determined. "Fine. Push me away if you need to. But I'm not giving up on you, Luna. Whatever's going on, whoever's making you do this—we can fight them together."

Tears burn behind my eyes. God, he makes it sound so simple. As if we could just team up and take on the world, defeat the monsters, ride off into the sunset. But life isn't a fairy tale, and I'm not a princess waiting to be saved. I'm the monster, the villain, the girl who destroys everything she touches. And the sooner Erik learns that, the better.

"Please," I whisper, knowing he can't hear me. "Just go."

For a moment, there's only silence. Then, so quietly, I almost miss it, "I'll be here when you're ready to tell me the truth."

His footsteps fade down the hallway, each one an echo of what I'm losing. Only when I'm sure he's gone do I allow myself to slide to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees as the first sob tears free. I sit in the shadows, head cradled in my hands, as my heart shatters and pieces dig into my lungs like broken glass.

I wish I didn't have to lie. I wish I could tell him the truth. But I don't even know what that is anymore.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, grief bleeding through the carefully constructed mask. "God, I'm so sorry."

But there's no one around to hear the apology. I'm alone. Always alone. Protecting Erik was the right choice, the only option. The alternative—letting the wolves smell blood, using him as bait for the shark that lurks in the depths—means accepting the worst-case scenario as my new truth.

The photos mock me from above, a gallery of my sins and weaknesses. Each one is a reminder of why I can't have nice things, why I don't deserve someone like Erik. He sees the best in me and believes there's something worth saving beneath all the darkness and sharp edges. But he's wrong. There's nothing inside me but ghosts and memories and nightmares.

No matter how many times I repeat those words, they don't ring true.

I curl into a ball and cry like a child, finally mourning all the ways my parents have shattered and destroyed the possibility of a normal life. This isn't fair. I haven't done anything to deserve this. And yet here I am, at Shark Bay, cowering in my room. Alone, terrified, without any hope for a different future. If anyone in this building could see me now, see me like this, they'd stop seeing me as an untouchable ice queen. In their eyes, I'd just become a broken mess—the girl without armor, crying over her own weakness and the fate of others.

My phone buzzes again. Another unknown number: "Good girl. Keep him away, or the next photos will be much worse. Remember—we're always watching."

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