Page 17 of The Stalker
Bianka
I sit against the door for over an hour, bone tired and stiff from all the running, but I don’t sleep.Not really.Because every time I close my eyes, I see him.
Griffin’s face hovering over mine, his breath scorching my skin, his voice curling around me like smoke.The scrape of his teeth on my neck, the burn of his fingers on my wrist, hip, breast.The look in his eyes—dark, too dark, like someone else was peering out through him.
I jolt awake over and over, heart hammering, my scar hot under my sweater as if it remembers him too.
By the time I give up on trying to sleep, my body feels hollow and weak.My hands shake when I pour coffee, spilling dark drops across the counter.I clean it, but the stain lingers, spreading like blood.
I can’t stop looking at the window.
Every shadow feels like him.Every flicker of movement outside makes my chest seize.I locked the door, every bolt, every chain, but it doesn’t matter.I know it doesn’t matter.Because he’s been here before and he could be here now.
Watching.
Waiting.
Planning.
I sip coffee with trembling hands, trying to convince myself I’m imagining it.But the air feels wrong.Heavier.Like I’m not alone.
I tell myself I need to get away from here, but my legs won’t move.I stay curled on the couch, blanket wrapped tight around me like it can keep him out, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to comfort me.
Because the longer I sit, the more I feel it.That prickle on the back of my neck.The invisible weight of eyes on me.I turn my head sharply toward the window.But there is nothing visible out of place.Just the yard, dead leaves scattering in the wind.
But my skin knows.My bones know.He’s out there even if I can’t see him.
Heaven help me, I hope he is.
Within the next hour, I’m unraveling.The shadows stretch long through the house, filling corners and swallowing the walls.I keep the lights on, but it doesn’t help.He’s in the dark.Heisthe dark.
Every creak of the floorboards makes me flinch.Every gust of wind against the window sounds like his breath.
I press my palm to my scar, trying to smother the heat under my skin but it doesn’t work.It only reminds me of his touch, the way he traced it like it was beautiful instead of broken.
My heart clenches.I hate him for it, but I hate myself more.Because no one has touched me since the accident.No one haslookedat me without flinching.No one but Griffin.
And that look, it’s seared into me.Obsession.Hunger.Worship.I know it should disgust me.It should make me sick.
Instead, it only makes me ache.
I watch as the clock ticks past midnight.I curl tighter into myself on the couch, blanket up to my chin, eyes wide on the door.My body begs for rest, but my mind won’t shut down.
Because I know what’s coming.I didn’t escape, not really.He won’t back off and leave me be.He made that much clear.And I know he’s done waiting.
