Haunting-Adeline

My strangled scream pierces the air when I see the stalker is back—
standing in the same spot as before, puffing on his stupid cigare e. It’s
been three days since I confronted him, and I’ve been on high alert ever
since. Wai ng for him to break in again, and this me, come into my room
while I’m sleeping.
My heart lobs around in my chest, pumping erra cally. A low heat sparks
in the pit of my stomach, my mouth drying as the burn descends between
my thighs.
I’m glued to the chair, pan ng from the heady mix of fear and arousal.
My cheeks burn from shame, but the feeling doesn't dissipate. I should
close the curtains—do myself a favor and cut us both off from our silent
war.
But for some unknown reason, I can’t get myself to move. To pick up the
phone and call the police. To do anything that would classify me as
intelligent and having common sense.
Those things are nonexistent as I stare out at the man. Whatever ghosts
haunt these walls are no longer relevant, not when there’s something
much more dangerous haun ng the grounds.
As if the ghosts heard me, light footsteps sound from above me. I turn
my head and li my eyes to the ceiling, tracking the phantom footsteps
un l they fade away.
And when I turn back, my stalker is a few feet closer. As if he’s wondering
what I’m staring at. Ques oning what could’ve possibly turned my
a en on away from him.
He’s wondering if it’s another man, I’m sure. Maybe he thinks Greyson is
back, occupying the house somewhere. Calling out for me and asking me
to join him in my bed, naked and hard for me.
Maybe he even thinks we just fucked, my thighs s ll slick with another
man’s seed.
Does that piss him off?
Of course it does. He mu lated and killed a man for touching me. What
would he do to a man for fucking me?
What would he do to me?
Doesn’t ma er that it’s the furthest thing from the truth. The fact that
those thoughts could be running through his head and driving him crazy
brings a small smile to my lips.