His Hidden Obsession

🌹~LITTLE BIRD~🌹

He is in my room.

Again.

I can feel his gaze boring holes into my skin. That intoxicating scent that has become familiar hits me like a tidal wave, twisting my insides until I feel my dinner of mashed potatoes and chicken sauce coming back up. I don’t want to throw up. So I swallow it down, clamping my jaw shut as tight as I can.

My hands are trembling under the sheets even though I’m doing an extremely good job at pretending I’m not fucking scared. Holy shit! I'm fucking scared as hell. I want to run. But my legs are frozen. They decided to stop functioning the second I saw the outline of a shadow that doesn't belong here.

Last week, I reported to the police and the officer looked me dead in the eye and said, “He might be your boyfriend who you said likes to play hide and seek. Don't you think so?”

I thought it was an odd thing to say to a desperate woman like me, but clearly it didn't seem strange to him and his teammates. They laughed their fucking heads off, clearly entertained by his sick sense of humor at the expense of my miserable life.

“Fuck no,” I lashed out. The officer’s nose crinkled immediately, and I could tell he didn't like my attitude. “My boyfriend is out of town. I live alone.”

“Miss, we have more pressing issues to attend to. We’ve been to your house five times. There were no signs of forced entry. Nothing was stolen. And you’re perfectly fine—”

“I’m not making this up, I swear. He never makes noise or disturbs me at night. He is much more efficient than that. He prefers to watch me silently. It’s been going on for weeks. I know he’s there because I can smell him. I can feel his eyes watching me from the dark.”

His cheeks blew up like a balloon, but he pressed his lips together to stop his laughter from bursting out. “I think you’re losing your mind, spiraling into some stress-induced fatigue brought on by the new project you said you were working on. So, you’re hallucinating. You’re that famous content creator on social media, right?”

He thought this was a joke. My jaw clenched tight. I slammed the note on his desk. “I found this folded piece of a note resting on my pillow when I woke up this morning.”

The officer stared at me, a tinge of annoyance and impatience flickering in his gaze. He sighed, picked up the note and unfolded it lazily. He read it out loud. “Do not be a naughty little girl for daddy.”

The handwriting is an elegant cursive. He stared at it intently. I thought he might believe me if he saw the note as evidence. But it made matters worse.

“Jesus Christ.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miss, I have actual work to do. This doesn’t prove anything. Filing a false report is a serious offense, and if you keep wasting police time, I might have to lock you up myself. You content creators always look for ways to cause a nuisance just to stay relevant.”

My knees hit the floor. He didn't believe me. I didn't know if I should cry or be afraid, but all I felt was anger. I sat there on the floor, thinking of a home that no longer belonged to me, realizing that every time I stepped out of the shower at night, every time I changed my clothes, my stalker had been watching me.

Just like he's doing right now. He’s close. Very close. My gaze is fixed straight on the curtains, where his unseen eyes take its sweet time to crawl over my skin. I want to scream, “Fuck you. Just come out and kill me already,” but I can't even get my mouth to open. My tongue feels like it’s stapled to the roof of my mouth.

It takes everything in me not to look away, because if I do, I know the monstrosity hiding in my room will consume me. I don’t believe in ghosts, but maybe I should.

Wait a minute. Do ghosts wear cologne to mask that pungent, deathly stink while they haunt someone’s home?

I don’t think so.

Thank heavens I finally get my legs to work. I grab my cellphone from the nightstand. I feel his burning gaze follow me as I make my way to the bathroom, my bare feet padding heavily across the floorboards. The house is quiet but he’s quieter. I can't even hear him breathing.

I don't need the light because I know where exactly to go without bumping into my wardrobe or the fluffy cushion sitting in the center of my room. The moment I enter the bathroom, I lock the door. My fingers tremble as I dial 911.

“No signal?” I whisper. I try again. But nothing changes. Instead, my cellphone battery blinks red and turns off. “What the fuck! I charged this.”

Did he.. Did he perhaps touch my phone?

I hear movements. A floorboard groans under the weight of someone who is very much made of flesh, bone, and bad intentions. My breathing turns ragged as I stare at the door.

“It’s just you and me,” a voice rasps from the dark on the other side of the door.

He’s never spoken to me before. In two weeks of waking to his presence, of finding notes in my apartment that shouldn’t be there, of catching his scent on my pillow, he’s never once broken the suffocating silence. Until now.

And his voice, it’s deep, dark, and smooth, and sounds exactly like the kind of mistake I usually make twice. A sickening wave of heat mixes with the adrenaline in my veins. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m about to die, and yet my body is pulled by the sinful appeal of his voice. I don't answer him, partly because my heart is lodged in my throat and partly because I don't know what to say.

“Stop pretending you can't hear me, Little Bird. Your heart is giving you away.”

Little Bird? Is that what he calls me?

The doorknob rattles. That's when I lose my shit and start.

“Who the fuck are you? And what do you want from me?”

My breath comes faster now, shallow and desperate. The rattling stops.

“I’m the reason you lock your doors... and I’m the reason you’ll eventually unlock them.”

My entire body goes rigid. “I don't know you.”

“Not yet.”

“You don't know me either.”

“I think I know enough, Elena.” The sound of my name in his voice sends a jolt down my spine. “Last night, I watched you touch yourself and whisper a name that isn’t mine as you come.” Heat floods my face. Shame. Arousal. Terror. All of it twists together in a mess I can’t untangle. “You’re going to get punished for that,” he finishes.

“You’re insane,” I breathe, tears spilling down my cheeks. “How am I supposed to whisper your own name when I don't even know it?” I ask, trying to sound brave, while praying he gives me his name so I can present it to the cops this time, hoping they believe me, and trace it back to a real person.

“Call me daddy,” he snarls, and I swear I can feel his lips twisting into a cruel smirk.

A treacherous heat pools between my thighs at his command, a physical betrayal that makes me hate myself as much as I fear him.

“You need to leave,” I whimper, my grip tightening on my cellphone. “Right fucking now.”

“Is that what you want? Because the way your pulse is racing tells me something very different, Little Bird. Your body is speaking a language your mouth won’t admit to.”

I should scream. I should do something other than stand here, trembling, as this strange man stands inches away from me in the darkness of my bedroom, but I don’t. Even if I scream, nobody will hear me.

“If you’re going to break into my house and watch me sleep, the least you could do is not be so loud about it with your eyes.”

He snorts. Does he think this is funny?

I swallow hard, trying to get moisture back into my mouth. “Are you going to hurt me?” I ask.

“If I wanted to, I would have,” he says. “I want you.”

“And if I say no?”

He goes still. God, his breathing is audible now. It sounds controlled, like he’s not panicked at all. Like he’s enjoying torturing me.

“You wouldn't,” he says.

A menacing low chuckle follows after, a sound devoid of warmth, echoing from the hallway. Hot tears stream down my face relentlessly. I hate that he’s calm and I'm terrified. I want to hurt that composure somehow.

“Get out of my house. Just leave me alone.”

“Be a good girl and open the door, Elena. Or I’ll make the punishment for that other man’s name start tonight.”

I stare at the wood through bleary eyes. “I’m never going to let you in.”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Little bird.”

The doorknob turns slowly, agonizingly, until it hits the lock with a metallic clack. My heart stutters. The silence returns.

“Open it,” he commands, no longer whispering.

“FUCK OFF!”

“If you suck my cock, maybe I’ll be gentle.”

My hand flies to my mouth to stifle a sob. But it's too late. The lock clicks, and then, the door begins to creak open.