The Stalker
Falling Into You - Beneath Our Ashes
My lungs start to spasm the longer I’m holding my breath.
I don’t know why, but not breathing makes me feel like I'm being gentle. As if a small breath would cause her pain. I have three emotions running through my system right now. One that I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.
Sadness? Heartache? Or some sort of empathy?
I can’t seem to pinpoint exactly what the emotion is.
All I know is that I feel some sort of mournfulness about what happened to her.
Another odd feeling I have is guilt. That if I hadn't been busy, I could’ve gotten to her sooner. It’s unlike her to walk home after her dance class. She and Zoe typically ride together.
The tracker I have on her phone notifies me whenever she travels. Knowing where she is at all times is a top priority for me. I noticed the little blue dot was moving slower than normal, indicating she was headed home on foot this time.
I had a few late photoshoots today, and the second I noticed how slowly the door was moving, I rushed in my car and drove straight to her location.
I turned onto the street the tracker led me to, but she was nowhere in sight.
I remembered there was a shortcut through the alleyway that leads right behind her apartment, so I took an educated guess and pulled near it.
When I scoped down the dark street, all I saw was red.
A small light, attached to the brick building, made them barely visible in the darkness.
I only noticed because it bounced off her silky white hair.
I ran, pulled the motherfucker off of her, slamming him forcefully onto the concrete.
My fists came down and were met with a crack.
I didn't notice he was wearing a mask until I felt it against my knuckles.
I kept punching until he was limp. Or so I thought.
My first thought was to tend to my girl and make sure she wasn't hurt.
I knew what he had done to her was far worse than physical pain. Plucking her apart like blood-stained petals at the force of his own hands. Tearing what I adore most about her. Her resilience. Her compassion. The trust I’d built unethically.
I’m no saint myself. Had I forced myself on her?
Yes, but not like this. I want her to enjoy what I’m doing to her, not scar her for life.
Once I had gotten her into the safety of her apartment, my next move was to put the bastard into the trunk of my car.
I glanced over my shoulder before heading up, and saw he was gone.
The fucker got away.
He’d better count his days, because he's only got a few left now.
Which leaves me with my third emotion—anger.
I want to find this motherfucker and rip his head off.
Maybe even bring it back to my Little Flower so she knows her attacker has faced consequences for his actions.
Touch my girl and you'll see death. That is a promise.
I inhale before my lungs give out. I had managed to get her leggings off without hurting her. My eyes scan her legs. She is covered in bruises and blood, mainly around her knees. I bring the damp cloth to one of the wounds, and her leg twitches away.
The demons inside me are stirring at the unexpected tenderness.
I never thought I had it in me to tend to someone else.
Every time I see her, I become ravenous.
I want to make her scream and cry and make her fear me.
The fact that someone else has done this to her in a completely different manner makes me want to somehow show her this is the doing of someone who isn’t infatuated like I am.
Like, if in some sort of way when she figures me out, she would know that the fear l instill in her is different.
I lower the towel again, dabbing the sensitive area until the dirt is no longer visible. I do the same to the other leg. My girl is half naked in front of me and it’s not in the way I would like it to be.
Once I’m done washing the wounds, I sanitize and bandage what I’m able to. Dahlia has stayed quiet the entire time. I mean, I don’t blame her. I’m a stranger. She doesn’t know who I am or what my intentions are. All she knows is that I’m her masked stalker, who would never stop until he gets her.
Aw, look at that. The stalker who was tormenting you suddenly wants to play knight in shining armor. Let me tend to your wounds while you still have no idea who the fuck I really am.
She doesn't have to say anything to me, though. These feelings and emotions I am encountering have me perplexed. I don’t know what to do with them. I haven't felt this way since I was a kid. I buried these types of feelings and thoughts long ago, but for her, I’d face them and I’m not sure why.
I walk toward her dresser, rummaging around in each drawer to find what I’m looking for.
Once I do, I start to lower the material around her head and shoulders.
I grab the dainty strings she calls straps, and help pull her arms under each one, lowering the rest of the fabric past her thighs and hips.
The nightgown settles into place, covering the important areas. It’s my favorite one. She’s so fucking breathtaking, even beneath those bruises and bandages. She reminds me of a fragile little doll that's taped back together. I take the covers and pull them over her.
I’m caught by surprise when I feel her hand rest on top of mine. Small, soft, and torn. My head shifts to get a better view of her angelic face. It's written with shame.
“Please stay the night with me?” she pleads.
She wants me to stay the night with her?
I would’ve thought she wanted some time alone.
It would give me a head start to catch the pig that did this to her.
But who am I to say “no” to being close to her?
I give her a nod. If she wants me to stay, I will stay.
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” I beg as my stomach growls in displeasure. My fists are pounding on the bedroom door from the inside. I jiggle the door handle, but it’s locked. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, and now it’s night again.
“Daddy, please! I’m hungry. Just give me something, anything,” I whine. When they lock me in my room, I think they forget about me. Sometimes I save little pieces of food so I can eat them when I’m locked in here. I forgot this time, and now my tummy hurts because I’m starving.
My body falls forward as the wooden door swings open. It’s my dad, and he is angry. He is always angry. He throws something past me and into my room. Too fast for me to know what it is.
“There is your fucking food. You’re always so needy.
Fucking kids!” he yells before slamming the door shut.
I crawl over to see what he gave me. A bag of chips.
A small, snack sized, bag of chips. I quickly open it, inhaling the savory scent.
I take a few chips and shove them into my mouth, swallowing them fast to stop the ache.
I eat a handful before rolling up half of the bag to save for later.
There is a little piece of wood that is loose underneath my bed where I can hide things for later. I shove the almost empty bag into the little hole before covering it back up. I don’t know how much longer I will be locked in my room. I hope the little bit of food that I had was enough.
My arms and legs are becoming so thin, I can almost see my bones. It looks kind of cool, like I’m a zombie. But when my parents hit me, it hurts me a lot more. I know that one day my mommy and daddy will love me again. I don’t know when, but I look forward to that day.
I’m startled awake with Dahlia hovering over me, her face in terror. I’m sweaty, gasping for air like I’ve been starved for it. I look at her, forgetting I’m in her bed. I touch my face, and relief washes over that my mask is still in place.
“Are you okay? I think you had a night terror?” she says. Her hands are placed on each of my shoulders, shaking me. I must have fallen asleep. Normally I would be ecstatic to be lying next to her, but this is under different circumstances. Irritation seeps in at myself for letting my guard down.
“Oh, is someone concerned about me?” I ask flirtatiously, trying to ease the tension. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. She shifts on the bed, no longer on top of me, and I already miss how close she was.
“Well, you were the one screaming bloody murder. So I thought I’d help. Next time I won’t be so nice,” she implies.
“Next time, eh?” I wink at her. She turns her back to me, crossing her arms. I can see the scabbed-over scratches on her back, and it quickly removes the smile from my face.
My hand comes up, brushing her hair to the side, and she stiffens at the unexpected touch.
My thumb drags along the freshly painted lines, feeling them, taking them in.
Anger prickles up my neck, and I suppress the feeling. I want to be in this moment with her. I want her to know that I won't do to her what he did to her. This woman has me wanting to take care of her in a way that is frustrating, almost irritating—I really wanted to mess with her psyche more.
She still doesn't know who Axel really is, and that we are the same person. Which gives me options. Giving her two tormentors doesn’t sound so fucking bad to me.
Double the attention. She's going to be more on edge and less trusting of the world now because of that piece of shit though. I won’t let this bump in the road mess my game up.
“I should go,” I say, removing my hands. She doesn't move or say anything. She just nods in agreement. I’m not entirely sure if that's what she wants me to do, but I have a varmint to catch, and that is the only thing on my agenda today.