Chapter 22
Her
Leaving the office earlier than planned feels like the only option.
The rumors clinging to my skin like something sticky that won’t wash off no matter how hard I try.
The whispers from my colleagues echo in my ears even as I push through the door, making me feel humiliated and isolated in a way that burns deep inside me.
I hurry down the hallway, avoiding the elevators where I might run into someone, and take the stairs instead. The betrayal from people I thought were becoming friends stings sharply, leaving me with a heavy ache in my chest that makes it hard to breathe normally.
I step outside onto the pavement, but immediately become painfully aware of how exposed I feel walking alone in the open space.
I tug my coat tighter around my body even though the evening is not cold at all, hoping the fabric will provide some barrier against the vulnerability that has been eating away at me since the rumors started.
Confusion swirls inside me, mixed with paranoia that makes me question every shadow and every passerby.
I check my reflections in the glass windows of the shops I pass by, glancing quickly to see if anyone is following too closely. The side mirrors of parked cars catch my eye next, and I use them to scan behind me without turning my head.
The silence around me feels watched, like invisible eyes are locked onto me, tracking my every step without me being able to prove it. Fear builds steadily in my chest, turning into a tight knot that squeezes my lungs and makes my breaths come shorter.
I tell myself it is just the stress from the day making me imagine things. "You are overreacting, Iris." I whisper under my breath. But the words do little to calm the rising panic inside me.
At the bus stop, I stand there trying to calm my racing heart by focusing on the timetable posted on the shelter wall. But then I notice a man standing across the road from me.
He is tall and still, his posture wrong in a way that I cannot quite explain because it feels too deliberate and too patient for someone who is simply waiting for a ride or a friend.
Suspicion flares inside me immediately, mixing with a growing terror that makes my mouth go dry and my hands start to tremble slightly.
I stare at him, trying to make out more details about his clothes or his stance to confirm if he is really watching me. But a bus roars past suddenly, blocking my view for a second with its large frame rumbling by.
When the bus moves away and clears the line of sight, he is closer than before, close enough that I can make out the pale edge of a mask tucked beneath his hood.
It is not fully visible, but it is unmistakable, and my pulse spikes sharply with pure fear that floods through my entire body like ice water.
"What are you doing here?" I mutter to myself, my voice barely audible over the traffic. Instinct screams at me to run right then, to get away from him as fast as my legs can carry me before he gets any closer.
But my legs hesitate for a moment, frozen between overwhelming fear and a sliver of disbelief that this could be happening to me again so soon.
Part of me still wants to believe that I am imagining these things, that the masked man from last night was just a hallucination born from all the stress and trauma I have been enduring lately. Confusion paralyzes me briefly, making me second-guess my own eyes.
"This cannot be real." I whisper, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
But the terror wins out in the end, overriding the doubt. I move anyway, crossing the street without even checking the signal because panic drives me forward blindly into the flow of cars.
Horns blare around me, but I do not stop, cutting through a side road that I know is poorly lit and less crowded, hoping desperately to lose him in the twists and turns that I am familiar with.
Panic finally forces my body to move when the bus pulls up with a sharp hiss of brakes.
I rush forward without thinking, my feet barely touching the ground as I climb inside.
The doors slide shut behind me, and for a brief moment, relief crashes into me so hard my knees feel weak.
I am no longer alone on the street. I am surrounded by people, noise, movement. That has to mean something.
I make my way down the aisle and drop into the nearest empty seat, my hands gripping the edge so tightly my fingers ache.
My chest rises and falls too fast, breath burning my lungs as the bus lurches forward and blends back into traffic.
I keep my eyes fixed ahead, afraid that if I turn around too soon, I will see him standing there and everything will shatter again.
The city slides past the windows in streaks of light and shadow.
People talk quietly around me. Someone laughs.
A phone rings. The ordinary sounds feel wrong, distant, like they belong to a different world than the one I am trapped in.
I try to let the normalcy sink into me, to convince myself that this is over now.
By the time my stop approaches, exhaustion has settled deep into my bones. I tell myself this is the end of it. Home is close. Safe. Lit. I gather my bag and stand, steadying myself as the bus slows.
The doors open with a hiss, and I step down onto the pavement. The bus pulls away almost immediately, its lights fading as it disappears around the corner. The sudden quiet feels too loud. The street is dimmer here, the glow from the lamps uneven, pockets of shadow stretching between them.
I take a few steps forward before something tightens low in my stomach. That feeling again. The one I recognize now too well. Slowly, I turn my head.
He stands across the street, just beyond the reach of the nearest light, his shape too still to be accidental. The hood blends into the darkness, but the pale mask catches enough glow to make it unmistakable. He wasn’t on the bus. He didn’t need to be.
He was waiting.
Ice floods my veins, sharp and immediate. My breath stutters as the realization lands fully, heavy and undeniable. No matter how far I go, no matter how I try to put space between us, he is already there. Watching.
I don’t move. Neither does he. The distance between us feels deliberate, measured, like something chosen rather than accidental. My heart pounds so hard it hurts, each beat echoing in my ears.
The bus is gone now. The street is quiet. And I am alone again. With him.
I started walking towards my street. My breath comes in shallow gasps that burn my lungs with every inhale, and fear chokes me as I hear the sound of footsteps following behind me.
The footsteps are not rushed or chasing in a frantic, desperate way that would make them easier to outrun, but just there, measured and unhurried, like he knows with absolute certainty that I cannot really escape no matter how fast I try to go or how many corners I turn.
Dread builds inside me with every step I take, turning into a knot in my stomach that makes me feel sick with nausea and helplessness. "Why will you not leave me alone?" I sob to myself, tears blurring my vision as I push my legs harder.
I reach the narrow lane, my legs burning from the walk and my vision blurring even more with tears of exhaustion and terror.
When I look back, I catch a glimpse of him.
His head tilts slightly as if he is assessing me carefully, like I am something he is deciding exactly what to do with in that moment.
His hand lifts slowly, not in a warning or a greeting, but in a way that makes me certain with bone-deep terror that he could reach me in seconds if he chose to do so.
Panic overwhelms me completely, and I shout at him without thinking, my voice echoing off the walls. "Why are you doing this to me? What have I ever done to you that you keep following me like this and ruining everything?"
He does not respond at all, just stands there watching me with that tilted head, and the silence only heightens my fear to unbearable levels that make my whole body shake.
I back away until my shoulder hits the brick wall behind me, the impact jarring my body but not enough to snap me out of the paralyzing panic that grips me.
My fingers curl around the taser in my pocket, gripping it tightly as a last desperate resort for defense, though doubt floods me about whether I can even use it effectively.
"Please, just tell me why you’re trying to ruin my life." I cry out, tears starting to stream down my face uncontrollably as sobs wrack my body.
"What did I do to deserve all this? The stalking that makes me afraid to leave my house, the video that destroyed my reputation at school and now at work, the rumors that make everyone look at me like I am some kind of freak. Why me?"
My voice breaks with heavy sobs, the emotions overwhelming me completely as I stand there crying in front of him, feeling utterly helpless and broken. The fear mixes with anger and despair, leaving me desperate for answers that he refuses to give.
In that moment, I notice something strange about him that confuses me amidst the terror, cutting through the panic slightly.
The way he stops advancing suddenly, his posture changing as tension tightens in his shoulders and then slowly eases away like a wave receding from the shore.
It is like he is arguing with himself internally, deciding something important in that long, silent pause that stretches between us.
I watch through my tears as his gaze drops briefly to my hands, noticing the tremor I cannot control no matter how hard I try to steady myself against the wall.
Then his eyes seem to linger on the bruise still faintly visible on my cheek from his knife last night, the one that stings with every tear that falls over it and reminds me of his touch.
Confusion stirs inside me amidst the terror because his breathing appears to deepen noticeably, steadying itself instead of accelerating with the aggression I fully expected from him.
"Why are you stopping now?" I whisper through my sobs, my voice barely holding together. "What do you want from me if not to hurt me?"
He does not answer my question, just continues to watch me with that steady gaze.
A car turns into the lane unexpectedly, its headlights flooding the space with bright, blinding light that makes me squint and shield my eyes instinctively.
The sudden illumination startles me, piercing through the darkness and momentarily disorienting me. But when the light clears and my vision adjusts back to normal, he has stepped back deliberately, putting more distance between us than before.
He does not retreat in panic like someone who has been caught off guard and needs to flee quickly to avoid being seen, but chooses not to close the gap anymore, standing there as if he is reevaluating the entire situation with careful, deliberate thought.
I do not understand why he does not take me right then, why he simply watches me as if memorizing every detail of my tear-streaked face and trembling body instead of ending whatever twisted game this is with finality.
"Are you just going to stand there?" I shout at him, my voice cracking with a mix of fear and frustration. "Say something! Tell me why you keep appearing like this!"
The shift confuses me deeply, turning my fear into something more complex that I cannot fully grasp in the moment amidst the panic.
It feels like I am no longer just prey being stalked blindly without any mercy or hesitation, but something being reconsidered carefully, like he sees me in a new light that changes his approach entirely.
"Why let me go now?" I ask through my tears, my sobs quieting slightly as confusion takes hold. "What changed? You had me cornered."
He remains silent, but his head tilts again, as if my questions intrigue him.
The next thing I notice is him disappearing between the shadows at the edge of the lane, not running or rushing away, but just gone as if he was never fully there to begin with in the first place.
Relief floods through me in a powerful wave that makes my knees buckle, but it mixes with the lingering terror that leaves me shaking uncontrollably even as I lean against the wall for support.
"What just happened?" I whisper to myself, my voice hoarse from shouting and crying. The confusion leaves me reeling, my mind struggling to process why he backed off.
I stand there for a long moment, catching my breath through the sobs that still escape me occasionally, before forcing my legs to move toward home.
My mind races with endless questions about why he let me go, the confusion adding to the emotional whirlwind that swirls inside me and refuses to settle down.
When I finally reach home, my hands shake so badly I fumble with the keys, missing the lock twice before I finally manage to get the door open.
I stumble inside, lock it again with clumsy fingers, then lean against it for support, sliding down to the floor as exhaustion hits me like a physical blow.
I realize with a hollow clarity that whatever this man wants from me, it is not finished by any means, and it is not simple like a straightforward threat or attack.