Isabella's Point of View
I couldn't sit still. Not for a second. My apartment, which had always felt like a refuge, now felt like a cage. The black card lay on the coffee table, the words etched into my mind: "Don't pretend that you didn't see anything that night. –S." My pulse thudded so violently I thought it might burst through my chest.
Every rational thought screamed at me to burn it. To throw it into the trash. To shred it into pieces. But I couldn't. I couldn't move. I couldn't look away. It was him. His presence, his obsession, had already invaded me in ways I hadn't admitted to myself.
The shadows in my apartment seemed heavier tonight, darker. Every flicker of light, every sound from the street below, felt like a warning. My stomach churned, a knot tightening with every passing second. He was here—somewhere. Watching. Waiting. And part of me… part of me wanted him to be.
I paced the apartment like a caged animal, desperate to shake the tension coiling through me. My hands trembled, gripping the edge of the table, the fabric of the couch, anything that would ground me. But nothing could. His shadow lingered. His words lingered. His danger lingered.
"Why me?" I whispered to the silence, my voice cracking. "Why him? Why now?"
I hated the trembling in my body, the way my heartbeat raced in my ears, the heat that flared through my veins at the thought of him. I hated that I couldn't hate him completely. That even in terror, I could feel… something else. Something darker. Something that didn't belong.
The silence stretched, oppressive and suffocating. I imagined him there, leaning against the wall, calm, deliberate, every inch of him calculated to unnerve me. I imagined his eyes, dark and sharp, tracing my every move. I could feel the pull, the magnetic danger he carried, tugging at me, daring me to step closer to him even though I knew it would destroy me.
I sank to the floor, hugging my knees, trying to calm the chaos inside me. The rational part of me screamed to run. To lock every door. To hide. But the other part—the reckless, foolish part—shivered with anticipation. I wanted to see him. I wanted to know why. I wanted… I didn't know what I wanted.
The apartment seemed smaller, the air heavier. Every shadow felt alive, crawling along the walls, whispering his name. I pressed my forehead against my knees and shivered. The thought of him, the memory of his eyes, the weight of his presence even in absence, made my chest ache with a dangerous longing.
He had entered my life and left a mark. And now… there was no turning back.
I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. Trying to convince myself I wasn't falling, wasn't drawn into the darkness he carried. But deep down, I knew it was already too late. I could feel it in my veins, in my pulse, in the trembling of my hands.
I wasn't safe. Not ever. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever again.
And part of me… part of me didn't want to be.