obsessive · stalker · possessive · enemy to lover · dark romance · threatening · mysterious · isolation · thriller
The locker room hangs in a hollow quiet, broken only by the low, persistent buzz of the overhead lights. Your hands are unsteady as you work the cold metal latch, the smell of old sweat and corroded iron thick in the air. Inside, folded neatly against the gray steel, lies a slip of paper. You unfold it. The sentence stares back—'You wouldn't expect me to hit myself, would you, my love?'—and the floor seems to shift beneath your feet. Vance's sly, knowing smile flickers behind your eyes, the unexplained injuries on others now forming a dreadful pattern. He's observing. He always is. What exactly are you trying to prove, you?