Love, Jo

1.

The ticking sound of the grandpa clock resonates in the silent house of Mr. Diaz. The pointy hands draw closer and closer to 12. The slowness and eeriness in the air is a stark contrast to the wildly beating heart of the redhead, whose small form continues to scramble across her room pushing around the furniture. She gasps and tug on the edge of her worn out but heavy desk, the groans from the wood being drowned out by her heavy breaths.

High on adrenaline, she manages to push it against her door, the door she knows will creak open at sharp 12 am. The house is bathed in darkness, courtesy to her brilliance which urged her to create the illusion of a very empty house. Maybe he won't bother coming in, once he realizes the house is as empty as one can get. She muses.

She crosses the room and slides the window shut, locking it in an instant. Her terrified eyes skitter towards the wall and zeroes in on the clock. Only a minute left.

She sags against the cold sheets of her bed and quickly does a thorough checklist in her mind.

Locked doors? Checked.

Disabled doorbells? Checked.

Curtains drawn over the windows? Check- oh shit. She glares at the window of her bedroom and realizes she forgot to draw curtains over them. She lets out an exasperated sigh and makes a move to get up but freezes at the sight of a shadow looming over the window.

Panic bursts inside her chest, those series of plans and ideas she had made over the years become a jumbled mess of garbage inside of her head. It's over. Her bones locked, eyes wide with fear, she keeps her eyes on the shadow that keeps getting smaller and smaller; it's getting closer.

It's now or never, she muses. With another surge of adrenaline, she dashes towards the window but those dark eyes locking on hers make her stall a couple of steps away from the gaping window. His figure hidden in shadows, she wished the streetlights were open, considering her house was already doused in dark. She hated it, the feeling of being intimidated, the ugly slither of fear clawing up her throat. She. Hated. It.

She hesitates, he was closer to the window than she was. Her eyes water, he was going to take her back to her own personal hell she had managed to escape once years ago. She can't go back. She won't go back! Eyes fixed on the unwanted predator in front of her, she sways lightly on her feet, his eyes following her every move, every rise and fall of her chest.

He is painfully aware of the fright that holds his lovely Jo in its tight grip, but he has waited far too long now. Mind made, she stumbles towards the window but he is faster, his long legs favoring him, he reaches there a second before her. His eyes takes in the beauty in front of him, just a jump away she stands, her chocolate brown eyes frantic, scared, but the sheer fierceness in those endless depths draw him closer, threatening to consume him and so that split second of distraction causes him to lose his door to her, her trembling fingers grabbing the cold sill and pull it shut.

He snaps out of his reverie, hands tightening around the edge to pull it open, but it's too late now, she has already locked him out.

Enraged, he slams his palm on the window, which rattles and shudders but remains to act as a huddle between him and his beloved. Petrified from the act of aggression shown towards her, she stumbles back and sags against the wall. But his lanky form doesn't move, he stays there, looking at her with dark eyes.

She wishes he would pull away the abomination of a hood away from his head. She wants to see him too, not out of desperation or anything that has something to do with the notion of liking. She hates he can see her without being seen, she doesn't like that, it gives him an upper hand in this entire situation. But again, he always had an upper hand on their predicament since day 1.

His mind races, thinking of every nook and corner of the house, evaluating his situation and pondering over the ways through which he can weasel his way inside.

"Josephine!" a voice calls out. The voice very familiar to both of them. Why familiar to her? It's Mr. Diaz, her father. Why familiar to him? He's her most dreaded stalker and hence, needs to be in on every single information, and knowing family members is as important as making Jo his, forever.

Forever.

A sickening smile takes over his face, pearly whites glinting in the dark viciously. Her fear grows so much he can almost smell it, she reeks of it, but again her father didn't raise a coward. Her eyes wide but spine steeling with every passing second, she won't let him hurt him. He notices the change in her demeanor, he had anticipated it, and if he has learned anything in the last 3 years, it is the fact that his birdy will never let him hurt her old man. Regardless of the consequences.

"Josephine?!" impatience in his voice clear as a crystal. She has to do something, and fast. Time has never been on her side and this time too, it is slipping from her hands quickly.

"I'll come with you but on one condition, Luke." Red alarms go out in her head the second after she speaks those words, she wishes she could take it back, but it's done, she has no other choice. His smile grows wider when he hears his name, it's his guilty pleasure, the soft and sweet voice wrapping around every syllable of his name.

He had anticipated this too, perks of stalking her obsessively for months, years. The growing stretch of his lips, eyes gleaming with profound satisfaction terrifies her to the core.

"I won't hurt him," He finishes for her. Mr. Diaz's heavy and agitated knocks rattles the door, his shouts for her resonates in the empty neighborhood. A sizzling sensation slithers in Luke's bones, neck ticking with discomfort, the hate for loud noises settles heavily in his chest, an ugly darkness rears its head inside his head.

He has to get out of here before he can allow himself to walk around the lawn and wring his neck until he is nothing but a heap of flesh and bone. She notices the darkness and grips the window sill, her scrawny fingers trembling, and hands clammy. She takes in a huge gulp of air and pulls it upwards and nods. "Take me."

The triumphant grin on his face dims, she notices and pauses. Isn't that what he wanted? For her to give in? She frowns in confusion at his scowl, as if he wanted her to resist and then something clicks in her mind. Ofcourse he wanted her to resist, it fills him with sickening urge to hunt her down, it pumps him with a thrill he desperately wants.

That was probably why he had chosen her, she had fire in her he so wanted to extinguish, he wanted to be the water that would put out the fire. Her giving in had been too easy, too easy. The high he wished to chase, cooling down fast, he didn't want it to cool down. Her immediate submission to him made him angry. His face hardens, as if reading the change in his intentions, her eyes widen.

"No! Please, leave him. I'll come with you willingly!" She begs.

He tips his head back and exhales, "Birdy, I don't want your willingness, I want you to struggle, the way you made me struggle all those years when I yearned for you. But what did you do? You had me thrown into the jail for two years. Two fucking years I was there inside, while you enjoyed your life without me! But not anymore, you are to suffer." He steps back and before she can fully digest whatever his sick mind has planned for her, he runs around and across the lawn.