All Yours

IX

AURORA

Usually, I'm asleep by 10:30 PM. That's the rule I swear by—my precious beauty sleep, uninterrupted and perfect. No plans, no distractions, just me and my nighttime routine. It's the only time of day when the world feels still, and controllable. Mine.

So, when I glance at the clock and it's already 12:30 AM, my frustration simmers into anger. Sleep continues to evade me, and the culprit is all too clear.

Him.

The shadow of my stalker hasn't left my mind. Not tonight. Not any night for the past week. One week. Seven nights of complete silence. He hasn't visited, hasn't shown up at my windows, and hasn't left a single note. I should be relieved, and thankful, but instead, I'm restless.

I hate how his absence frustrates me. It's like I've been waiting for him, anticipating his next twisted move. And that thought? That thought terrifies me even more. It's as if I've grown used to his games. Maybe even craved them. But I'm not crazy. I think.

I groan and toss onto my side, my eyes glaring at the clock on my nightstand. Midnight ticks on, and I'm still awake.

With a frustrated sigh, I reach under my pillow, gripping the knife I've kept tucked there ever since our last encounter. My own weapon, my own defense. This time, it won't be his knife used against me—it'll be mine.

One last glance at my phone: 12:37 AM.

I force my eyes shut, praying for sleep.

~~

A cold draft snakes up my spine, jolting me awake. My eyes flutter open, but the room remains bathed in darkness save for the pale light of the moon filtering through my sliding doors.

My breath catches in my throat. Something feels off. My eyelids are fluttering open but I can't tell why. It's still pitch black outside so why am I waking up?

A dark shadow is cast over my face, making my surroundings darker than the rest of the room, which is illuminated by the moon through my sliding doors.

A presence. My heart seizes, and before I can even scream, a hand wraps around my throat, silencing me completely.

What once was a soft, soothing sensation that started on my cheeks has now turned into painful squeezing on my throat that makes my eyes shoot open and my body lift off of the bed.

My breath is stuck in my throat as I try to breathe in the air, but the sensation is too tight.

Right at the left side of the bed stands my stalker, hovering over me with his hand encased around my throat, squeezing tight.

I claw at his forearm, desperate for relief, but his grip is relentless. The muscles beneath his sleeve don't budge, solid as steel. How is he this strong?

My vision blurs as panic sets in, my lungs burning for air. Just as I think he might choke the life out of me, the pressure eases. I gasp desperately, and his hand shifts slightly, his thumb grazing the pulse in my neck.

The touch is almost... tender. It sends a shiver down my spine, but not entirely from fear. His grip loosens, and for a split second, I think I have a chance.

Without hesitation, I dive under my pillow, my fingers wrapping around the hilt of the knife I'd hidden there. My secret weapon. I raise it between us, the blade glinting faintly in the moonlight.