THEY CALL HIM RECKLESS
That was an understatement.
Sebastian was the most attractive, dangerous, horrifying man in the entire state of Washington.
He had secrets, secrets in that dark past of him, and I always struggled to understand his motive.
By...
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Skye
The entire day was chaos.
I had school like every other human on the planet, and yet I had no classes with Mister Stalker, he was... everywhere.
In my head... In my sight.
At lunch, I was eating peacefully by myself, and every time I looked up, he glanced over at me from his friend group and... smirked.
He smirked!
Like he knew I was looking at him.
He was unsettling, honestly.
Sometimes... I wished that he cared. If he cared.
I still wasn't sure about that.
But now—it was four in the evening—and I sat at a booth in my favorite Thai shop, waiting patiently for Neveah to come out from the bathroom.
She always liked washing her hands before eating because of... I think she was afraid of sickness? I didn't know. She just always washed her hands before eating.
Not that that was abnormal or something, but... you know.
Because you're supposed to do that.
Oh, speaking of which.
I pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer from my purse and spread some on the palm of my hand, clicking it closed and lathering it on seconds later.
Hehehe.
Now who's the clean freak.
But I gazed up when she came out, exhaling a yawn while she sat down on the booth in front of me.
"Good afternoon, Skye," Neveah said, smirking. "Master of dodgeball."
I rolled my eyes. "We don't talk about that."
She shrugged and shifted her position. "You know what you want?"
I nodded.
She waved at me. "Then talk away. I'm all ears."
I smiled and leaned forward.
We'd been planning to meet here so I could talk about my "Sebastian situation" for a couple days now. I didn't really want to tell my mom... because I was going to get killed, but I kind of was already.
"Oh, uhm, anyway," I said, gazing up, "so... you remember Sebastian, right?"
She took a sip from her cup. "Mystery man? Yeah."
"Well..." I said then, hesitating, "he's kind of... weird."
"That's an understatement," she commented.
I gazed up then. "He's been coming to my house every night, making breakfast one morning, and sometimes he decides it's best time to—"
"Woah—woah—woah," she said, putting her hands up. "Slow down. He's been coming to you every night?"
