𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐘 (+𝟏𝟖)

CH. 5: SECRET ADMIRER

M A L L O R Y

The last five hours of my life were a blur. It'd been an hour since I got home from the police station after one of the detectives, Olivia, I think, dropped me off.

I found myself sitting on the couch, enveloped in both mental and literal darkness. The only sources of light were the moonlight filtering through the open blinds and the TV I turned on purely for background noise as both darkness and silence would've only spiked my anxiety and driven me to tears and madness.

I was lost in a void of thoughts while still reeling from the traumatic events that transpired a few hours ago.

The cops found me unconscious in Wes's loft before finding his body in the bathroom; I had passed out. After a brief hospital stay, I was quickly discharged due to absence of injuries or medical issues before being taken to the police station to give a statement.

I don't know what was worse, recounting gruesome details of finding Wes's mutilated corpse in or the suffocating guilt that seized my throat as I narrated everything about the hooded man, deliberately omitting the fact that I had drugged and robbed Wes.

You stole from a man and now he's dead.

I was told not to leave town by the detectives as it was clear this would lead to a full investigation. Wes's death was clearly personal, evident by the disturbingly theatrical crime scene and the macabre detail of his severed dick placed in his mouth.

For the life of me, I couldn't wipe the grotesque imagery from my mind. I've seen gore countless times while watching horror movies, to the point where I believed I was desensitized to it.

But this was different. This was real, way too real.

The carnage I saw in that bathroom, how sick I felt, the acidic feeling in my stomach knowing someone actually suffered— the visual and utter terror simply couldn't be recreated by any filmmaker or director, no matter how perverse their imagination was.

It was 1 A.M., and sleep remained elusive. I couldn't even turn to food for therapy as our session was abruptly cut short from me vomiting a burger I ate thirty minutes ago. The mere sight of anything vaguely meat-like made me nauseous now.

My phone was still missing. The police did a full search of Wes's apartment and found nothing.

The decision to take a hot shower was born out of desperation for reprieve and a sense of normalcy. Dragging myself off the couch, I slowly make my way to the bedroom to undress before stepping into the shower. Turning on the faucet, I let the water cascade over me, hoping it'd cleanse me of tonight's horrors.

The steam that fills the room melts away the chill that clung to my bones while every inch of my body screams in gratitude as the water kisses my skin. I lather the washcloth with body wash before rubbing my neck and arms, feeling my muscles loosen and every ounce of stress circle the drain. It was calming.

Until it wasn't.

I instinctively stiffen when the familiar sensation of being watched courses through my body. That chill from earlier in my bones as my vision sharpens and my skin prickles all over. It was as though all of my senses had heightened simultaneously.

I turn off the water, listening intently for any sounds other than the pounding of my heart in my ears.

Nothing, there was nothing but dead silence.

“Get it together, bitch.” I whisper to myself, reaching for the shampoo, though my words are hollow and unconvincing, even to my own ears. “You're stressed, exhausted and it's making you paranoid.”