Little Butterfly~
My hands work furtively from behind, tracing the outline of his jeans without him realizing it. I decide to engage him, hoping to buy myself some time and mask my fear.
You're done, Soph.
He groans softly from behind me. The deep timbre of his voice and the hard, muscular form pressed against me reveal he's not just some old creep. I feel his long fingers caressing my waist, each touch sending jolts of electricity through me. I pretend to give in, letting out a feigned, slow moan. He seems to revel in it, convinced he has me under his control. My fingers continue their exploration, tracing the pocket of his jeans, all the while hiding my true intentions. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all-he thinks I'm into him.
Over my dead body, you freak. The only time I'll be touching you is when I'm moving your corpse.
I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with air as if the excess oxygen might bolster my courage to flee. As my fingers inch upward, I feel something cold, hard, and metallic-an L-shaped object that makes my stomach drop.
A gun.
A fucking gun.
Calm down, Sophie.
I breathe in and out slowly, my mind racing as the horrifying reality sinks in: my stalker brought a gun to my place, probably intending to rape and kill me to erase any evidence. I had wished for an escape from my life, but not like this-never like this!
Fuck it, God.
Trying to control my fear and racing heartbeat, I notice he gradually loosens his grip on my hands. I seize the opportunity, pretending to rub against him as I was taught to fool an attacker. Grandma always emphasized the importance of reverse psychology, and for now, her advice seems to be working. As much as I hate this, I have to survive.
He breathes heavily, finally releasing my hands. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood as he sneaks his hands up to my breasts-my beautiful breasts that no one like him should ever touch!
My skin crawls with disgust, and as he cups them roughly from behind, I feel shame wash over me. I'm on the verge of tears.
His lips find my neck, and he bites down mercilessly, leaving a mark that I know will bleed. I cry out, agony surging through me.
"You fucked up, twit!"
"Now I've tasted your delicious blood, baby. Call it even," he taunts, licking the blood from his lips, a smirk dancing across his face.
My heart feels like it might stop from the sheer horror of the moment.
I want to smash his head against the wall.
Yet, my body betrays me; goosebumps spread across my skin. Fear courses through me, but there's an unsettling feeling igniting inside, a strange mixture of adrenaline and something darker.
Is it the cigarette smoke still lingering in the air?
For God's sake! Why aren't you doing anything, Soph?
My body feels paralyzed, unresponsive, as he slips his hands inside my towel. A low, manly moan escapes him, and I hate that a part of me finds it almost intoxicating. If the situation were different, I might admit it's the sexiest sound I've ever heard, but I'm being violated, and my mind is spiraling into chaos. My body feels like it's succumbing to his will.
As he starts sucking lower on my neck, I snap out of my daze, breaking his grip and my delusions.
You can't be attracted to his voice, for God's sake. He is your damn stalker!
In a moment of clarity, my hands dive aggressively into his right pocket, fingers curling around the cold metal of the gun. In one swift motion, I yank it out and shove him away with all my strength. He stumbles, losing his balance. Heart racing, I point the gun at his head, stepping back to put as much distance between us as possible. My life hangs in the balance.
Suddenly, the full moon outside my window floods the room with an eerie light. In that illumination, I almost gasp in shock and recognition as I see his face clearly for the first time.
The one I have a crush on.
"Whoa, whoa, easy, baby. Put that down," he says, advancing slowly, hands raised in a gesture of peace.
"Is that a joke?" shock is an understatement to what I feel in this moment.
"Baby..give it back." he says.
"I will shoot you! Why are you here?" I shout, tears streaming down my face.
His smirk only deepens, and despite the gun in my hand, I feel more frightened than he looks. My mind races, grappling with the sickening irony of it all: the man I secretly adore is here in my bedroom, the lights out, and just moments ago, he was touching me in ways I never thought.
"Sophie, you're such a cunning woman, aren't you? Fooling me just to grab my gun," he states, snapping me back to reality. "Exactly my type."
His voice is all too familiar, and I feel a wave of shame wash over me for not recognizing him sooner. I want to curse him for his husky voice, and part of me longs to crash my head against the wall in frustration. His features are clearer now, strikingly handsome, and I wince at how corrupted my thoughts have become-how I almost forgive him because of my crush.
Almost.
"I will shoot you!" I exclaim again, beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Fear wraps around me like a vice, my entire body trembling.
Adrenaline floods my system, keeping me alert, painfully aware of his earlier grip on my mouth, his breath hot and threatening in my ear. The towel around me feels flimsy against the reality of the danger I'm in.
I tighten my grip on the gun, feeling its weight anchor me amid the chaos. The cold metal contrasts sharply with the warmth of the towel, and I realize I'm standing here in my own bedroom, once a sanctuary, now tainted by his presence.
"Princess, do you even know how to shoot?" he taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. There's a sickening calmness about him, as if he's entirely unfazed by the weapon aimed at him.
I meet his gaze, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I do," I reply, surprising myself with the confidence in my tone. It's true-I've never fired a gun before, but I've picked up enough to know how to use it. The thought of pulling the trigger terrifies me, but the thought of what he might do if I don't is even worse.
He chuckles softly, a sound that sends chills down my spine. "Go ahead then," he challenges, taking another step closer. "Show me."
YOU ARE READING
Little Butterfly
Romance"Little butterfly, fly as high as you can, but remember I could snap those wings anytime." - Your stalker
