HauntingAdeline {1}

C18

The Manipulator

UNKNOWN: You’re so pretty when you sleep.
My heart drops when I read the text.
I already knew the fucker was in my house from the rose on my nightstand, but
his lack of shame enrages me. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks as fury and
embarrassment rise inside of me.
I was knocked out cold last night, and I hate that while I was peacefully
sleeping, a man was standing over me, watching and just being an all-around
freak of nature. The thought sends cold shivers down my spine.
After Max crashed our dinner, Daya and I felt considerably on edge—the mood
soured and rotted. We combated that feeling by bar-hopping. We picked a random
drink off the menu for each other, and by the end of the night, we were both
pretty toasted.
I tried to avoid thinking about Max the entire night, but his threats plagued me
anyway. Lingering at the back of my mind, there to remind me when I had a
moment to think.
And it hasn’t gotten any better.
I spent this whole day trying to write, but I barely managed over a thousand
words. I’ve long since given up and have retreated to my room to watch mindless

TV.ME: You’ll look pretty after I stab you.

I don’t even know why I reply to him. I should stop and report this to the
police. They’ll think I’m antagonizing him.
Jesus, I am antagonizing him.
But after Max’s threat, I don’t need any more reason to make him suspicious
by reporting a stalker. And for the ones I already made after Arch’s
disappearance, I hope those went missing too.
Never thought I’d wish for my only evidence against my shadow to disappear,
but the threat of Max oddly frightens me more.
Maybe I’m kidding myself with a false sense of security with the former. He’s
scared the absolute fuck out of me, but he hasn’t seemed inclined to physically
hurt me. In fact, he’s done the exact opposite, and that knowledge makes me sick.

Max, on the other hand, I know would hurt me.

UNKNOWN: A gun wasn’t enough for you? Interesting.

I drop the phone on my bed, and then my head into my hands. But then my
head snaps up when I remind myself that the fucker was watching me sleep last
night. Which means he got in my house again.
All the blood in my cheeks drains like a whirlpool when I realize he could’ve
been in my house before I even went to bed.
That’s what he did last time, and I was pretty out of it last night. I know I read
Gigi’s diary for a little while, but I don’t think I retained a single word I read.
My gaze draws to my closet doors, like a magnet on a refrigerator. It’s a large
closet with two doors that slide apart. My eyes thin, narrowing on the tiny crack
between the two.
My body moves on autopilot. I’m scrambling out of my bed and storming to
the closet door before I can think it through. I have no idea what I’d do if he’s
standing there.
Probably shit myself.
I tear the doors open and stop short when I’m met with nothing but way too
many clothes that I don’t wear.
There’s nowhere for him to hide in here. It’s not a deep closet and certainly not
big enough to hide a six-foot-too-many-inches man. My hands tear through my
clothes anyways, searching for him. And even when I’m positive he’s not there, I
stare harder, swiping my clothes aside with heightening aggression.
Get a fucking grip, Addie. It’s like you want him to be there.
I sigh and turn away, the adrenaline rush diminishing. There’s nowhere else in
this room for him to hide. As immense as the room is, it’s an open concept with
minimal furniture.
Now, I just feel like an idiot.
I plop on the bed, crisscrossing my legs as I stare at my phone like it’s a
mousetrap with a big ass block of cheese in it. Gourmet smoked gouda fucking
cheese, to be precise.
The phone lights up with an incoming text, the vibrations in the bed traveling
straight up my legs.
I snatch it up. I fucking love gouda cheese, goddammit.