HUNTING ADELINE- 1 🥀

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 🥀(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 shiver down to my spine.

After Max crash 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 my anyway. Lingering at the back of my mind, there to remind me when I had a moment to think.

And it hasn't 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 pretty after I stab you.

I don't even know why 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 once I already made after Arch's disappearance, I hope those went missing too.

Never thought I'd wish for my other evidence against my shadow to disappear, but the threat of Max  oddly frightens me more.

Maybe I'm kidding my self with a false sense of security with a 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 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 the my head into my hands. But then my head snap 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 night, 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 large closet with two doors that slides 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 door open and stop short when I'm met nothing but way too many clothes that I don't wear.

There's nowhere of 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 closet anyway, searching for him. And even when I'm positive he's not there.

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 the room for him to hide. As immense as the room is, it's an open concept with minimal furniture.