Queen of my Heart

31

TWO WEEKS LATER, SOMETHING HAPPENED.

I was relaxing on the sofa, fresh out of work, when the phone rang.

It was the first time I heard it ring. I even forgot I had a telephone.

“Hello?” I said to the caller.

Nothing.

“Um, hello?” I tried again.

Still nothing.

With my heart in my throat, I hung up.

I was about to run to my room when it rang again. My knees were leaden, but I still answered. “H-Hello?”

There was a distant noise. Cars? “Who is this?” I asked, straining my ear for more sounds.

The caller still didn't answer, but I could hear their breathing.

I was about to speak again when the caller hung up.

“Bloody hell.” My hands were clammy, my face pale when I looked into the mirror. That feeling was back—like I was being watched. But the windows were closed, the curtains drawn, the door locked. Surely nobody was stalking me.

Right?

Whoever was calling wanted me to be terrified.

And they succeeded.

• • •

I was walking home from the café one night when I saw a figure standing on my doorstep.

I stopped in my tracks, cold sweat breaking against my spine. My flat was still a good distance away, and only the moon guided my way. The figure was a mere shadow, shoulders hunched and hands in pockets.

Will I die?

I could go back to the café and call Sander or I could get over my irrational fear and go on.

Just because someone was standing on my doorstep didn't mean it was the caller, right?

Right?

Taking a deep breath, I marched to the direction of my flat.

I was a few steps away when the figure turned their head to me.

Fear gripped my heart in a tight vice-like grip, sucking all my breath and stealing my wits.

My brain was yelling at me to run, but my feet were frozen to the ground. I could only stare as the person walked to me, pushing their hood back and revealing a face.

Bryan.

A sob broke out of my lips, my knees giving up under me. I sat on the cold ground, my breath coming out in short pants.

I was pulled up, my face buried in his chest. “Oh, Bryan,” I cried against him, clutching the front of his hoodie until my knuckles turned white.

“What happened?” he asked, worry evident in his voice. “I wanted to surprise you, but the door was locked and—”

I didn't hear the rest. My body became aware of the ominous rustling of leaves and the sudden cold.