The apartment is empty when I step inside, my body still affected by the stalker who followed me to the door. There was something about him. A hint of need. Hunger that he didn't hide very well. Even though he regarded me with an inkling of desire in his eyes, I wasn’t scared. In fact, I wanted to see what he would do.

Most men are controlled, and I thought he was, but as soon as he laid those dark eyes on me, all I could see was how badly he wanted to touch me. Perhaps even lean in and sniff me.

Chuckling, I head into my bedroom and pull off my combat boots. The pink tights I'm wearing find a place on the floor quickly along with my dress. Sitting on my double bed with purple polka-dot bedding, I glance at my pale skin and wonder if I’ll ever get a tan. Living in this city, I think not. Winters here are long and icy, which only makes me want to hide away.

I wonder if the stranger would’ve noticed me if I didn’t speak to him first. Would he approach me? I glance at my full-length mirror and shake my head. No. Why would he look at me when Olivia is beautiful and perfect?

My phone rings then, and I find Daddy's name on the screen flashing at me with a warning. I know why he’s calling. It’s the same thing every time.

"Hey, Dad," I answer with a smile, holding out hope he's going to tell me he's coming home for dinner.

"Hey, pumpkin, listen. I'm stuck at the office tonight. I'm so sorry," he apologizes, the same way he does every night. At least, since Mom died, he's been staying at the office more often than not. When he met Olivia, I thought things would change, but no. There's nothing that would make my father be the man he used to be.

He's long gone, and I know I have to get over it. I have to grow up, but I miss him.

"That's fine, Dad. I'm heading out with Kia, is that okay?" I don't know why I ask him. He doesn't care. He wouldn't even notice if I spent the night out. I go to sleep, and he's not home; I wake up, and he's never here.

"Yes, honey. I'm sorry," he repeats. I know he is. He's always sorry, but that doesn't help. I nod, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. I don't cry. I never even cried when Mom died. I stood by and watched her coffin lower, and I walked away.

Perhaps I'm broken. Maybe there's something wrong with me.

"It's fine, Daddy. I'll see you tomorrow," I tell him, knowing I won't. I don't see him much, except for weekends when he's not working and has no excuse to be at the office. But even then, he spends his time with Liv.

"I promise, pumpkin. You're not angry, are you?"

"No, Dad. I'm eighteen, old enough to look after myself," I inform him confidently. Because I am. I don't need him watching my every move, but I would like it if he just offered me support, love. Something.

Perhaps I need a man. A sugar daddy to look after me. I giggle at the thought. "Love you, Dad," I say before hanging up. I don't need him to tell me he loves me, but I know he needs to hear it from me. I've known it since I was a kid.

The thought returns. A sugar daddy. But the thing is, I don't need money, I just need love. Someone to show me I matter to them. I crave love, affection, and perhaps my sexual drive is through the roof, but I'd love to have a man show me real pleasure.

I head to the patio and stare out the window, noticing more of the white shit falling.

I hate snow.

I hate winter.

It's shitty.

But since Olivia already lived here, of course Daddy wanted to be near her. He'd do anything for her. But his own daughter is a pain in his ass. Sighing, I make my way to my bathroom and brush my teeth. I glance in the mirror. The pink hue on my cheeks makes me smile. At least there’s some color to my rather pale skin. Once I’ve freshened up, I head back to my bedroom and flop on the bed. I stare at the ceiling, thinking about the weird stranger who followed me all the way to the thirteenth floor.

Fucking weirdo. Hot. But still a weirdo.

I glance at the time on my alarm clock on my nightstand. It's only ten, and I know Saskia will be here soon. My best friend is a crazy bitch who loves to drag me to clubs with her. She has a thing for college boys, but me, I prefer more distinguished men.

Like James Darden.

Not that I've ever had a man. Or boy for that matter.

Yeah, eighteen-year-old virgin over here. But don't shout it out to everyone. Being a hipster with tomboy tendencies hasn't allowed me the attention of any boys at school. My focus has always been my studies and my art.

Most kids my age have no idea what they want to do. I knew the moment I hit thirteen. The paints and canvases Daddy bought me sit in a studio he specially gifted me when I turned sixteen. It's my space. A place where I can be who I really am.

Someone like James Darden would never be interested in a tomboy hippie with a love for art and crazy artists like Dali and Picasso. No, he's after someone like my soon-to-be step-mother. Even though they haven't sealed the deal, because that's what it would be, I know she'll take Dad for everything he has.

Don't get me wrong. He seems happy, but the bitch is like Cruella de Ville. She's successful in her own right, but there's something cagey about her. She’d be one of those evil stepmoms who want nothing more than your father's affection but feels threatened by you. I've seen enough fucking Disney movies to know they're never good. I wish things were simpler. I wish my dad didn't need a woman in his life, but then again, I can't wish that on him, because I want someone in my life.

I have my best friend, but she's a girl. I need a man. A real man.

My phone vibrates wildly on the nightstand, snagging my attention. When I pick it up, there's a message from an unknown number. Swiping the screen, I open the message app to find the stalker's initials as a sign off on the two-sentence warning.

When I find something I want, I don't stop until I get it. You, my dear, are something I want. - JD

It should scare me, but fuck, I'm so far from afraid. In fact, I want him to come here right now and show me exactly what he's capable of.

I tap out a reply and hit send.

Empty threats don’t scare me, Stalker.

I drop the phone on the bed beside me and get up. Finding a black, figure-hugging dress, I slide it on and glance in the mirror.

I’m just zipping up the side of my dress when the doorbell dings loudly. I know it's probably my best friend, so I race to get it. I pull open the door, but the face on the other side is not Saskia at all. No. It's someone who shouldn't be here.

James Darden.