From the moment I first saw my stalker, I was captivated.

The man with the black leather jacket and dark, spiky hair sits on a bench across the street from my house, staring down at a notebook.

Every night, he sits there at exactly ten p.m., looking off into the distance or writing his notes under the street light … or looking straight at me.

Like he is now.

Our eyes meet, and a sudden electrical current rushes through my veins.

I’m unable to look away from his piercing blue eyes, and I wonder … How long ago did he first see me?

I’ve only noticed him outside recently … watching over my house as if he’s guarding it. Guarding me.

I don’t know if I should be scared. If I should run or call the cops.

He’s never come close.

So is there any reason to act?

As long as he maintains his distance … an invisible line he doesn’t cross … I still feel safe. I can survive, knowing he is there, wherever I go.

I never know when or where I’m going to see him again.

I just know I will.

A hampered breath leaves my throat as he stares me down from across the street. His gaze feels like it penetrates through the closed windows. And for a brief second, I think I spot a hint of a smile.

* * *

The next morning

I wake to the sound of people talking on the radio. It’s my clock, which I’ve set to nine a.m. Not because I have to work. Not today. No, it’s because I like my routine, and the stability it gives me. Time is the only constant in this world, and it follows me wherever I go. The only thing I can control—how much time I spend on certain tasks and when I choose to do something. Time is the only one thing I can trust to be truthful.

I press the button and turn off the radio then push away the blanket and sit up straight. I grab my birth control pill and take one along with some water. I put my socks on, yawning. Stumbling through my room, I grab a pair of jeans and a blouse from my closet and put them on. Then I head to my window, open the curtains, and stare outside. The sun blinds me for a moment, but as my eyes adjust and gaze at the bench across my house, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Empty, just like always.

My heart calms as I go into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee and prepare some toast. I eat with the television turned on; the noise of the people talking makes me feel more comfortable. Being home alone isn’t the greatest thing in the world … not when you’ve been living in silence for more than a month.

It’s not normal, I know that. Normal people find company. They make friends. They invite people into their home and have dinners and parties.

Not me.

I’m the girl who mistrusts every living person on this planet.

It wasn’t always this way, though … but like all people, my past shaped me into the person I am today.

I’d rather be alone, hiding in plain sight. It’s the only way to remain safe.

I finish my breakfast and put my dishes in the sink then grab my keys and wallet and walk out the door.

However, I don’t move an inch when I notice what’s on my front porch.

A small stone … and underneath it is a piece of paper just big enough to fit in my hand.

I bend over and reach for it, pushing the rock aside as I wonder if this note was meant for me or for someone else. But then I read the words … and realize this couldn’t be for anyone else.

I saw you watching me.

Goose bumps scatter on my skin. I feel unsettled.

It’s not a handwritten note … it’s typed. Someone put effort into giving me this message.

My fingers tremble as I hold the note. I look ahead at the street, left and right, but no one’s there. I’m all alone with this note that gives me a pang in my stomach.

As I take a deep breath, I crumple it up in my fist and stuff it into my jacket. Then I go on with my day.

* * *

A few hours later

With my cart filled with groceries, I make my way to the parking lot of the shopping center. I’ve been holding off on going outside to get some food for quite some time now, but when the fridge is empty, you have to get something to eat. I had no choice but to go, so now, I have a cart filled to the top with everything I need in the hopes I won’t have to return for quite some time.

I quickly push it to my car and unlock it, opening up the back so I can load everything in. But when I look through the windshield of my car, a man standing on the sidewalk across the street stares back at me.

I squeal and drop the bottles of ketchup and mustard, along with the bag of buns and sausages I was holding.

“Do you need help?”

A voice behind me forces me to turn around.

It’s a woman in her mid-forties, smiling awkwardly at me. Befuddled, I stare at her for a few seconds before regaining my composure. “No, no, I’m fine.”

I quickly go to my knees to pick up the items I dropped.

“You sure?” She tries to reach for my stuff, at which point I snap.

“Don’t,” I say, leaning away.

She frowns and takes a step back.

“I … It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” I give her a tentative smile, after which she nods a few times and leaves.

When she’s gone, I sigh and turn around.

The man is gone. He’s no longer on the sidewalk or anywhere else for that matter.

Maybe I never really saw him in the first place.

Maybe I’m losing my mind.

I hastily throw the rest of my purchases into the back of my car and slam the door shut, pushing the cart out of the way. Then I run over to the driver’s side to jump in and close my door. I don’t even bother to bring the cart back to the store … or properly put on a seat belt. All I can think about is getting the hell out of here.

But as I put the keys into the ignition and start the car, a voice screams in my mind.

Tells me to stop and look.

Tells me I’m no good.

“What the hell are you doing with the gas pedal?” Greg spits. “I told you to push it, not to ram it with your foot!”

“I’m trying …” I mutter.

“Not good enough!” He snatches my hand from the steering wheel. “Get your hands off there, you stupid ho.”

The names he calls me fly in one ear and go out through the other, just like they always do.

I don’t pay much attention to them anymore because I’ve heard them so many times before. I withstand them because I have no choice or say in the matter. His will is law.

“Get out,” he yells, pushing me. “Just get out.”

I quickly pull the lever on the door and step out before he smacks me again.

He walks around the car, still berating me. “I knew I should’ve never let you learn how to drive. Look at what you almost did.”

“I didn’t—”

“You could’ve killed us!” He’s right in front of me, and whenever he speaks, he spits on my face. “You can’t fucking drive!”

“We’re in a parking lot …”

“And even there you manage to damage my car!” He pushes me aside and jerks open the door to the driver’s seat. But before he sits down, he yells at me again. “Get in the damn car!”

I hasten to the other side and slide into the passenger’s seat quietly, trying not to produce too much sound. I don’t even dare to say a word. I don’t want to give him more reasons to yell. Or worse.

“Can’t let a woman do a man’s job,” he huffs, turning the key in the ignition. “I’ll show you how it’s done.” He looks at me as he puts the gear into reverse and hits the gas. “This is how you drive.”

I brush away the sweat drops rolling down the back of my neck, and I take a deep breath, letting it all out. Then I shake my head, put the gear in reverse, and drive out of the parking lot. Like I should’ve done all along.