Page 22 of Creeping Lily

LILY

I tell myself I imagined it. That the alley was nothing. A trick of the dark. A mind too quick to find danger in shadows.

But my skin still hums where his hands touched me—an electric aftershock I can’t shake. My neck aches faintly, like the echo of his fingers pressing there. And that smell—oud, leather, pine—clings to me like smoke after a bonfire, refusing to fade.

Inside my head, I’m replaying every second. The scrape of brick at my chest. The rasp of his voice, low and unhurried. You’re mine, Lily. My Lily.

I don’t even know his face. But the way he said it… it was as if he reached inside and carved his name into my bones.

And the worst part—the part I’ll never confess to anyone—is that he left me wanting more.

The days blur after that night. I move through them in a fog, half-aware of the world around me, my thoughts orbiting a faceless stranger like a moon locked in someone else’s gravity.

I hate myself for it—for the way his presence has rooted itself inside me.

The cynic in me keeps screaming that it’s sick, twisted, wrong .

But it was his voice. That slow, slippery cadence—smooth as melted butter, but edged like a blade—that taunted and tempted me in the same breath.

And the scent. God, the scent. Oud and sandalwood, sharp and warm, wrapping around me until I feel like I’m drowning in it.

No matter how many showers I take, how hard I scrub, it lingers—woven into my hair, my clothes, my skin.

Like he’s branded me invisible. Like he made sure I couldn’t forget him even if I wanted to.

Bethany notices before I’m ready for her to.

She wrinkles her nose one morning, pausing in the doorway with a mug in hand. “What is that smell ?” She steps inside, scanning the room.

I freeze.

“It’s been everywhere lately,” she says, setting her mug down and sniffing the air like a bloodhound. “It’s… rampant in here.” Her eyes narrow on me. “And it’s been following you everywhere you go.”

I laugh, but it’s a thin sound. “We wear the same perfume, Beth. You gave me a bottle, remember?”

Her gaze sharpens. “We do,” she agrees slowly, and I can see the thought form before she says it. “Have you had a guy in here?”

“What? No!” I blurt, too quick. Too defensive.

Her brows lift like she’s caught me in a lie. “Why don’t I believe you?”

I drop my gaze, fiddling with the papers on my desk.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Lily Snow?”

She crosses the room in two strides, her expression shifting from suspicion to that fierce, older-sister protectiveness I’ve become accustomed to. She studies me like she’s searching for cracks in my armor.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? No judgment. ”

I nod. We’ve had this talk before—her insisting I open up more, me promising I will and then keeping my secrets anyway.

Sometimes, I swear she knows. Knows something bad happened once, even if she doesn’t have the details.

We’ve always had this unspoken agreement: she doesn’t press, and I don’t push her away completely.

But now, her eyes pin me in place.

“You’ve been off ever since my birthday,” she says. “And I know it’s not about Trick. I’m worried about you, Lily.”

Her voice has that razor-edge of concern that makes my chest tighten. My fingers twist together in my lap.

“It’s nothing,” I start, but the word feels like a stone in my throat. “I just… have a lot on my mind.”

Bethany tilts her head. “School? Or something else?”

The pressure builds until it’s a physical ache. “It’s complicated,” I mumble.

“Lily,” she says softly, “we live together. How complicated could it be?”

Her words crack something open. My voice comes out thin, almost trembling. “It’s not just the studying. It’s… something happened that night.”

Bethany straightens, eyes sharpening.

“The night of your birthday,” I continue, “I went out to the alley, and… a man was there.”

She goes rigid, fear flashing in her eyes.

“Nothing happened,” I rush out. “He just—” My voice drops. “He just talked to me.”

Her brows slam together. “Talked to you?” The concept seems as alien to her as a wolf knocking politely on the door before it eats you alive.

“He knew my name, Beth. Called me his Lily. And ever since then… I feel like I’m being watched.”

Her mouth hardens into a line. “Why didn’t you tell me? ”

“I didn’t want to worry you. He didn’t harm me.”

“That is harm,” she snaps. “Lily, you may have a stalker. This is serious.”

Her hand finds mine, squeezing tight. I should feel comfort in her touch, but instead all I can think about is him—his fingers gripping my neck, the rasp of his breath against my skin. The way I wanted to lean closer when I should have run.

“Is this why you’ve been in a funk?” she asks.

I shrug. How could I tell her that I haven’t stopped thinking about him? That I’ve memorized the way he felt pressed against me? That I’ve showered until my skin went red and still can’t wash him off?

“I’ve tried to stop thinking about it, but…” My voice trails off into nothing.

The truth is, he’s branded me. Marked me in a way that isn’t visible, but is somehow deeper than blood or bone. His presence is like a shadow inside me—something I can’t shake, even in daylight.

Bethany’s watching me with eyes full of concern, but it’s not enough. She can’t understand. How could she? Some things you can’t translate into words. Some stains you can’t describe—you can only feel them.

“I don’t know how to make you understand,” I admit, my voice breaking. “I don’t know how to explain the way he’s become a part of me. How his presence lingers like a stain on my soul.”

Bethany’s hand squeezes mine again, and for a moment I let her warmth anchor me. But it’s temporary—like standing in sunlight that’s already sinking behind the horizon.

Because the truth I’ll never say out loud is that part of me wants to see him again.

I know how wrong it is. How dangerous. How sick .

But in the quiet, when the apartment is still and I’m alone with my thoughts, I can almost feel him there in the dark corner of my room—watching. Waiting. Breathing in time with me.

And instead of fear, my body hums with a pull I can’t explain.

A pull toward the man who found me in an alley, touched me like he already owned me… and walked away.

I should want him gone. Forgotten.

Instead, I’m terrified of the day I wake up and realize I’ve stopped searching the shadows for him.