Page 27 of Creeping Lily

LILY

I know something’s wrong the second I open the door.

It’s not loud or obvious—no smashed glass, no overturned furniture—but the air feels… thick. Different. Like it’s holding its breath.

“Lordy Lord, what is that smell ?” Bethany’s voice slices through my thoughts as she steps in behind me. She wrinkles her nose and yanks her shirt collar over her mouth like a makeshift mask.

It hits me then. A scent so strong it feels alive—raw, heavy, cloying, the kind that doesn’t just sit in the air but seeps into your skin.

Bethany takes another step inside, eyes sweeping the room, and her frown deepens. “That’s not air freshener. That’s… something else.”

I can taste it now, on the back of my tongue—rich sandalwood, that smoky depth of oud, the kind of cologne you smell once and remember forever. My stomach turns, not from the scent itself but from the fact that it’s here at all.

Because I know I didn’t bring it in.

“Someone’s been in here,” Bethany says, voice low and certain. Her arm shoots out in front of me, stopping me cold before I barrel into her.

Her words drop like a stone into my chest. The stillness around us sharpens, every sound amplified—the hum of the mini fridge, the faint tick of the wall clock, my own pulse slamming in my ears.

I force myself to look past her. My gaze skims over the bed, the shelves, the desk?—

The desk.

The chair isn’t where I left it. I always tuck it in before I leave. Always. Now it’s pulled out, angled like someone sat there, leaned in, maybe even rested their elbows while they lingered in my space.

I take a step forward. The scent gets stronger, wrapping around me like a hand closing at my throat.

My fingertips brush the desk’s edge, and I feel it—a faint tremor in my own hand I can’t quite control. That’s when I see it.

“There,” Bethany whispers, pointing. Her voice barely cuts through the rush of blood in my ears.

A single red rose rests on top of my book. The petals are lush and perfect, every curve deliberate, every thorn intact. It doesn’t belong here, but it’s not just the flower—it’s the way it’s been placed. Precise. Intentional. Like whoever left it wanted me to find it exactly this way.

“Lily…” Bethany’s tone falters, all her usual bravado slipping into something brittle. “Who would do this?”

I can’t answer. My throat has closed around the words. My eyes stay locked on that rose, my mind spiraling through possibilities, none of them safe.

The petals are beautiful, but there’s nothing soft about them. They’re a warning dressed up like a gift.

And somewhere out there—maybe on this floor, maybe right outside—someone knows I’ve seen it. Someone’s still watching .

The city’s madness has a scent.

And now it’s inside my room.

Bethany’s voice spikes like a fire alarm. “What do you mean, you don’t know who left the rose?”

Her usual calm has cracked wide open, disbelief sharpening every word. She paces the room like a caged animal, eyes flicking between the door and the desk where the flower still sits. It’s as if she’s waiting for the air itself to confess.

“How would I know?” I ask, forcing my shoulders into a shrug I don’t feel. My voice is steady only because I’ve practiced that skill—masking panic. “I was with you all morning.”

“Fuck,” she mutters, raking her fingers through her hair. I’ve never heard her curse before. It drops into the room like a rock through glass, a jagged punctuation to the tension already pressing in on us.

My stomach knots tighter.

“What do we do?” I ask, my words almost breaking apart on the way out. I’m not sure if I’m looking to her for a plan or just for proof that I’m not imagining all this.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she storms across the room to the French doors, flings them open, and inhales deeply.

The rush of air sweeps in, cool and sharp, but it doesn’t erase the scent.

That sandalwood-and-oud haze still clings to everything, like smoke that’s seeped into the wallpaper.

It’s his scent.

The thought hits me with enough force to make my skin crawl.

“God, Lily,” Bethany says, softer now but still tight with nerves. “You really are a magnet for the weirdos. ”

I try to laugh, but it comes out hollow, like something dropped down a well. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

But the truth is, the question is eating me alive. Where did he see me? Why me? What moment was it that made him decide I was worth following?

“Hold up… you don’t think it’s Trick, do you?” I hear myself say before I can stop it.

Her head snaps toward me. “Trick?” Her voice is half disbelief, half are-you-serious right now. “You can’t be serious.”

“Who else could it be?” I fire back, desperate for a name, for a reason. Trick’s been… off lately. Overbearing. Invasive in ways that make me itch under my skin. Maybe this is his twisted idea of a peace offering.

Bethany scoffs. “Silly Lily,” she says, but the bite’s missing from her tone. “Could be any one of those campus boys who can’t take their eyes off you. Just because they don’t ask you out doesn’t mean they’re not out there obsessing.”

I roll my eyes, but my hands are already fumbling for my phone. My fingers tremble against the screen as I swipe to my contacts.

“What are you doing?” she asks sharply.

“I’m calling my mother.”

In a blink, her hand shoots out, snatching the phone. She holds it high, out of reach. Her gaze locks on mine, hard enough to pin me in place.

“One, she’ll panic, and there’s nothing she can do from home. Two, I’m not letting you run away from this.”

“I’m not running,” I say, but the catch in my voice betrays me.

“Oh, please.” She tilts her head. “You’re already halfway to packing your bags in your head. Your mom will tell you to come home, and you’ll listen because it’s easy. But I’m not letting you freak out and bolt.”

I suck in a shaky breath, feeling the truth in her words even as I want to deny them. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper. “I’m afraid, Bethany.”

Her expression softens. She steps closer, lays a steadying hand on my shoulder. “I know you are, Lil. But you’re stronger than you think. And listen—if this guy wanted to hurt you, he wouldn’t have left a rose. It’s a… gesture. Creepy, yeah. But not an attack.”

I don’t answer. My eyes drift to the rose again, vivid red against the muted backdrop of the room. It’s too perfect. Too deliberate. A gift that feels more like a claim.

“I think we need to call Justin,” she says at last. Her voice is calmer, but the tension’s still there, fraying her words. “He’ll know what to do.”

I just nod, my throat locked too tight for speech.

She pulls out her phone, thumbs tapping quickly. I back away from the desk, folding my arms around myself like they’re the only thing keeping me together.

The open balcony doors do nothing to lift the heaviness in the air. If anything, the cool breeze just makes the scent sharper, clinging like it wants to live in my lungs.

Whoever he is, he’s out there. Watching.

And now he wants me to know it.

Bethany’s voice is low and clipped as she talks to Justin, urging to come to our dorm quickly. I can barely hear her over the drumbeat in my own ears. My pulse is everywhere—in my throat, my fingertips, my temples.

I sink into the edge of my bed, hands clasped tight between my knees. It feels like if I let go, I’ll fly apart in a hundred different directions .

This isn’t just a rose. It’s a breadcrumb. A signal. A way of saying I can get to you, whenever I want.

I’ve felt this before—years ago, in a different place, with a different shadow lurking over me.

Back then, I told myself it was paranoia, that I was imagining the weight of someone’s eyes on my back.

Until I wasn’t imagining it anymore. Until the air turned to ice behind me and I knew I wasn’t alone.

The same air is here now, thick and heavy, wrapping itself around my ribs until I can’t take a full breath. My mind starts pulling threads I don’t want to see—visions of a figure in the doorway, of hands that grip too hard, of a voice whispering you can’t stop me .

Bethany hangs up, but I don’t look at her. My gaze stays on the rose, every perfect petal like a blood-red warning.

I’m not safe here.

I’m not safe anywhere.