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“Iam exhausted, Tay! Let’s go home.”

Mara is shouting into my ear like I’m deaf. Every time she gets drunk, she starts to yell like a madwoman. I mean, if she keeps going, I probably will be deaf soon. She's so lucky I love her. Not that I could ever stay mad at her for long; she has been my closest and only friend my whole life.

“Mara, I’m right here, no need to scream. Let me grab my jacket, and we’ll go back home.”

“WHAAAAT?”

Ugh, seriously. I roll my eyes and place my jacket over my arm. I hold out my hand so Mara can grab it, and we both can leave. She’s a wanderer, and when it’s dark like this, you never know what creeps might be around trying to pick her up. It's 2025 and the streets have never been more dangerous. Plus, I think she secretly likes being mollycoddled. I mean, who wouldn’t want someone in their life to take care of them, to be there and make sure they are safe and okay? If it wasn’t for Mara, I would never know what that feels like.

I look around and wonder if my stalker is out here. Not that he ever shows himself. I have never been able to actually see him and it’s making everyone think I’m just imagining it, but I know he—or she, you never know—is out there.

I don’t think this person is dangerous. I mean, after two years of stalking, if they had bad intentions, it would have happened already, right?

I sigh and continue our walk to Mara’s place. I don’t really talk to anyone about my stalker anymore, since I have never actually seen them, and people won’t believe me because of it. Plus, having to hear people constantly tell me that ‘maybe I should try a therapist’ just makes me want to scream in their faces. I’m not crazy! I hate it when people call me that. It’s like telling someone to shush when you are already being quiet, it bothers me to the core.

Some of the lights on the street aren’t working properly, making this whole walk a little bit creepier. A movement to my side makes me screech. I turn my head, only to be greeted with an empty street.

There’s an overfilled dustbin on the side, and there’s no light coming from the houses around us.

I haven't checked the time yet, but I guess it’s later than I thought .

My heart is racing, beating out my chest , and I have this feeling that something is wrong, as if something bad will happen, but as I look around, I cannot find anything.

“Mara, did you see that?”

she turns to where I’m looking and laughs.

“Maybeee it’s your stalker.”

She lifts her eyebrows, gigging while saying the word ‘stalker’. I look back at the empty spot.

“Maybe.”

I decide it might be better if we just get home sooner, so hopefully this feeling will stop.

I hold her hand tighter and pull her with me to walk at a faster pace. Maybe I’m just tired and seeing shapes in the shadows. Yup, I’m not crazy at all.

I take Mara to her apartment, help her remove her shoes, and tuck her drunk ass in bed, before I go to my own place. I know most people would just dump them at home, and let them figure it out themselves, but she's like my sister and I couldn’t imagine living my life without her. What if she stumbles down the stairs or tries to take a bath and drowns? I would never forgive myself.

That feeling of uneasiness gets more intense after I leave Mara’s apartment. I keep looking over my shoulder, still not seeing anything, which makes me more paranoid about it all. I should have gone to the party in my car, but I didn’t think it would be this late, and it’s not that far between our houses. Not to mention that it would be better for the environment if I take the twenty five-minute walk instead. My keys are in my hand, poking out near my knuckles, and I’m feeling a bit like Wolverine. They've been there the entire walk, helping me feel a bit safer. I also have a mini pepper spray keychain and a small rape alarm attached to them. Isn’t it just wonderful to be a woman?

I quickly open my door and rush in, just in case there actually is someone following me. I don't turn any of my lights on—so he’ll think no one is here—and stumble through the dark to get into my shower. Which seems more of a challenge than I thought it would be. “Shit!”

I yelp, holding my foot while a tingling, stabbing pain sparks up my little toe. Groaning, I continue my way to the bathroom. I’m sticky, sweaty, and tired. I could really do with some scorching hot water running over my body to ease my mind.

I open the bathroom door and start the shower, taking a deep breath as water begins falling down, beating the bottom of the bath, and steam starts filling the room.

The moment the water hits my body a moan slips from my lips. I could stay here for days, but unfortunately, I have responsibilities in the morning, and I really should get to bed before I have to go back to work.

I grab the soap and rub it over my skin, the smell of lavender filling the space around me. Whenever I feel stressed, this is one of the things I do to make my mind quieter. The other thing is listening to music, but this is definitely what works best for me. I relax into the water, breathing in the scent and just letting all the stress go.

When I’m done soaping up, I grab the showerhead and hold it closer to my body, making the soap—and metaphorically speaking, the bad energy of today—drip down my body, into the drain. Once all is successfully removed, I up the stream level and guide it towards my pussy. There’s nothing that helps me sleep better than a good orgasm.

The feeling of the pressure of the water against my sensitive spots makes me moan instantly. I grab my breast and pinch my nipple while thinking of my stalker breaking into my bathroom while I’m in the shower, watching me play with myself. I imagine him wearing some creepy hockey mask. He pulls out his huge, hard cock and starts to stroke himself while staring at me with an intense gaze. I bite my lip and give him a show, only our grunts and moans filling the room. He stops his strokes and walks into my shower, grabbing the showerhead from my hand, and pushing me up against the wall with one hand against my throat, while he puts the stream at a maximum against my throbbing pussy. My moans are getting louder and I can feel the peak of my orgasm coming. “Oh fuck!”

I lean my arm against the wall to steady myself and take a couple of breaths. It should be dangerous, thinking of my stalker that way, who knows who this person even is, but I’m too tired right now to think about any of that.

I place the shower head back and step out to dry off and go to bed.

BANG!

I jump up at the loud noise and frantically search for and grab my gun that is hidden away in my nightstand. Whatever this is, it's not good. Am I going to get taken or worse? I try to hold back all the horrible thoughts. Panicking right now is not a good idea. I need to keep it together.

Loud footsteps stomp up my stairs, and my breath hitches while all my hairs stand up. Fuck this is bad, really, really bad. I unlock the safety of my gun and hold it out in front of me. I know I’ll only have a couple of seconds to make the shot once this person opens my door.

I quickly jump out of bed and run to the side of my door, right before it flies open and —BANG—the gun goes off, hitting the stranger in his leg.

I pull the trigger again, but an empty click sounds instead. I curse myself and try to hold back the feeling of impending doom that starts to take over. The huge bear-like man lying on my floor starts to laugh like some maniac. I can’t see his face because he has a balaclava over his head, but I’m imagining him being an ugly bastard.

“Your gonna regret that bitch!”

he roars while getting back up like I didn’t just shoot him in the fucking leg. I scream while running away from the man. I think he likes it because I’m sure he’d been able to grab me over there if he wanted to. What if he gets off on this? There are a lot of sick people in this world. Shit, shit, shit! I knew something was up, I just fucking knew it! I should have just gone with my gut and called the cops or something. Why did he even wait this long to attack me?

My hair gets pulled back, making me yelp. I fly backward, my head hitting the floor. Hot searing pain temporarily takes over, and it takes a while for me to register what exactly just happened. I groan out in pain while the man pulls me by my hair back up onto my feet and starts to drag me to the living room. I wait until he lets go of my hair, and then kick him in his leg right where I shot him. He curses and doubles over. I use this as an opportunity to get the fuck out of here. Running to my kitchen—because that’s where all the knives are—I grab the biggest one I see. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to stab the man, but I gotta try, right?

I turn around, hoping I still have time to get to the back door, but my assailant grabs me and slams my head against the kitchen counter.

I think I drop the knife, my head is throbbing, and my vision is blurry. I can feel something wet and warm dripping down my face.

There’s a heavy pressure on my neck, making it hard for me to breathe. Why can’t I breathe anymore?

I frantically move, trying to get whatever is pressing on my neck off, but it won’t budge. Blackness fills my vision until it fully takes over.