The killer's favorite obsession

As it rained heavily, I felt so safe. The rain had always made me feel safe and I couldn't explain why.

It was stupid, really stupid. It was just a whisper of water down the window and a shiver down my spine but when it soaked through my coat, I loved the feelings.

People stayed indoors, the streets were empty, the sounds of the street softened and it was like the world went slower and it matched the beat of my heart-cautious and quiet.

I held my clothes tighter as I locked up the flower shop, my finger trembling as the key turned. The bright pink neon 'closed' sign reflected brightly by the sidewalk.

I shouldn't have stayed at the shop so late–I never did. It was my routine and meant everything to me. It was to wake up, eat, work and sleep. It was the only way I could keep my life safe and I could bury the horrible memories deep down. It was the only way to keep the panic attack at bay and stop it from swallowing me whole.

Today had been harder than the rest–a man's fingers had mistakenly brushed through mine and I froze and I could feel my heart racing so fast and my throat tighten.

It had taken everything in me not to break down in front of the man.

I was walking home under the drizzling rain, as the scent of wet pavement and roses clung to my nose. My sneakers made quiet splashes as I moved through the alley shortcut that I always took but today it was creepy–it was narrow and dark.

I swallowed hard and reminded myself that it was better than going around the entire block. I just wanted to get home, to my tiny apartment with its creaky board and thin walls where I could hear my neighbour have sex all the fucking time.

I would make tea, light a candle and pretend my life was not horrible.

"Hey" I heard a voice call out to me and I paused, my heart already picking up its pace. My breath was caught as I turned to see a man-he was looking disorganized, his eyes wild and he was stumbling. He looked like he was in his late forties and his stained hoodie and lost jeans made me know that he wasn't mentally stable and he also reeked of alcohol and I could smell it even though I was at a distance.

"What do you want?" I asked him, scared as fuck.

He came out of the shadows and my eyes widened at what I saw. He held his hard dick as he stroked it and he looked at me with eyes filled with lust. I immediately turned around and began to walk out there.

"Hey....wait, sweetheart..."

I quickened my pace and my heart was beating hard like a drum.

"Do not ignore me, bitch!" He yelled as his steps grew faster, " I said stop, you slut."

My heartbeat went wild but I didn't scream, I hated to draw attention to myself. When I heard his footsteps very close behind me, I couldn't help it--i shrieked and bolted.

as I ran, I tripped on the sidewalk but I caught myself and continued to run. The last time I ran this fast was to get away from Nat, my abusive ex boyfriend.

As I ran, I could see a corner approaching the busy part of town--i didn't look back, I was scared of what I would see. I bursted out onto the street where people moved and street lights shone brightly.

I was breathing heavily, as people watched me, confused. I turned to look at the alley for any sign of the man but he was gone.

He wasn't following me anymore.

As I caught my breath, I didn't even realize that I was crying until I tasted the salt in my mouth.

I wiped my eyes and tried to avert the gaze that was on me.

Why does this always happen to me? Why couldn't I just live without something chasing me? I haven't done anything to anyone, yet, I am constantly on a run

As I stumbled back home, locking the door twice and sliding the chain across to avoid any breakage.

I still couldn't sleep.

Tonight was horrifying and every time I closed my eyes, I saw the man.

I curled into the corner of my bed, knees tucked to my chest, the mug of tea untouched on the nightstand. My coat was still damp from the rain, but I hadn't found the energy to change. The walls around me pressed in tighter with every ticking second, and the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen was the only sound accompanying the storm that still raged outside.

I hated how familiar this fear was-how easily it slithered into my bones and made a home there.

Every creak of the floorboards above made me flinch. Every gust of wind outside my window sounded like footsteps. I sat frozen, watching the door even though I'd locked it, twice.

"He couldn't have followed me, right?" I asked myself multiple times.

I hugged a pillow to my chest and stared at the flickering candle on the sill. The flame danced violently with every draft that slipped through the opened window.

I looked at the window confused---- It shouldn't have been open, I hadn't opened it.

My heart paused, just for a second.

I got up slowly, each step on the wooden floor feeling too loud. I reached the window, touched the edge-and froze. There was a scratch on the glass wooden frame--Three thin, jagged lines, as if someone had dragged something sharp across it from the outside.

I stumbled back, knocking over the candle. It rolled, the flame flickering dangerously before snuffing out completely, plunging the room into a thick, trembling darkness. I fumbled for the lamp switch but the bulb burst the moment I touched it.

A high-pitched gasp escaped my lips.

My apartment was small, it was a one bedroom, a compact living space, a little kitchen, a bathroom with a rusted faucet-but at this moment, it felt like a cave.

I pressed my back to the wall, trying to calm my breathing. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe the scratches were always there and I just hadn't noticed.

But I knew that wasn't true, something told me it wasn't true.

I walked to the kitchen, the only place with decent light. I opened the drawer and pulled out the only thing that felt like safety-my small kitchen knife. My hands trembled around the handle.

I didn't want to be this person-paranoid, always on edge, terrified of shadows-but my life hadn't given me much choice.

That's when I heard it--A sound.

It was soft and it was coming from the hallway. Then I heard it-A slow, deliberate knock on my apartment door.

Just one, then it went silent.

I stood there, frozen. My heart stopped and refused to start again. The chain was still on the door and the locks were secured but my legs felt like jelly, like they might collapse beneath me. I inched toward the door and peered through the peephole.

It was empty....no one there and then, as I turned away-my phone buzzed on the counter. I walked towards it, picking it up.

One new message. It read. It had no name, it was just a number I didn't recognize.

I exhaled and opened it and the message brought back my worst nightmare

"You looked beautiful tonight, Lena." I read it out loud.

Fuck!