Chapter 7

I didn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that photo. Me, looking down, completely unaware of the predator above. I checked the locks on the door three times. I pushed a chair under the handle. I even taped a piece of paper over the small peephole.

When the sun finally came up, I tried to convince myself it was over. I had destroyed the phone. I had left the library. The stalker had lost his toy.

I dragged myself to my morning lecture. I sat in the very back row, my hood up, my head down. I tried to focus on the professor's monotone voice, but my mind was racing.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I nearly jumped out of my seat. I pulled it out slowly, my heart in my throat.

It was a text from an unknown number. Not the burner. My personal phone.

"You look tired today, Little Lamb. Didn't sleep well?"

The room tilted. I gripped the edge of my desk to steady myself. He had my real number. He was watching me right now.

I looked around the lecture hall, my eyes scanning the sea of faces. No one was looking at me. Everyone was focused on their laptops or their phones. He could be any of them.

With shaking fingers, I blocked the number. It was a useless gesture, but it made me feel like I was doing something. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the lecture.

Two minutes later, my phone buzzed again. A new unknown number. This time, it was a picture.

It was me, sitting in the back of the lecture hall. The photo was taken from outside the building, through the window. My hood was up, my face partially hidden, but it was definitely me.

The caption read: "Blocking me is pointless."

I couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in. I grabbed my backpack and ran out of the hall, ignoring the professor's annoyed glance.

I went straight to the campus police station. I sat in the sterile waiting room for an hour before an officer finally called me into his office. I told him everything. The burner phone, the texts, the photos. I showed him the messages on my phone.

He listened politely, but his expression was dismissive. "Miss Carrillo, college pranks are common. Without a specific threat of violence, there's not much we can do. The numbers are spoofed. We can't trace them."

"But he's following me!" I cried, my voice cracking. "He took a picture of me through a window!"

"Keep your doors locked," the officer said, handing me a pamphlet on campus safety. "If he makes physical contact or threatens you, come back."

I walked out of the station feeling utterly defeated. The police couldn't help me. I was on my own. I didn't even know who my true enemy was. The creep calling me 'Little Lamb'? Or Dean Gibbs, who used the fake name 'Crane' in fancy restaurants and watched me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve? In this world, it felt like everyone had a secret, and I was trapped in the middle of all of them.

Over the next few days, the harassment escalated. The texts were constant. He knew what I ate for breakfast. He knew what I was wearing. He knew when I left the dorm and when I came back. I changed my number twice. Each time, he found the new one within minutes.

I was living in a fishbowl. Every move I made was monitored. I stopped going to the dining hall. I stopped going to class. I stayed in the dorm, jumping at every shadow.

Hannah noticed. She tried to talk to me, but I shut her out. I couldn't tell her. If I told her, she would tell Dean, and I couldn't deal with him right now. I couldn't deal with his probing questions and his controlling solutions.

But the silence only made things worse. Hannah grew distant, hurt by my rejection. And the stalker grew bolder.

One night, I decided to take a shower. It was late, and the bathroom was empty. I stood under the hot water, trying to wash away the constant feeling of being dirty, of being watched. I let the steam fill the small stall, finally feeling a tiny sliver of relief.

When I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I walked back to my room. Hannah was asleep. The room was dark. But my phone screen was glowing on my desk.

I walked over to it, my stomach dropping. A new message.

"The water looks warm. Enjoy your shower."

The towel slipped from my fingers. The floor seemed to vanish beneath my feet. He was watching me in the bathroom. He could see me naked. He was in my most private moments.

A scream ripped from my throat. I grabbed the phone and hurled it at the wall. The screen shattered, the plastic casing cracking. The pieces fell to the floor, but the damage was done.

"Chloe!" Hannah shot up in bed, turning on the lamp. She saw me standing there, dripping wet, shaking, and crying. She saw the broken phone on the floor.

"Chloe, what happened?" she asked, jumping out of bed and rushing over to me.

I collapsed into her arms, the sobs finally breaking free. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I was terrified. I was exhausted. I was completely broken.

"Someone is watching me," I cried into her shoulder. "He's everywhere. He sees everything. I can't escape him."

Hannah held me tight, her arms strong and warm. "Who? Who is watching you?"

"I don't know," I sobbed. "He calls himself... he calls me Little Lamb."

Hannah pulled back, her face hard with anger. "Tell me everything."

And I did. I told her about the library, the texts, the photos, the police. I told her how I had been living in fear for a week, alone and isolated. After saying that, I felt empty inside.

Hannah's eyes were blazing. She grabbed her own phone off the nightstand. "That's it. I'm calling my brother."