I’m addicted to my stalker.
He watches me at night, sneaking in through my living room window and making my blood turn to ice. I feel him …
I’m addicted to my stalker.
He watches me at night, sneaking in through my living room window and making my blood turn to ice. I feel him all around me as chills snake down my spine. Each night he becomes bolder, getting closer and welcoming himself into my bedroom, feeding his addiction.
When I feel the warmth of his skin brushing over mine, I pretend to sleep, terrified of what he plans to do with me. But when he touches me … my whole body comes alive.
I’ve never seen his face, and don’t even know his name, but I want to. Every part of me knows this is wrong, but I can’t bring myself to lock the window, to tell him no.
He thrills me, but living life on the edge doesn’t come without consequences.
