Locked In

7

THEON

I told myself I wouldn’t do it sixteen times.

Yes, I counted.

Old habits die hard, I guessed. But I was still irritated with myself. I shouldn’t have followed her home, or let her know that I did for that matter. The stupid urge was just so irresistible today. For seven weeks that she’d been here, this was the first time I followed her, the first time I wasn’t able to tame that demon screeching in me.

That demon that seemed to be obsessed with her even after all these years.

Fuck, admitting that made me want to flay myself to death.

Six years ago, everyday, I stalked her from school. Didn’t matter where she was, I’d find her, wait for her and walk behind her silently. There was just something about her that pulled my focus, attention, body, everything about her in general—

Stop.

I fisted my hands, clenched my teeth and refocused, letting all thoughts of her evaporate from my mind. But it was impossible when my world was centred around her. My life had been about her ever since I saw her. After I escaped death narrowly, she was the first person I thought about, even if it was how to end her life. I was angry, and all that anger had been directed towards her. Her. Her. Her. Her. All these years, it was her. Every plan was for her. Every thought was about her, every dream and nightmare was of her.

She’d taken over my system so badly, it was impossible to flush her out of it. And fuck, I hated it. I wished I could hate her. I did, I hated her.

Who the fuck was I kidding?

I stripped myself down and walked into the bathroom, taking a moment to stare at myself in the mirror. I let my gaze fall on the only scar on my chest, trailing the gash with my eyes on the mirror. It started from my right breast and stopped above my belly button, then veered left to create a line across my taut stomach. It was a gift from my mom that would stay with me forever, but I didn’t like seeing it so I drew my first tattoo over it when I was sixteen. And my body had been a wall of art ever since.

I stepped out of the bathroom minutes later, still dripping wet, grabbing a towel as I headed over to the desk. I flicked on the monitor, the camera feed from Ainsley’s house flashing up on the screen as a smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. Her house was dark. Just as I’d planned. They must’ve finally cut off her electricity, the same as the water. I’d paid them to.

I knew she went to her neighbour’s house for a shower in the morning. All part of the plan.

The living room appeared empty at first, shrouded in darkness, but thanks to the night vision installed on my cameras—similar to those goggles that lit up the dark in a sickly green glow—I could see everything.

It was quiet. Still. Then, my eyes narrowed as I spotted her. Ainsley was moving across the screen, a bag slung over her shoulder as she made for the front door. I frowned. She stepped out, locked up and started down the stairs.

What the hell?

I grabbed my phone, quickly pulling up the tracking app I’d hidden on her phone since day one. My jaw tightened minutes later when I saw whose place she intended to crash at, ruining my plan.

Vincent’s house.