The Library

Lilith

T he message from Sebastian—his name still tastes foreign on my lips—has been burning a hole in my phone for the last two days. Just one word: Soon.

It’s haunting me. It’s all I’ve thought about since he sent it. What does he mean? What’s going to happen soon ? Part of me is terrified to find out, but another part… another part of me craves it, aches for it. And I hate myself for that.

I don’t even know him. I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want him. But the more I try to convince myself that I don’t, the more I can feel him in my thoughts, in the shadows of my every move.

I’ve been going through the motions these last couple of days—classes, errands, meals. But it all feels muted, like there’s a filter over my life, and I can’t see or feel anything clearly anymore. It’s like I’m waiting for something. For him .

It’s late when I finally make it back to my apartment. The cold air bites at my skin as I fumble with my keys, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched again. Every time I glance over my shoulder, I swear I see something—someone—lurking just out of sight. But no matter how many times I look, there’s never anyone there.

I lock the door behind me, leaning against it for a second, trying to catch my breath. The silence of my apartment is almost suffocating now. It used to be my sanctuary, but ever since that message, it’s felt more like a trap. Like I’m waiting for something to happen, for him to step out of the shadows and claim whatever it is he thinks is his.

I toss my keys onto the counter and head to the bathroom, needing a shower to clear my head. The hot water feels good against my skin, but it doesn’t do much to wash away the thoughts of him, the way he looked at me, the way his presence makes my heart race and my body react in ways I don’t want to admit.

I wrap myself in a towel and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair hangs damp around my face, my skin still flushed from the heat of the water. But it’s the look in my eyes that catches me off guard—like I’m not sure who I am anymore. Like I’m on the edge of something, about to fall, and I don’t know if I want to stop it.

I don’t want to think about him. But I can’t stop.

I make my way to the bedroom, pulling on a simple oversized t-shirt and panties, trying to ignore the way my body feels tense, on edge, like I’m expecting something. I grab my phone off the nightstand, staring at the screen, waiting for another message. But there’s nothing. No sign of him.

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t want to hear from him. But the absence is almost worse than the tension of his presence.

I climb into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, but sleep doesn’t come. Every sound in my apartment feels amplified, every creak of the floorboards making me jump, my heart pounding in my chest. I keep replaying every encounter with him over and over again in my head. The Library, where everything changed—the moment his fingers slid inside me, the way my body responded, helplessly, shamefully. I remember the way I came all over his hand, trembling, gasping, and how he pulled his fingers from me, licking them clean with that dark, dangerous smile on his face, savoring the taste of me like it was something he owned.

I can still hear his voice in my head, low and commanding, making me feel things I’ve only ever read about in books. The way his mismatched eyes locked onto mine, like he was promising me something even more twisted, more consuming. And that word—Soon. It lingers in my mind like a shadow, creeping into every corner of my thoughts, making it impossible to escape the inevitable.

I should have blocked him. I should have told someone about him. But I didn’t. I can’t.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I grab it, my heart leaping into my throat. A message.

Sebastian: Open the window.

My blood turns to ice.

I sit up in bed, staring at the message, my mind racing. Open the window? He’s here? I glance at the window, the thin curtains barely covering it, and my pulse spikes. What the fuck is this? Some kind of sick game?

I should ignore it. I should block his number and lock myself in the bathroom. But instead, I find myself moving toward the window, my feet carrying me without permission. My hand trembles as I reach for the edge of the curtain, my breath shallow and uneven.

I pull it back slowly, just enough to peer outside. The street is dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps casting long shadows across the pavement. I don’t see anyone. Just the empty street.

But then I spot it—a figure standing across the street, in the shadows, his face obscured. But I know it’s him. I can feel it. I see the orange glow of his cigarette. That same pull, that same tension crackling in the air between us, even from this distance.

I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. What do I do? Do I open the window? Do I let him in? Every rational part of me is screaming no, that this is insane, that I don’t know this man. But there’s another part of me, the part that’s been growing louder and louder these last few days, that wants to see what happens. That needs to know.

My hand hovers over the window latch, and for a moment, I hesitate.

But then, slowly, I unlock it.

I push the window open, the cold night air rushing in, sending a shiver down my spine. I don’t see him anymore, but I know he’s there. Watching. Waiting.

My phone buzzes again.

Sebastian: Good girl.

I bite my lip, a flood of heat rushing through me at his words. Why does this feel so… good ? Why do I want more of it? His praises roll off his tongue like honey, sweet to the dark, hidden parts of my soul that I’ve never acknowledged before. The way he calls me a “good girl” should terrify me, and it does—yet I crave it. I love hearing him praise me, even though I shouldn’t, even though I’m scared of what that means. The conflict between fear and desire twists inside me, tightening its grip as I lean out the window, scanning the street, but he’s gone. Just like that.

And all I can think about is when I’ll hear his voice again.

I pull back, my breath shaky, my heart pounding. What the hell just happened? Did I really just…?

I close the window, locking it again, but it feels pointless. Like it doesn’t matter. Not with Sebastian—he takes what he wants, that much is already clear.

I climb back into bed, my body still trembling, my mind racing. He’s in control now, and I know it. But the worst part?

I want him to be.