Ugly Love

Creeps

An hour passed, the convocation ceremony finally winding to its close. The speeches, the polite applause, the smiles frozen in careful etiquette—all of it now a blur. I glanced at my wristwatch; ten in the morning. My flight was in thirty minutes. Every second now felt like a blade pressed against my chest, reminding me that I had to leave Russia and all its shadows behind.I was just about to step out of the hall when a waiter appeared in my peripheral vision, his expression neutral, but something in his movement made me pause." Excuse me, ma'am," he said, extending a small bouquet of flowers toward me." Flowers?" I murmured, frozen. My eyes scanned the petals—white lilies with streaks of crimson, delicate and impossible to ignore. My breath caught. Who could possibly be sending me flowers here, now?I took them anyway. Manners, I reminded myself. Even if it didn't make sense, even if it felt wrong. The waiter bowed slightly and left, his footsteps fading into the echoing hall. I clutched the bouquet, a strange heaviness pressing into my palms, but didn't linger. My flight awaited. The drive back to my apartment was quiet. The city moved around me, blurred gray and pale blue, shadows stretching long across icy streets. At the apartment, I pulled two boxes from the boot of my car, careful to avoid scuffing the polished floor tiles. The boxes were light but filled with a peculiar weight, almost like anticipation pressing against them. Then, unexpectedly, a weakness gripped me, sudden and unnerving. My knees trembled, my vision blurred at the edges. I swayed, steadying myself against the doorframe."It's probably because I haven't eaten anything yet," I muttered to myself, though my voice sounded hollow in the empty apartment.I closed the door and made my way toward the car, but then it happened—a voice, low, measured, familiar in its tone, yet entirely unknown to me." Selena." I froze. The sound made the air thicken, pressing against my skin like invisible hands. Nobody here should know me—not really. I hadn't lived here long enough for anyone to recognize me. A man emerged from the shadow of the building, his movements deliberate, slow, almost predatory. He approached my car, and my stomach clenched." I'm sorry… I don't know you," I said, voice tight, wary."I'm Charles. I sent you the flowers," he replied.I stared. Blank, cold dread crawling under my skin. I had never seen him in my life. Never. And yet he knew my name, my apartment. How?" How do you know where I live?" I demanded, voice shaking slightly, though I tried to mask it with irritation. Charles said nothing. Just stood there, his gaze fixed, unnervingly calm. My mind raced. Stalking, obsession, danger—I had read about people like this, worked with the aftermath in my forensic studies, and the cold rationality of those memories now twisted into fear."I have somewhere to be right now," I said sharply. My hands moved automatically to the car, fumbling with the door lock.He lifted his hand, slow and deliberate, reaching toward the window. I slammed it up. My pulse spiked, hot and jagged, and I wrenched the car into drive, tires squealing faintly against the pavement. The fear hadn't left me. Every turn, every shadow passing by the car window, seemed alive with intent. This was a city I knew, yet suddenly every street felt foreign, threatening. Thoughts collided in my mind: maybe he's just a mentally unstable guy, I tried to reason. Maybe he's harmless. But my instincts screamed otherwise. And yet…he looked refined. Expensive. Rich, perhaps, judging by his tailored suit and the measured way he carried himself. Handsome, too—danger wrapped in elegance. The kind that made your skin prickle even as your brain tried to deny the warning.I exhaled sharply, trying to push the fear down, trying to reason it away as I neared the airport. The familiar signs of traffic lanes and taxi drop-offs should have reassured me. But every shadow beneath the overhang, every reflection on the glass walls, seemed to hold a presence that wasn't there, or perhaps, one that was watching.I handed my car over at the valet drop, fingers tight around the receipt they pressed into my hand. I stuffed it into my pocket, the paper crumpling slightly against my fingers. Checked-in. Security passed. Boarding pass scanned. Everything was procedural, methodical, but nothing eased the gnawing tension curling in my stomach like smoke through veins.I walked through the terminal, clutching my small bag and the flowers, still fragrant and alien, their scent sharp, almost electric. My bracelet, still snug on my wrist, seemed to hum with a quiet energy, a pulse I could not ignore. It was as if it knew something I didn't—something waiting in the spaces between flights, between moments, between the safety I thought I had reclaimed.I passed the waiting lounges, my reflection catching in the glass panels. Pale light from the early morning sun reflected off the tiles, fractured, sharp. I saw myself there: hair mussed from rushing, eyes wide and wary, lips pressed into a thin line. But behind me, I swore I felt a shadow move, shifting across the terminal. Not fast, not obvious—just enough to make my skin crawl. My boarding gate appeared ahead. I moved toward it, each step measured, deliberate, my senses stretched thin. I had left Russia behind, yet its chill lingered—not in the air, not in the wind—but inside me. A whisper of danger, a brush of unseen hands against my mind. The city, the stranger, the bracelet—all threads weaving together into something I could not yet name, yet could not ignore.I clutched my boarding pass, a small talisman against the rising storm of fear and anticipation. Somewhere, out there, was Henry, waiting. Home was waiting. But for now, all I could do was keep moving forward, one careful step at a time, into a sky streaked with light and shadows, uncertain what awaited me once the plane rose above the clouds.