Not a stranger. Not a savior. Something in between
705 Words
Isabella
I thought I was going crazy until about a month ago when he finally showed himself. I was walking home after a late night shift at the bar when a customer followed me out. I clutched my purse and quickened my pace, my heart hammering in my chest as I walked from the back alley.
A breath brushed the back of my neck.
I flinched hard, my body locking as I waited for the grab—
It never came.
Instead—
A dull, choking sound.
A struggle that ended too quickly.
Then silence.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Wrong.
I turn.
The man who had been behind me is on the ground, twisted at an angle that doesn’t look right. His hand twitches once… then goes still.
I don’t see the moment it happens.
Just the aftermath.
And him.
He’s already there.
Standing over the body like he’s always been part of the scene, not something that just stepped into it. Tall. Still. The darkness doesn’t hide him… it settles around him.
My chest tightens as my gaze drags upward.
The mask.
The eyes.
Grey.
Watching me like I’m the only thing in the alley that matters.
I stumble back a step before I even realize I’m moving. My heel catches on uneven concrete and I almost fall.
He doesn’t react.
Doesn’t rush.
Doesn’t speak.
That’s worse.
Fear gripped me thinking he was going to kill me next but instead he moved closer to me making me flinch in fear. Tears staining my cheeks as I shuffled back on unsteady feet. Stumbling several times as he advanced slowly like it was a game. My pulse spikes, sharp and uneven. “P-please—” The word barely makes it out.
His head tilts slightly.
Not confused.
Curious.
Like he’s studying something small and intricate.
Something fragile.
I shake my head quickly, backing up again. “I won’t—I won’t say anything, I didn’t see—”
A hand lifts.
I freeze.
Every muscle locks as he steps into my space, slow, deliberate. There’s no rush in him. No adrenaline. No chaos.
Just control.
His hand comes up toward my face.
I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing—
For pain.
For pressure.
For the end.
Instead—
Something brushes my cheek.
Light.
Careful.
My eyes snap open.
His thumb drags slowly beneath my eye, catching a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. The touch lingers a second too long to be accidental.
Too deliberate to be kind.
My breath falters.
At first he didn’t speak but the touch told me everything. He didn’t want to hurt me, he was saving me. He’s close enough now that I can feel the heat of him. Close enough that the world outside of him feels… distant.
Unimportant.
“You shouldn’t walk alone.”
The words are low, steady. Not scolding.
Not concerned.
Certain.
Like he’s stating something that already belongs to him.
My throat tightens. “You— you killed him—”
“He would have hurt you.”
Not defensive.
Not justified.
Just… true.
My gaze flicks past him to the body, then back again. My stomach twists, but it doesn’t feel like it should. The fear is there, sharp and real—
But something else is threading through it.
Something quieter.
Colder.
“You were watching me,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
A pause.
Not denial.
Not surprise.
Then—
“Yes.”
The word lands heavier than anything else.
My breath catches.
Because he doesn’t sound ashamed.
He doesn’t sound like he’s confessing.
He sounds like he’s answering something obvious.
Like I should have known.
My fingers curl into my palm as I force myself to take another step back, needing space, needing air—
He lets me.
Doesn’t follow this time.
Doesn’t stop me.
But his gaze stays on me, steady, unblinking, like distance doesn’t matter.
Like it never has.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Bella.”
The nickname in his voice feels wrong.
Too familiar.
Too practiced.
A chill slips down my spine, slow and deliberate.
Because he didn’t ask for it.
He didn’t hesitate.
He didn’t guess.
He knew.
Finally making his presence known. My stalker, my savior..
- Writer
