Darling Psycho

Are You Stalking Me?

Later that night.

Dinner was a quiet, predictable affair. The clinking of silverware against ceramic plates filled the dining room as my parents and I settled into our usual routine. Mom asked about school, Dad asked about my grades, and I gave the same, rehearsed responses, nodding along while pushing peas around my plate.

"So, how was work?" I asked, not because I actually cared but because it was easier than dealing with the silence.

"Exhausting," Dad said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "But productive. We closed that big merger today."

"Good for you," Mom said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "It’s nice when things go as planned."

"Yeah," I muttered, forcing a smile of my own.

"And school?" Mom asked, spearing a piece of asparagus. "Anything interesting?"

"Not really," I said quickly, leaving out the part where I met Nathan in the backyard, where his eyes had dragged over me in a way that made my skin feel both too tight and too bare. "Just... classes."

"You’ve been quiet lately," Dad said, giving me a look. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," I said, lifting a shoulder. "Actually, I was thinking... about signing up for the dance auditions again."

Mom’s fork froze. "Oh, wow, honey. That’s quite the leap. Are you sure you’re ready for that?"

"I think so," I said, my voice sounding stronger than I felt. "I know it’s been a while, but... maybe it’s time."

"You were great before," Dad said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "And if you’re ready to get back into it, we’re behind you."

"Yeah," Mom said, but her smile was tight. "Just... don’t push yourself too hard, okay?"

"I won’t," I said quickly, dropping my gaze to my half-empty plate. My pulse was still a little fast, and I tried to focus on the clink of utensils and the low hum of the air conditioner. But the words felt heavy, like stones, pressing against my tongue. Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "What’s the last name of our new neighbors?"

Mom and Dad both went still, exchanging a look. Their silence was louder than the words they weren’t saying.

"What’s that about?" Mom asked, her eyes narrowing. "Why do you want to know?"

I swallowed. "I just realized... they moved in weeks ago, and I don’t even know their last name."

Dad cleared his throat, pushing his chair back a little. "Lannister. Their last name is Lannister."

"Lannister," I repeated, the word rolling over my tongue like something foreign and dangerous.

"Vanya," Mom said, setting her fork down with a sharp clink. "You need to stay away from them. They’re not... the kind of people you should be associating with."

"Mom," I said, my brows knitting together. "I was just asking because—"

"No," she said, voice firm. "I know you. You’re... curious. And curiosity can get you in a lot of trouble."

"I’m not—"

"Please," she said, voice dropping, almost pleading. "Stay away from them. They’re bad news."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the look on her face stopped me. Something in her eyes was tight, wary. Like she knew something she wasn’t saying.

"Fine," I muttered, stabbing a piece of broccoli so hard it nearly flew off my plate. "Whatever."

*

I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of my phone resting beside me. The word "Lannister" kept ringing through my mind, circling back around like a haunting song. I grabbed my phone and opened i********:, fingers shaking slightly as I typed in the name.

Jason Lannister.

His profile popped up instantly. The first picture that caught my eye was one of him standing in front of a wall covered in graffiti, shirtless, his pants slung dangerously low on his hips. Smoke curled from his lips as he looked into the camera, one hand resting on his bare chest, the other holding a cigarette. His eyes were dark, sultry, and the smirk he wore was the kind of thing that could make a girl forget how to breathe.

I didn’t even realize I’d liked the picture until the little heart turned red.

"s**t," I muttered, my thumb hovering over the screen. But it was too late. A notification popped up instantly.

Jason Lannister followed you.

"Oh, my God," I whispered, sitting up so fast my phone nearly slipped from my hand. Before I could even comprehend what had happened, another notification appeared.

Jason Lannister: Are you stalking me?

My heart plummeted to my stomach. My fingers shook as I typed out a quick, frantic reply.

Me: No.

His response came immediately.

Jason: Then why are you liking pictures from two months ago? That’s what stalkers do. And I hate stalkers. Especially girls who stalk me.

I swallowed, my mouth dry. I could almost hear his voice in my head — low, taunting, dangerous.

Me: I wasn’t stalking you.

Jason: You sure? Because it feels like you were. Feels like you’re watching me right now.

I stared at the screen, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Me: I’m not.

Jason: Good. Because it’s annoying. And pathetic.

I clenched my jaw, fingers trembling. The audacity of him — calling me pathetic when he was the one parading around half-naked for the whole world to see.

Jason: But sometimes... it gets lonely up here.

My heart skipped a beat.

Me: Where are you right now?

Jason: My room.

I set my phone down, rising to my feet and moving toward the window. My heart hammered against my ribcage as I peeled the curtain back, just a fraction, just enough to see.

There he was. Standing in his room, shirtless, his dark hair tousled and damp, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. His jeans hung low on his hips, exposing the sharp curve of his hip bones. And his eyes were on me.

He was smirking.

My breath caught in my throat as I dropped the curtain, stumbling back. I heard his voice, smooth and mocking, ring through the night.

"Don’t think I didn’t see you."

My phone vibrated in my hand again, the screen lighting up with Jason’s name. Another text.

Jason: Do you masturbate?

I stared at the screen, my pulse screaming against my temples. What the hell?

Me: Excuse me?

Jason: Do you masturbate? Like finger yourself or something like that…?

My mouth fell open. My fingers trembled as I typed back, the words coming out harsher than I intend. I know he was crazy, but not to this extent.

Me: What kind of question is that?

Jason: We’re all bloody teenagers, Vanya. There’s nothing to be ashamed about.

My cheeks burned, my thumb hovering over the screen, and before I can stop myself, I typed:

Me: Oh yes, I do masturbate… every time you throw me live performances in your bloody room.

The moment I hit send, I regretted it. My heart slammed against my ribcage, and I can’t breathe. What the f**k was I thinking?

Three dots appeared, then disappear, then reappeared. My stomach twisted itself into knots.

Jason: Wait, wait, wait… do I turn you on like that?

He sent a string of heart emojis, and I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. This was insane, Vanya!!!!

Me: No. I was just messing with you. There’s nothing appealing about you, Jason. In fact, you’re actually quite disgusting in so many ways.

Jason: That so?

Me: Yeah.

Jason: Guess you’re just into disgusting guys, then.

I didn’t reply. I couldn't. My fingers were shaking too much, and my mind is spinning, as I threw my phone onto the bed and pressed my palms against my burning cheeks.

I could still see him in my mind – that smirk, that body, the smoke trailing from his lips like he owned the whole damn world. And the worst part?

I hate that he’s right.