His Victim, His Obsession

Selene Connell The streets were empty, and the only sound I could hear was the creaking chain of my old bike. My legs were burning with exhaustion, every pedal stroke stealing a little more of the strength I had left after working like a dog all day. Deliveries were done, and all I wanted was to get home, crash on my thin mattress, and forget my life existed. But on the way back, I spotted the bright light of the corner store. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stop by. Not that I had any money to buy something—just to... look. I parked my bike at the edge of the sidewalk and walked in. The smell of fresh bread and brewed coffee hit me right away, and I had to take a deep breath. My hands were cold, buried deep inside the sleeves of my worn-out coat, and my eyes drifted over the shelves lined with candies, cakes, and snacks. Everything looked so small. So perfect. Today was my birthday. Twenty years old. Two years since I’d left the orphanage. Two years on my own. Not that it had ever been much different. No one ever really cared about me. But back then, I could still pretend someone might care one day. Now, I knew better. I swallowed hard and reached out, brushing my fingers against the glass case holding a chocolate cupcake with rainbow sprinkles. I could almost taste it—the sugar melting on my tongue, the soft cake crumbling in my mouth. But I couldn’t afford that. I pressed my lips together and forced my hand away. I’d been saving every penny since I left the orphanage. I couldn’t waste a single cent. I had a goal—and it was bigger than a piece of cake or candy. I was going to find my sister. They took her from me when we got placed in the shelter. A quick separation—no explanation, no goodbyes. They just said it was for the best. But I knew something was wrong. And when I got out, I promised myself I’d find her—no matter what it took. I was distracted, walking between the shelves, when it happened. The sound came out of nowhere. Cut through the silence of my mind like a knife. A deafening blast. For a second, everything slowed down. Then came the screams. The shelves shook—some started collapsing. The smell of food and burning plastic filled the air, tangled with the panic of the people around me. My heart raced, and a chill ran through me before I could even process what was happening. Gunshots. My body froze. My chest tightened. Suddenly, I wasn’t there anymore. I wasn’t Selene, the twenty-year-old ex-orphan, the girl who did everything she could to survive. I was that twelve-year-old girl again—curled up behind a couch, listening to screams and gunfire echo through the house. The metallic scent of blood and gunpowder thick in the air. The bitter taste of fear in my mouth. My mom crying. My sister screaming. The heavy footsteps of the man who swore to protect us—coming closer, holding a gun. No. I blinked hard, forcing air into my lungs. I couldn’t freeze up. I wasn’t that scared little girl anymore. I couldn’t just curl up and wait. I had to move. I had to survive. My body acted before my brain caught up. I dropped to the floor, shielding my head with my arms as a shelf crashed down beside me. Glass shattered. People were running in every direction. I crawled behind the counter, trying to steady my breath. My hands were shaking, but I couldn’t afford to panic. I had to get out. I lifted my head just enough to see what was going on, but I couldn’t make out anything—just chaos and screams. Shit… My muscles locked, but I kept moving toward the exit. The air felt thick, heavy—hard to pull into my lungs. I was so close to the door. Just a few more steps and I’d be free. Out of that hell. Away from the gunfire, the fear, the crushing weight of the past I so badly wanted to leave behind. But then I saw him. Sitting by the door, half-slumped against the wall, was a man. Hair falling over his face, dressed in expensive clothes, new shoes—he didn’t look like the kind of guy who belonged in a place like this. He was too different... too handsome. Maybe a model. Or some rich businessman... I shook my head, trying to focus. It didn’t matter how beautiful he was. In the end, he was just another unlucky victim, like me. Blood was seeping from his abdomen, darkening the fabric of his shirt. He pressed a hand over the wound, but he didn’t seem to care how much he was bleeding. His face was pale, expressionless. His eyes. That’s what stuck with me the most. The way they looked—empty. Not from fear. Not from pain. Worse than that. Like someone who’d stopped caring a long time ago. A chill ran down my spine. Should I help him? I didn’t know him. What if it just got me killed? I took a step back, unsure. And then I heard footsteps. I ducked behind a toppled shelf and peeked through a crack. Two armed men were approaching, moving fast, their faces tense. One wore a black jacket. The other, a brown shirt. They stopped in front of the wounded man. Without hesitation, one of them raised his gun and aimed it at him. My heart jumped. The injured guy didn’t even flinch. He just slowly looked up at them, like he didn’t care. Like he’d been waiting for it. That... pissed me off. Seriously. I could’ve just stayed hidden, pretended I hadn’t seen anything. Waited it out. But the thought of standing there, watching someone get murdered right in front of me, made me sick. I didn’t want to get involved. I knew I shouldn’t. But my feet wouldn’t move. I was scared. The same kind of fear that ate at me when I was a kid—when all I could do was curl up in a corner and hope the nightmare ended soon. Not this time. Rage exploded inside me. My fingers closed around a piece of broken metal shelf lying on the floor. My breathing was a mess, sweat beading all over my skin. I ran at them. The first hit landed square on one guy’s head. The dull thud echoed loud, and he dropped to his knees before collapsing sideways. The second man turned, eyes wide, already pulling the trigger— I swung first. Brought the shelf down hard, right into his face. He staggered, but I didn’t stop. Again. And again. And again. Blood splattered across the floor, my clothes, my hands. I only stopped when both of them were motionless. There was no air in my lungs. Everything felt... heavy. My vision blurred, the world spinning. My hands were shaking. I killed them. The metal shelf slipped from my fingers and crashed to the ground. My head was spinning, a bitter taste rising in my throat. I should run. But then, I felt eyes on me. I turned slowly. He was still there—leaning against the wall, watching me. But this time, his eyes weren’t empty. There was something in them. His gaze burned. It was intense. Too focused. Like he was memorizing every piece of me, analyzing me. It made me swallow hard. But there was no time for that. My hand fumbled into my back pocket, pulling out my phone with trembling fingers. I dialed 911 and raised it to my ear, trying to steady my breathing as the operator picked up. “H-hi... there was a shooting... at the market on 7th Street...” My voice came out weak, shaky. “No one else is alive. Just me... and one injured man.” The operator started talking, telling me to wait for the police and an ambulance. But I was already moving before she even finished the sentence. I ran to him. He was still slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to his stomach, eyes locked on me like he was seeing something no one else could. “Are you okay?” I asked, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink. It was like I hadn’t said anything at all. Up close, he was even more attractive… striking, really. His looks didn’t match the scene at all. Long lashes, soft pink lips, hair falling messily over his eyes. But none of that mattered right now. “I’m gonna check your wound.” Still nothing. Not a word. Not a move. I knelt beside him and lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing blood-soaked skin—and… scars? I froze for a second. Had he been in an accident? What the hell had happened to him? I forced myself to ignore them. I needed to stop the bleeding. Shit. Was the bullet still in there? Was he about to pass out? I had no idea what to do. “Is there someone I can call?” I asked, pressing my hand firmly against the wound. His silence was unnerving. He just stared at me. I could feel his breath, heavy and uneven. His chest rising slower now, but he didn’t seem to be in pain. “Hey, stay with me,” I said, squeezing his arm gently. “Help’s on the way.” Finally, he blinked. “What’s your name?” he asked. Then his lips curled into a smile. It was faint, subtle, but… something felt off about it. Something that made me feel like I should be on guard. He leaned in closer, and I blushed. Not the time for that, I knew—but I couldn’t help it. I pulled back, shrugging off my old coat and handing it to him to press against the wound. Maybe it was just the blood loss. Yeah. He was probably delirious to smile like that. “Press down hard on the wound… It should stop bleeding soon,” I said, avoiding his eyes as I moved back a little. Before I could say anything else, the distant wail of sirens filled the air. It didn’t take long. The police and ambulance arrived, turning the quiet chaos into a blur of voices and frantic movement. Two paramedics rushed to the guy, pulling me back without a second thought. I stood up slowly, wiping the blood from my hands onto my jeans—just in time to be surrounded by cops. “Name?” one of them asked, a middle-aged man with a tired expression. “Selene Connell.” He scribbled something down in a notepad, then looked up at me, his gaze too sharp, too familiar. “You’ve been in a situation like this before, haven’t you?” The question made my chest tighten. I knew what he meant even before he continued. “You were twelve,” he said, flipping through some notes. “An incident at your house… the day of the shooting.” My hands clenched into fists. “Yeah.” “You killed a man that day too.” My breathing turned shallow. The memory hit me like a punch. Blood. The sharp smell of gunpowder. My sister crying. Panic. Terror. “It was self-defense,” I said, my voice quieter. “I know,” he sighed, putting the notepad away. “And today was too. But Selene… this is the second time. You need to stay out of trouble. Next time, we might not be able to protect you.” I almost laughed. Protect me? Like anyone ever had. I gave a half-hearted nod, just to get it over with, and forced myself to focus as he asked a few final questions. When they finally left me alone, I let out a long, tired breath and glanced over to where the ambulance had been. But it was already gone. Alone again. I let out a humorless laugh, running a hand down my face. Why the hell is my life like this?