His Victim, His Obsession

Chapter 03

Selene Connell

My back was killing me.

Every muscle in my body was screaming for rest, and the bag strapped to me felt twice as heavy.

That was the last restaurant of the night.

Last order.

I walked into the place without saying a word. Just held up my phone with the order number, grabbed the bag the clerk handed over, and walked out.

Deep breath. Just a little more. Almost there.

It was always like that — every night wore me down a little more, but somehow, I was still standing.

I started following the app’s map, my fingers trembling as I scrolled through the addresses. One by one, I delivered each package. My mind was drifting from the exhaustion, but my feet kept moving.

Until there was only one left.

The street name made something in me tighten.

The lights were cleaner. Whiter. The streets wider.

And the houses?

Mansions. High-end apartments. Lawns so perfectly manicured it felt unreal.

Suddenly, my bike looked even more beat-up. My jacket felt older. My jeans more worn.

I didn’t belong here.

I kept my head down, pedaling past people in designer clothes, sparkling bracelets, judgmental eyes.

It was like I was invisible — and unwanted at the same time.

I swallowed hard, heart picking up speed as I spotted the final address.

A three-story apartment building. Modern façade. Mirrored windows.

It looked more like an art gallery than a home.

Breathe, Selene.

I stopped the bike, carefully leaned it against the wall so it wouldn’t fall. Gave my clothes a quick pat-down, ran my fingers through my hair — even though I knew it wouldn’t help much.

I grabbed the order.

Walked up to the door.

Pressed the intercom.

And then—

The door opened.

And it was him… again.

The same man.

His smile was faint, almost practiced.

But his eyes—

His eyes said something else.

My body froze.

My heart stopped for a second.

"You?" I whispered, not even realizing I was speaking out loud.

He wore loose, comfy clothes — an oversized gray t-shirt, dark sweatpants. His hair was still damp, water drops trailing down his neck and disappearing under the collar of his shirt.

A towel hung over his shoulders like he’d just stepped out of the shower.

And he was… smiling.

He didn’t speak right away.

Just stood there, staring at me, like he was savoring the moment.

I couldn’t move.

I didn’t know if I should hand him the food, apologize for being there, or run for my life.

Then he reached out.

Not for a handshake.

For the bag.

“You can give it to me,” he said, voice low and deep — like he was sharing a secret.

I had to remind myself why I was there.

Just a delivery. That’s it.

I stretched out my arm and handed him the bag, careful like I was holding a bomb.

Our fingers touched — just for a second.

But it was enough to send a shiver through my whole body.

My eyes darted to the phone screen, desperate for a distraction—anything to give me back some sense of control.

And then I saw it.

The name on the order.

My heart stopped.

Delivery for: Elliot Ravell.

I read the name out loud, as if saying it would make it more real.

“Order for Elliot Ravell...?”

He raised an eyebrow.

And then… he smiled.

“Yes.”

He tilted his head slightly, looking at me like he was studying something.

“What’s your name?” he asked, stepping closer.

His voice was too soft—too smooth.

That tone... that look...

It was like he *knew* the effect he had.

My body reacted before my mind could. I took a step back, heart pounding in my chest.

This wasn’t normal.

Not after seeing him at the plaza.

Not after he kept showing up at the café...

And now—here?

No. This wasn’t a coincidence.

I glanced around, unease blooming inside me.

Not a single soul nearby.

No open windows. No sounds.

Just him.

I gripped the delivery bag tighter against my back, trying to look calm.

“I... I’ve got a lot of work to do,” I said, my voice dry and shaky. “Excuse me. Have a good night.”

I turned around before he could say anything else.

And I ran.

I stumbled down to the sidewalk, legs heavy with exhaustion, and jumped on my bike.

I pedaled like hell.

The wind hitting my face. My chest heaving.

I didn’t look back.

But I *felt* his eyes on me.

Every corner I turned, every car that slowed down just a little too much—my body tensed with fear.

Was he following me?

Or was I losing my mind?

None of it made sense.

No matter how attractive he was, no matter how much he looked like he stepped out of some high-end fashion ad—

There was nothing normal about this.

Nothing.

I got home with my legs shaking.

I pushed the bike up the stairs, cold sweat dripping down my back.

I stepped inside my apartment.

Closed the door. Locked it.

I leaned against the wall, feeling the tension leak out of me in the form of tears I wouldn’t let fall.

I took a deep breath.

Pulled the phone out of my pocket.

My fingers hovered for a second—but not for long.

I typed in 911.

Something was seriously wrong.

My fingers trembled.

Phone pressed to my ear.

And for some reason, when the call connected… I couldn’t speak.

My voice just… froze.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

The operator’s voice was steady, calm.

I swallowed hard.

“I… I think someone’s following me,” I whispered.

A tense silence. Then the voice returned, more alert now.

“Are you okay? Are you in a safe place?”

“Yes. I’m home now. Everything’s locked.”

“Alright. I need you to stay calm. Can you tell me when this started?”

I took a deep breath, feeling the fear spreading inside my chest like thorny roots.

“Today. Since this morning.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“He showed up at the diner where I work. Stayed there until lunchtime. Didn't order anything but a coffee, just… sat there. Watching.”

The officer’s voice stayed calm, neutral, as he typed.

“And then?”

“I went to my second job — dog walking. And… he was there too. Sitting on a bench in the park. Just watching me.”

“That's a hell of a coincidence,” he muttered, his tone turning more serious.

“At night, I started my delivery shift… and he placed an order. When I knocked on the door… it was him.”

Silence.

On the other end, I could hear fast typing.

“Do you have a name? A description?”

My whole body froze.

“Yeah. On the app, the name was Elliot Ravell.”

The officer repeated the name under his breath, then said:

“Hold on a second.”

I heard keys clacking on a keyboard, the low hum of a tense search.

My heart was pounding so hard, it hurt.

Then, after what felt like minutes, he came back.

“Miss… I couldn’t find any record of that name.”

“What do you mean?”

“No official documents, no police reports, no registered address. Nothing.”

“But… the name was on the app! I saw it, it was there!”

“Could’ve been fake. A false name. Happens more often than you’d think.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the ground slip from beneath me.

“So… what do I do?”

He hesitated.

“Technically, he hasn’t committed a crime.”

“He’s stalking me!”

“And I believe you. But legally, without solid evidence, it’s hard to act.” He sighed. “I’ll file a report based on your statement. If anything else happens, if he shows up again — call immediately. You’re not alone, okay?”

You’re not alone.

The words echoed like a distant whisper.

But it was a lie.

I’d always been alone.

And now… more than ever.

I threw my phone onto the bed, hard.

Frustration burned inside me.

The police couldn’t do anything. And technically, he hadn’t done anything *to* me.

He just… appeared.

In the places I went, at the same times, with that same unreadable expression.

But… he hadn’t touched me.

Hadn’t said anything threatening.

Hadn’t visibly followed me.

Maybe that’s what made it worse.

The doubt.

I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to calm down.

Honestly… maybe I *was* overreacting.

Maybe it really was just a weird string of coincidences.

I’ve been alone for so long, the simple act of someone watching me — so intently — threw me off balance.

Maybe that tension wasn’t bad.

Just… different.

And I wasn’t used to that.

I took a shower, scrubbing my skin like I could wash away everything I was feeling.

Threw on whatever clothes I could find and ate some stale cookies from the day before.

Then I collapsed into bed.

Sleep came quickly — but it brought the past with it.

I woke up screaming.

My own scream.

The room was dark, my chest heaving, hands shaking.

The taste of fear still in my mouth.

In the dream, I was back there.

My sister crying, screaming.

My mom lying on the floor.

Blood on my hands.

That man’s face, blurred.

I was only twelve.

And even after all these years, it still shattered me.

It took me a moment to realize I was really crying.

Silent tears rolling down my cheeks.

I wiped them with my sleeve and forced myself to sit up.

Better to be awake.

Better awake than dreaming *that* again.

I got ready early.

Walked to the diner, not rushing.

Not expecting anything.

But… the moment I arrived, something felt off.

He wasn’t there.

The café was busy, but the chair he’d sat in last time was empty.

For a second, a wave of relief washed over me.

But with it… came something else.

An uncomfortable absence.

Like something inside me had been pulled out.

I didn’t like the feeling.

I didn’t know if it was fear… or something else.

But I knew, deep down, I’d been waiting for him.

And now, I kept asking myself:

If he comes back…

What the hell am I going to do?