I winced as I felt my body rebel against my will. I felt so heavy, like my joints had been locked in place. Maybe I was drugged, drugged and vulnerable.
I looked down at myself and was glad to see my clothes were still on. I forced myself to get out of bed, my gaze darting about the room to take in my surroundings.
I didn't know what a stalker's bedroom was supposed to look like, but I had expected the walls to be covered in pictures of me, pictures he'd taken without my consent while watching me.
But instead, posters of famous baseball players decorated the walls. The curtains of the room were a bright pink, which stood out like a sore thumb against the otherwise neutral decor.
A simple wooden desk, neatly organized with a few notebooks and pens, stood against one wall. A small book
