Stalk Her (Unlocked Desire)

There is a piece of paper with a note written in black ink on top of sweatpants and a hoodie at the foot of the bed.

Little Bird,

Since you were a bad girl and made me rip off your dress, I thought you’d like something to wear. I’m going to enjoy peeling them off of you at some point. Maybe with my teeth.

Yours, Vance

I can’t help but smile. For a guy who’s out of control, he’s also incredibly thoughtful. He was a rose with too many thorns, gorgeous and captivating, but if you made a wrong move, he would make you bleed and wouldn’t think twice about it. I shivered, thinking about it.

As I roam through the darkness, searching for Vance, I see the dogs lying by the door, as if waiting for someone to get home. For two vicious dogs, they are pretty docile.

“Hey, boys,” I whisper.

They both get up and move out of the way, as if telling me to venture outside. I open the door. The chilly night air nips at my skin, reminding me I don’t have a coat. It doesn’t phase me. I am not running this time.

There is a flicker of light coming from under the crack of the shed. Inside, "My Girl" by The Temptations is blaring full blast. Slowly, I open the door so as not to disturb him.

Vance is standing there, his bare chest exposed. The intricate tattoos on his back appear dangerous and alluring all at once. A man really doesn’t have the right to be so goddamn beautiful.

Vance’s voice creeps through the room like a caress on my flesh. “You can come closer, Little Bird.”

I step closer; Vance is panting, his body coated in the sheen of sweat, making my mouth water at the thought of licking it all off him. I place my hand on his shoulder. He sighs, hanging his head down.

Panic is all I feel. Vance doesn’t turn around to look at me. He doesn’t make a smart-ass comeback or try to get me wet from just the sound of his words and his voice.

My mouth is dry. I can barely swallow. I drop my hand, turning to leave, before I feel a firm hand wrapped around my wrists.

“Don’t go, Little Bird.” Vance’s voice is strained. The confident man somehow seems exposed, and I am getting a glimpse of his vulnerable side. A side I was sure he rarely, if ever, showed anyone.

“Are you alright?” I ask, not sure what else to say.

“Only when you’re near me.”

I glance down at his hand, which is holding my wrist, tight but not so tight it hurts; the kind of tight where it actually feels good. I’m not sure what it is about this man, but being with him is both terrifying and exhilarating. My whole life, I’ve gone through wanting someone to want me, care for me, protect, and cherish me. In a few days, this man has done all of that.

I know that he’s not a good person; one might even say that he’s psychotic. Yet as I stand here in front of him, lost in the depths of his blue eyes, knowing that the only thing that could bring him to his knees is me, makes me want him no matter the consequences. The truth of the matter is, he has nothing to worry about, because he has trapped me in his web, and even if I wanted to, I could never get out.

“I’m not going anywhere, Vance.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I see it. Blood. At first, I think it might be from his self-inflicted mutilation of carving my name into his arm, but it is too much blood. This is the type of blood that you would see in a horror movie after someone had stabbed someone else brutally multiple times.

My eyes shift to his other hand and see the knife before a red drop falls on his face, followed by another.

Vance must notice the fear that flashes in my eyes, even though I try to control it, because he drops my hand and hangs his head. “This is who I am, Little Bird. It’s all I really know how to do.”

My eyes follow the drops above us, and that’s where I see him, Roy, dead with multiple slashes deeply embedded by a sharp object: the knife wielded by Vance’s hand.

Vance notices me looking at the knife and places it down on the steel table beside him with what looked like other torture devices. I'm not sure what they all were, but none of them looked too pleasant.

“What is going on?” I ask. As soon as I say the words, I know how dumb they sound. What is going on is that Vance carved up Roy like a prime roast. A typical reaction to this is running, screaming, praying some kind stranger picks you up on the side of the road before the psycho chops you up. Still, I discovered long ago that I wasn’t that normal.