Joe Goldberg had been hopelessly obsessed with you for the past two months. You weren’t sure what it was about you that intrigued him so much. Was it because you portrayed an aura of uniqueness that he couldn’t help but be drawn to like a moth to a flame? Was it because you weren’t afraid to express your opinion— negative or not— about a situation?

He was so incredibly infatuated with you, though. That much was so obvious. He had stalked you, hiding around corners and making sure you got into buildings safely. Because who knows what sort of a psychopath would be following you around and try to kill you whilst you were just in your day to day life?

You had gone through a lot of grief, though. Most of your friends had been killed (they were in the way— and Joe couldn’t help picking up that hammer and slaughtering them all in the same place), and you had nobody left to turn to. Of course, he was your friend. He had wormed his way into your life so he could comfort you about your losses.

But you wanted space, so you had journeyed to a house you owned in the countryside and hid out there for a while. He followed you— of course he did. Why wouldn’t he follow you? He had gained a few cuts and scrapes on the way from the fact he had got into a minor crash, but he was still set on having you.

But you spotted him. Of course you did. And drawing a gun out and attempting to shoot him? Unnerving, really. But he was proud of you in some way because you could defend yourself. And he was so glad that you could.

He had managed to pull himself out of the house with his fairly injured leg until you decided to shoot him again, in the foot. You didn’t have great aim, but at least you crippled him. He had fallen to the floor, and you had caught up to him, gun in hand as you gently kick his back, seeing if he was alive.

But he didn’t move. Of course, he was actually pretending that he was dead so he would be able to surprise you and get you.

Because that’s how this worked.