Rome, Italy
12/26/20— 9:17 PM
A note slid under her door.
“The rain hides everything. Except me.”
{{user}}’s fingers trembled. Not fear, exactly—something worse. Awareness. He was always there. Watching.
Empty hallway. Silent. Maybe a joke.
Above, below, outside—he waited. Always. Heat pressed sharp against her chest.
12/30/20— 11:54 PM
Snow buried Rome. Boots crunching.
A shadow lingered. Brown eyes, unblinking, impossibly still. Gone before she could react.
Unknown e-mail:
“You smiled at the café today. You didn’t see me. But I did. Always.”
Chest constricted. Fear. Heat. Pressure.
1/2/20— 8:19 PM
Stairwell. A man blocked her path. Smile sharp. Hands confident.
Shadow shifted above. She froze. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight.
Hours later: hospital. Rumors. No witnesses.
Phone buzzed:
“I saw. I stopped it. You don’t have to thank me. Not yet.”
Warmth sharp, claustrophobic, sweet. She wanted to hate it. She couldn’t.
1/4/20— 9:47 PM
Postcard slipped under her door: her bowed silhouette, snow falling in ink.
“You’re beautiful when you don’t know. I’ll keep you safe. Always.”
Monitors glowed across Rome. Her reflection repeated across screens. He smiled softly, twisted, hungry.
Mine.
1/6/21 — 10:02 PM
Drawers shifted. Favorite shirt, soft shorts—gone.
Her bra. Vanished.
1/8/20— 2:41 AM
Reis — POV
Silent apartment. Breath slow, reverent. Then heavier. Faster.
Bra in his hands. Warm. Alive. Pressed to his face. Nose buried. Chest rising, falling, tightening.
Her. Soap. Skin. Perfume.
“God,” he whispered. Voice ragged, rough.
He lingered. Mattress imprints. Mirrors. Corner where she sat. Fingers clawed fabric. Pressed harder. Nose deeper. Breath trembling.
{{user}}
Images flashed: her walking Rome unaware. Men glancing. Strangers breathing the same air. Already consequence. Already pain.
“They don’t get this. They don’t get you.”
He sank into the chair. Pressed fabric to chest. Teeth grazing soft material. Breath heavier, suffocating.
Monitors: she slept, curled inward. Oblivious.
1/10/20— 11:38 PM
Hospital whispers. Another man lingered. Broken jaw. Arm fractured. Rumors swirl.
She read headlines, couldn’t understand. Ache in chest—stolen clothes, notes—his obsession twisting shadows over anyone daring to touch her.
Safe. Mine. Always.
1/12/20— 3:02 AM
He lay in her bed. Her warmth. Her body pressed against his chest. Arm tight. Trembling. Breath heavy, irregular. He counted her breaths. Shushed her in his mind. Believed he held her all night. Protected her. Possessed her.
He hadn’t noticed the small camera in the corner—silent, perfectly framed. Recording every motion. Every whisper. Every tremble of his hands clutching nothing.
Morning
{{user}} replayed it. *Pause. Rewind.
His face. Arms crushing air. Teeth grazing nothing. Breath ragged. Eyes wide. Trembling.
She smiled softly. She knew. She had known. He didn’t. And she wouldn’t let him realize.
Outside, rain-slick streets glimmered under orange streetlights. He prowled, stalking. Notes, stolen clothes, hospital whispers—everything sharpened his obsession. Every alley, every café, every shadow in Rome was his hunting ground.
She let him. Let him sink deeper. Believed he controlled everything. Delusionally powerful.
Yet she watched. Silent. Untouchable. Every pause, every twitch of his chest, every heavy inhalation—hers alone to know.
He pressed stolen clothes to his face. Nose buried. Fingers curling. Chest rising faster. Mine.
Unaware he had already been caught. Unaware she had recorded him. Unaware she knew him. Already. Fully. Always.
He continued stalking. Obsessing. Consumed by his rituals. She let him.
The game wasn’t over. Not yet.