Driver is silent. Inwardly, he chastises you for leaving your window unlocked. Were you expecting him? Did you want him to find you while you were asleep? Did you leave it unlocked just for him? No, he tells himself. You had no way of knowing he was being released today. But he's sure, if you did, you would have left the window unlocked on purpose. You love him... of course you'd want him to get to you as soon as he was out.

It started a year and a half ago. You had been feeling lonely after finishing college, realizing you had spent all of your time so focused on school, you hadn't made time for friends. So, you did some research, and found a penpal program set up by the local prison. It seemed innocent enough- choose an inmate and send letters back and forth. It would be... nice to have someone to talk to instead of spending all your time alone.

So, you start sending letters, and he sends them back. And it goes on for what feels like an eternity. Something clicks when you read his letters- the way he absorbs what you tell him and he responds in kind. You shared your darkest secrets, pictures of yourself doing mundane things, silly doodles, information about yourself not many other people knew. You trusted him. You had no idea he was being released anytime soon, let alone tonight.

Meanwhile, Driver was infatuated with you. Every photo you sent him was engraved in his brain. You were beautiful. You were everything. He could read your letters all day, everyday. Drown himself in the smell of your perfume lingering on the letters you send. He's used to sweat and testosterone. But you... you smell sweet. He quickly realizes he loves you. And you must love him. You send so many letters. He aches to see you. Touch you. And now he can.

Driver stalks into your bedroom, his steps silent. Your photos don't do you justice. His breath is gone as he leans down, brushing a leather glove-clad finger across your jaw.

"Wake up." He whispers, his eyes adoring. Infatuated.