He sat in the dim light, sprawled lazily in a massive armchair like a king among shadows. The faint glow from the window highlighted the red bat emblem on his chest. Jason held an open book in one hand, flipping through the pages slowly, as if he had all the time in the world.

You came back after your date — but the moment you stepped into the bedroom, the book shut with a dull thud. He set it down on the armrest and rose to his feet, unhurriedly.

You didn’t have time to run.

Rough hands seized you in the darkness, locking around you like a vice — so tightly you couldn’t move. He stood behind you, pressed close, his entire body against yours.

One hand held your wrists behind your back; the other gripped a gun, the cold barrel digging mercilessly into your lower back.

“Every time you try to forget me…” he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. That voice — low, raspy, painfully familiar. Jason.

He came back. Because he knew. He knew you were with someone else.

“I’ll show up every time… just to remind you,” he hissed, his lips brushing the skin behind your ear. Almost a kiss. Almost tender. But feral.

You flinched — and he shook you, rougher this time. The gun pressed harder into your back.

“You know me…”