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[WORD COUNT: 1.9k]
'reflection, reflection'
▹ ◃
Depending on the matter of the subject, things couldn't possibly get any worse for Peter from here. After hearing your door click open, the handle folding downwards and the frame being pushed open he had never moved so fast, grabbing the hem of his suit and diving more so headfirst into your closet. How could he have been such an idiot? Thinking it was a good idea to not only go snooping but masturbate in your room? He honestly thought his standards would have been better, apparently such was not the case.
On the other end of the stick, you were half asleep, passing a yawn as you stumbled into your apartment unphased by the mess; puddles and leaves too tired to even acknowledge the fact that your french doors were now closed and there was no longer a tree keeping them open. Your mind only really wanted one thing right now, and that was to go to bed.
Your apartment was pitch black, fumbling around the dark and you grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off with a sigh. Sleeping on Peter's couch was comfortable, but waking up with a stiff neck was not. It took you a while to finally undress, or even notice that your bedroom light was on, not even bothering to find some PJ's as you crawled into bed completely naked. After lifting the sheets you saw the straightness of your fresh bed, pulling the cover backwards and getting ready to slip beneath it when the sound of something falling caught your attention.
You were alone in a dark apartment, and although there weren't many things that scared you, the noise at least made you jump in your skin. Your adrenaline was rushing, heart pounding as you peeked down over the side of your bed. You couldn't see much in the dark, but after squinting you noticed the small square sheets of paper on your carpet, sprawled over across the floor. Swallowing, you pushed your hair back over your shoulder and reached down, picking one up.
"What the fuck?" you mumbled, placing it down and scooting over to your bedside table. You pulled the drawer open and just as you had thought, your polaroids were gone. At least, not completely, there were still a few at the bottom of the drawer and the rest were on your bedroom floor but the question was, how the fuck did they get there?
Then came the sudden uncomfortable feeling that maybe you weren't as alone as you thought you were. You stumbled around, now almost wide awake with adrenaline, quickly dressing yourself and finally realised your light was already on. The room was almost as you left it aside from the pictures that were now publicly spread across your bedroom. There were no open windows, and your door had been closed so whoever it was had either left or was still somewhere in the apartment with you and the tension in the air was thick.
Sliding down the wall you reached with blind fingers beneath your wardrobe, pulling out a metal baseball bat that had been signed by your late classmates before you moved on to college in your last year of high school. For a while, it was a mascot that sat anywhere in your apartment but in situations like these, it made a pretty good weapon. While on the ground you lay down, posting a threat to that who might have been hiding by looking under the bed, huffing out a breath as you were met with emptiness.
