Little Butterfly ~
It’s been almost a week since my encounter with Ash—my stalker—and the murder. The days blend into one another, tangled in a mess of confusion, anxiety, and relentless fear. The horrific images of that night plague my thoughts, leaving me in a constant state of tension. Sleep has abandoned me, leaving behind nothing but nightmares. And even in those nightmares, he’s there—watching, waiting, a shadow that refuses to fade.
What disturbs me even more is the eerie silence around Terrence’s death. No one has mentioned it. There’s been no news, no police inquiries, not even a missing person report. How can someone vanish so completely? The thought makes my stomach churn. It's as if Terrence never existed. Did Ash do something to erase him, to wipe him out of existence like a ghost? The mystery surrounding Ash’s power is suffocating, and I feel like I’m spiraling further into the dark, desperate for a way out but unable to see one.
Who is Ash, really? How can someone kill so easily and then disappear without a trace? His cold, calculating demeanor still haunts me—the way he controlled the situation so effortlessly, like he’s done this a thousand times before. His silence is unnerving, both a relief and a punishment. I should be grateful that he’s not hovering around me, but the longer I go without hearing from him, the more my mind fills in the gaps with terrifying possibilities.
I try to lose myself in mundane tasks, like preparing ramen noodles in my kitchen, but my thoughts are a whirlwind of confusion. I keep replaying our first encounter in my head, trying to make sense of my feelings. When I first saw him, I thought I was chasing him, that I was somehow in control. I had convinced myself that my curiosity about this man was driving me forward, but the truth was much darker—he had already been chasing me. Even from the beginning, I was never really the hunter. I was the prey.
The boiling water bubbles over, and I quickly turn off the stove, my heart racing not from the near spill, but from the realization of how deeply entangled I am in this web. I sit at the small kitchen table, pushing the noodles around with my fork, but I can’t bring myself to eat. The air feels thick with tension, my thoughts circling around the same questions.
The strangest part, the part I can barely admit to myself, is the way I wanted to chase him. When I first saw Ash, there was something magnetic about him—something dangerous, yes, but also something that drew me in. I thought I was the one trying to get closer, to understand him, but the entire time, he was leading me exactly where he wanted me. I fell into his trap, and now I’m struggling to climb out.
How could I be so stupid? How could I let someone like him slip into my life, let alone into my mind? I feel violated and powerless, yet somehow, I can’t stop thinking about him. The truth is, part of me is ashamed to admit that I miss the intensity of his presence. The air feels too still without the dangerous edge he brought with him, and I hate that I feel this way. I hate that there’s even a sliver of longing for someone who has caused me so much fear and pain.
And still, I can’t deny that he’s under my skin.
My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. For a split second, my heart leaps, and a horrifying thrill pulses through me—thinking it’s him. I hate that I even hoped it was Ash. Why would I want him to contact me? My own reaction disgusts me. It’s just work. I sigh and answer.
“Miss Hart, your laboratory design has been approved.”
Work—a welcome distraction, if only briefly. I force a smile, say my thank-yous, and hang up. But the conversation fades as quickly as it came, and I’m left with the same gnawing thoughts of Ash. How can someone just vanish? How can he vanish? His silence, his absence, it’s maddening. It’s like he’s carved out a space in my mind, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t push him out. I’m constantly waiting—waiting for him to reappear, waiting for him to pull me back into his orbit.
I finish my ramen, barely tasting it, and toss the bowl aside. The walls of my apartment feel like they’re closing in, suffocating me with memories of his touch, his gaze, the intensity of that night. How did I get here? How did my life become so tangled with someone so dangerous? My thoughts circle around Ash—the way his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch, the way his hands moved with purpose, controlled and precise. I hate myself for the way my body reacted to him, the way I still feel a pull toward him, even knowing the danger.
The rational part of me knows I should run, that I should do everything in my power to escape him. But the darker part, the part that felt something when I first met him, wants answers—answers to the questions that keep me awake at night. Why me? Why does he keep coming back? What is it about me that caught his attention?
I know I should be scared—I am scared. But I also know that I want to understand. Maybe it’s foolish, but I can’t just sit here, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I need to confront this. I need to figure out what I want and what I’m willing to do to protect myself.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes again. My breath catches, heart racing, but it’s just a reminder of an upcoming meeting. I exhale slowly, trying to steady my nerves. This constant state of panic is wearing me down, and I can’t keep living like this. I need to do something—anything—to take back control of my life.
A knock at the door makes me jump. My heart pounds in my chest as I cautiously approach. But when I peer through the peephole, I see Neva. Relief washes over me as I open the door.
“Sophie!” she exclaims, pulling me into a tight hug. She’s holding a bottle of wine, her face full of concern.
We settle into the living room, and Neva pours us both a glass. I take a sip, letting the warmth of the wine wash over me. For a moment, it feels like I can breathe again.
“Tell me everything,” she urges gently, her eyes searching mine for answers.
“I… I don’t know where to start,” I whisper. “He found me, Neva. Ash. He killed Terrence, but the way he made me feel... it’s confusing. I can’t explain it.”
She listens, her brow furrowing with concern. “Sophie, this isn’t your fault. He’s dangerous, and you need to stay away from him. Whatever you’re feeling—however conflicted—it’s because of what he’s done to you. He’s manipulated you.”
“I know,” I say, my voice shaking. “But I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Neva’s face hardens, her concern turning to fierce determination. “We’ll figure this out. You’re not going through this alone.”
I nod, feeling a wave of gratitude. But deep down, I know that no matter how much help I have, I’m still trapped in this twisted connection with Ash.
YOU ARE READING
Little Butterfly
Romance"Little butterfly, fly as high as you can, but remember I could snap those wings anytime." - Your stalker
