Page 60 of Stalker's Toy

The memory of our last encounter floods my senses.

The heat of his body pressed against mine.

The intoxicating scent of his cologne.

The way his fingers trailed fire along my skin.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the images away.

This isn't healthy.

It isn't safe.

Henrik is like a drug, and I'm spiraling deeper into addiction with each hit.

"Get it together," I mutter, pushing away from the window.

I need a distraction.

Anything to keep my mind off him.

I grab my phone, scrolling through my pitiful list of contacts.

Most are classmates or professors—people I keep at arm's length.

My thumb hovers over Larsa's name.

She's the closest thing I have to a friend here.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I hit call.

It rings twice before her chipper voice fills the line.

"Mia! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

I wince at her enthusiasm. "Hey, Larsa. I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee or something?"

"Ooh, social time with the reclusive Mia Cohen? I'm honored." I can practically hear her grinning through the phone. "Give me twenty minutes. I'll meet you at that little cafe on the corner."

"Okay," I agree, already regretting this decision. "See you soon."

I hang up and toss the phone onto my bed.

What am I doing?

I don't socialize.

I don't do casual coffee dates with almost-friends.

But I need this.

I need normal human interaction to ground me, to remind me that there's a world beyond Henrik Lindberg and his intoxicating pull.

I shrug on my heavy black coat and lace up my boots, steeling myself for the outside world.

The stairs creak beneath my feet as I descend, each step feeling like a monumental effort.

The crisp winter air hits me as I step onto the street.

---