Page 42 of Creeping Lily
“The night of your birthday,” I continue, “I went out to the alley, and… a man was there.”
She goes rigid, fear flashing in her eyes.
“Nothing happened,” I rush out. “He just—” My voice drops. “He just talked to me.”
Her brows slam together. “Talked to you?” The concept seems as alien to her as a wolf knocking politely on the door before it eats you alive.
“He knew my name, Beth. Called mehisLily. And ever since then… I feel like I’m being watched.”
Her mouth hardens into a line. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. He didn’t harm me.”
“Thatisharm,” she snaps. “Lily, you may have a stalker. This is serious.”
Her hand finds mine, squeezing tight. I should feel comfort in her touch, but instead all I can think about is him—his fingers gripping my neck, the rasp of his breath against my skin. The way I wanted to lean closer when I should have run.
“Is this why you’ve been in a funk?” she asks.
I shrug. How could I tell her that I haven’t stopped thinking about him? That I’ve memorized the way he felt pressed against me? That I’ve showered until my skin went red and still can’t wash him off?
“I’ve tried to stop thinking about it, but…” My voice trails off into nothing.
The truth is, he’s branded me. Marked me in a way that isn’t visible, but is somehow deeper than blood or bone. His presence is like a shadow inside me—something I can’t shake, even in daylight.
Bethany’s watching me with eyes full of concern, but it’s not enough. She can’t understand. How could she? Some things you can’t translate into words. Some stains you can’t describe—you can only feel them.
“I don’t know how to make you understand,” I admit, my voice breaking. “I don’t know how to explain the way he’s become a part of me. How his presence lingers like a stain on my soul.”
Bethany’s hand squeezes mine again, and for a moment I let her warmth anchor me. But it’s temporary—like standing in sunlight that’s already sinking behind the horizon.
Because the truth I’ll never say out loud is that part of me wants to see him again.
I know how wrong it is. How dangerous. Howsick.
But in the quiet, when the apartment is still and I’m alonewith my thoughts, I can almost feel him there in the dark corner of my room—watching. Waiting. Breathing in time with me.
And instead of fear, my body hums with a pull I can’t explain.
A pull toward the man who found me in an alley, touched me like he already owned me… and walked away.
I should want him gone. Forgotten.
Instead, I’m terrified of the day I wake up and realize I’ve stopped searching the shadows for him.
22
LILY
The next day, I’m crossing campus just as the sun bleeds out behind the tree line, the shadows stretching long across the path. The air is cooler now, the kind that slips under your collar and makes you want to hurry. My boots click against the concrete in a steady rhythm—until that rhythm changes.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle to life, as if they know something I don’t.
At first, I think I’ve tripped over my own shadow. But then I hear it. Another set of footsteps. Close. Matching mine.
A cold rush of adrenaline spikes through my veins, and my biggest fear—the kind I hate admitting—comes roaring back. Not danger itself, but the fear of fear. The kind that steals your breath before anything else can.
I quicken my pace. The other steps quicken too.
