CHAPTER 8: Cute Little Stalker
The night had stretched far longer than I had intended, and the once-vibrant karaoke bar was winding down. People were filtering out in pairs and groups, leaving behind empty soda cans and laughter that still echoed faintly in the air. I glanced at my phone and winced. It was late—really late.
Grabbing my jacket, I mumbled a quick goodbye to Tessa and the others and headed out, eager to avoid any awkward encounters or explanations with Mom about why I was stumbling home after midnight.
But as soon as I stepped out into the cool night air, I froze. Ethan’s car. It was parked right across the street like some ominous sign from the universe. His sleek black car gleamed under the dim streetlights, looking entirely too out of place for this shabby part of town.
“What the actual hell?” I muttered to myself, pulling my jacket tighter around me. How long had he been here? Was he waiting for me? And why was he even here?
Panic set in as my brain scrambled to figure out what to do. I couldn’t just walk past him—there was no way I would survive another encounter with whatever… weird energy he had unleashed on me earlier.
Okay, think, Camila. You’re smart. You can sneak past him. It’s just a guy, not like he has a third eye or anything.
As casually as possible, I turned on my heel, walking in the opposite direction of his car. My heart hammered in my chest, and I tried to look like I hadn’t even noticed him.
But, as always, the universe had a twisted sense of humor and decided to throw a wrench into my plan.
Just as I stepped off the curb, I felt it. His gaze. That heavy, piercing sensation that burned into my skin, impossible to ignore. I turned my head—against my better judgment—and sure enough, our eyes locked.
“Does he have some kind of radar or something?” I hissed under my breath. “What the fuck?”
His face was unreadable, but there was something about the way he was watching me that made my stomach flip. Not in a cute, romantic way—more like an oh my God, this guy’s insane way.
I did the only logical thing I could think of: I broke eye contact and bolted.
Not running, exactly, because that would look too suspicious. But I walked fast. Like, Olympic-level power walking, my arms swinging and everything.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a taxi approaching. Without hesitation, I stepped off the curb and waved it down like my life depended on it.
“Taxi!” I called out, my voice a little too loud in the quiet street. The driver pulled over, and I yanked the door open, sliding in before Ethan could decide to make a move.
“Where to?” the driver asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
I rattled off my address, glancing nervously back at the street. Ethan was still there, leaning against his car, his hands shoved into his pockets. He wasn’t following me—not yet, anyway—but the way he just stood there, watching, was enough to make my skin crawl.
How am I supposed to survive this madness until I finally get my shot at escaping to college?
As the taxi pulled away, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. My heart was still racing, and my mind was a mess of thoughts.
“What’s up with that guy?” I mumbled to myself, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. “He’s like… everywhere all of a sudden. Does he not have a life? Or hobbies? Or friends?”
He is supposed to have plenty of that!
I shook my head, trying to shake off the lingering unease. It wasn’t like I had done anything to encourage him—or whatever this was. He was just a psycho who needed to mind his own business.
The taxi ride felt longer than it should have, and by the time we pulled up outside my house, I was exhausted. I paid the driver and stepped out, glancing around the quiet street to make sure Ethan hadn’t somehow followed me. The coast was clear.
Unlocking the front door, I crept inside as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake Mom. The house was dark, the only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator.
Kicking off my shoes, I headed straight to my room, my body heavy with exhaustion. But as I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I couldn’t stop replaying the night in my head.
Ethan’s car. His stare. The way he seemed to just know where I was.
“Get a grip, Camila,” I whispered to myself. “You’re overthinking it. He’s just a guy. A really, really weird guy.”
But deep down, I knew it wasn’t that simple. And no matter how hard I tried to push it out of my mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something absolutely crazy.
And I wasn’t ready for it.
With a groan, I dragged myself off the bed and rummaged through my stuff to shower and get ready for the night. Just as I was pulling a shirt over my head, I heard it—the unmistakable creak of the front door opening downstairs. Perfect. Our cute little stalker is back. What a treat.
