Summary: You didn’t know who you were. Doe was going to make you see yourself as they did, and maybe that’s who you needed to be.
Authors note: I took some liberties and edited the previous installment. Not heavily so but you’ll likely need a reread. I’ve started the first “official” chapter already! I’m so excited for the story to ramp up! Tbh I hope ppl will skip the prologue in the future lmao so it hits harder! ^3^
This is for 18+ audiences so minors DNI! This is my first fic so sorry if there’s any grammatical or continuity errors. Also if you know the creator of the photo lmk so I can give credz!
Warnings: religious themes, stalking, disordered eating, anxiety, yearning…
Waking up from a cozy, sleepy dreamland to a reality involving throbbing split skin and an insistent sunrise never gave your mood a chance. Your phone was dead, so you couldn’t tell the time, but it had to be early. Rays of sunlight reached your sleep-crusted face, the feeling nostalgic.
Why was that?
You prayed the sandman would come back as you used a pillow to shut the light out from your eyes. It was warm, comfortably so—until it wasn't. You kept tossing and turning before giving up entirely. Weary eyes drifted to the sole bedroom window.
Was it ever covered up? Were you ever mindful of the role it played in your sleep-wake cycle?
Patterned fabric draped around weathered glass, and through it, a bird perched at its windowsill.
It was small, brown, and speckled, reminding you somehow of a deer's fur.
You couldn’t pull your eyes away. It was so unassuming and yet—
Had this bird been the only visitor that gained purchase there?
Watching you.
You chanced a glance at the fabric again. Then, just like that, the bird was gone.
It had to be time to get ready for work anyway. Better safe than sorry, the phone was left to get juiced up for the day.
After getting dressed, your stomach grew noticeably loud. You walked to the kitchen and stared into your fridge. Every corner of the useless metal box was visible to you. A gurgle from your gut mocked you.
You tried the cabinets.
A thin layer of dust seemed to have made a home there.
You pulled out a box of tea which contained small packets of herbs; their names based on desired effects, "sleepytime" and "relax bitch" were your favs.
You thought back to those desserts—they’d pair nicely with today's breakfast…beverage.
Events from yesterday hung heavy in the air. You felt like a fool.
The popularity of the bakery was inevitably dying down, requiring swift action if you wanted to get another chance at tasting the goods. Even so, you couldn't bear the thought of showing your face at that shopping centre. You just had to accept the missed chance at experiencing peak sugary decadence.
Another grumble from an unhappy belly came.
Getting through the workday was going to be hard. You still didn’t rectify your mishap with the client, so you were essentially put on a watch list for your superiors.
At your bedside table, where your phone was charging, you checked the time. As soon as you booted it up, an alarm went off. When you saw the clock, you realized this wasn’t an early alarm—you were going to be late. Fumbling with the device, you rushed for the door, nearly tripping over yourself.
Your hand gripped the doorknob, then paused. If you so much as twisted the handle, would the next thing you see be a burlap sack?
Your mind started to fog. The walls felt like they were caving in.
Forehead heavy, it rested on the door.
You were safe here—inside. No proof indicated they could break in, so at least you knew they couldn’t pick a lock or had a key.
In the very least, they hadn’t exactly done anything to you when they easily could’ve. Shouldn’t stalkers be like…obsessive? A bunch of texts per minute? Can’t stay away from you?
You took a deep breath.
In. One, two, three. Out. One, two, three.
Tentatively, you opened the door. Crouching felt safe, felt right—felt stupid, but what else should you do? Just waltz out there?
Palms met cold floor.
Then concrete.
You peered ever so carefully left. Then right.
All clear.
Up. (You wanted to check all bases)
Then down.
With a subtle pop of joints, you dusted off your pants.
You were met with your usual view, unobscured. It was actually a nice day out, almost cliché. The smell of lavender detergent was in the air, you could hear a plane in the distance, and cumulus clouds reflected orange-purple skies.
So with that.
You headed off to work.
This time, on your usual route.
𓁹 𓁹
For once, you felt there was no need to go straight home in the evenings after work. You were going to enjoy this strange feeling of freedom by taking the scenic route today. As you passed by a park you frequent, you took note of how nice it was. Groups outside today were sparse, leaving fields of green bare for your eyes to devour. You pulled out your phone to take a photo of the sight. Maybe it would serve as a source of tranquility later. After a click of the camera you spotted a bench. The bench.
Were you the same person who cried there a couple of months ago? Or a lesser version?
This whole stalker situation caused you to be careless at work, made you a public nuisance, and made you even more of an anxious wreck.
You were going to do it this time. A bad move, maybe, but the peace of mind would make it all worth it.
You opened the DM as you routinely had before. In your downtime, you repeatedly checked the cursed DM chat log that once plagued you. Nothing had changed; your brief PI career started and ended with a single message to which there was no reply.
You knew there was someone on the other end of this screen, but it seemed more and more like they wanted you to forget that.
You went to their ever-barren profile, tapped on those three dots, and finally—finally—pressed block.
Whoever it was, they weren't going to have power over you anymore.
A decrepit part of you may have longed for this. Longed for a message out of the blue from someone who cared for you. Someone who wanted to see you—really see you—and still want you. They'd stay with you. Hold your hand. Hold your troubles. And you'd be loved.
But you understood well enough now.
Nobody was going to save you.
How could anyone take care of you when you couldn't even do it for yourself?
Yet again, a hungry growl erupted from your stomach. Groceries were on the to-do list, but for now, you'd have to settle on something a little more low effort.
Passing by some food shops, you spotted a familiar creamery, your heart skipping a beat. It was unlikely, but maybe you’d see that guy again. Though it was an odd hour for anyone to be getting frozen treats.
You remembered meeting the stranger; it was too kind an interaction to forget. They were…cute. But probably uninterested.
…Though what was the harm in finding out for yourself?
You shuffled to the double doors of the creamery.
Just a glance…
You pulled the handle.
Just one peak and you’d tuck this desire inside of yourself…
—It didn't give.
Once more.
Still, it didn't budge.
Your eyes trained on the schedule painted on one of the glass doors.
It'd been closed for an hour!?
Maybe if you came earlier…
No.
This was a sign, you can’t just fall for anybody. No matter how cute…chivalrous…or attentive they might be. It was simply a best-case scenario that they'd be there. You didn't wanna keep looking for them every time you walked by here anyway. That'd be a bit…obsessive.
Anybody who had the money would do what they did…maybe.
You needed to get out of here.
𓁹 𓁹
After picking up your meal order, you headed straight home. It was getting dark, and you didn't need any more stalkers.
You walked, or rather, skipped to the door, newly unburdened.
As you approached, you noticed something on the ground in front of your home and stopped in your tracks.
It was a demure box.
There was a familiar logo on the side of it and, conversely, a small piece of paper. Perhaps a receipt?
Weary eyes ran over bold calligraphy.
Oh.
Oh No.
Maybe it was sent to the wrong place...though you don’t recall delivery being advertised…
Hard work hours left you longingly pursuing the website of which this logo belonged. You'd know better than anyone.
…and there was no denying that familiar scent of confectionery.
This had to be a coincidence; you just didn’t know how to eliminate the other dreadful possibility yet.
Hovering over it now, you noticed that the small paper wasn't a receipt at all, it was a sticky note.
No longer a possibility. This nightmare wasn't going to end.
The note indicated intention.
Someone intended to kindly drop off an order you never placed on your behalf, and they weren’t going to let you think otherwise.
…
… …
You bent down and tentatively read the note.
“I'm sorry. You could never disappoint me.”
Hot shame crept up your neck as you recalled wishing for this very response a few nights before.
They were watching.
No—
No. There had to be some level of deniability.
You left the box there on the ground. Pushing past your front door, you sat on the nearest chair and tried your damndest to calm down, self control evading your desperate grasp. You felt as though you were breathing through a straw.
Too panicked to walk there, too panicked to get a grip, you went to your photo gallery app and stared at the photo you took earlier of the park. Hoping the peace it brought could reach you through the phone.
You could make out every detail of the picture in the dimness of the house. See shine of each blade of grass, feel the direction in which the wind blows, taste the cotton candy colors of pink and blue sky.
You could feel yourself breathe again. You were there. In your happy place.
Then you saw it.
A dark figure behind the bench.
Your bench.
Everyone had left by then, though.
Was that— could that be—?
You stood and started grabbing what you could. Stuffing clothes, undergarments, snacks, money, anything in a go bag. You didn't know where to go, but you just had to leave. Escape this nightmare.
Home wasn’t safe anymore, and you grew too sloppy to even notice you’d been followed. This photo was the proof.
Why are there never warning signs?? Why must you be on guard all the time? Unmedicated too! Your nerves were shot but today was your first day of what felt like peace and they just had to go and ruin it.
In your haste, you tripped, scraping your knee with a loud thud. You didn't move to stand. Didn’t even wince at the pain or hold the offended joint. Frozen, you just laid there.
Tears prickled at your eyes but not from pain.
You were so tired.
Dealing with this alone made you tired.
God had to be testing you.
But you weren't going to give it the satisfaction it sought.
there’s familiarity in disappointment . the tears behind my eyes beg to fall, and yet i cannot give them that pleasure . in spite, i trudge on . the dark circles under my eyes reflect the dreams i have not had, and i collapse in the middle of it all .
hey babe wake up! your hyperfixation with catholicism has been resurrected and now you need to satiate your thirst for knowledge with a period of intense research!
