Because evidently, there’s something wrong with me. I’m playing with fire. The more I provoke him, the more likely he is to come after me. But I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop the sharp thrill that I get every time I push back. It’s as addicting as it is stupid. I can’t see his face under the deep hood, but I know he’s smiling at me. Knowing that doesn’t give me the reaction it should. I should be repulsed. I should be scared. I suppose I am scared, but what I’m really feeling is the urge to smile back. My phone chimes in my ear. Brow plunging, I hesitantly pull the phone away from my ear and look at the incoming message. UNKNOWN: Am I supposed to believe that you’re on the phone with the police? I think my little mouse is a liar. Oh, no, he didnt. I angrily type back my message. ME: Want to find out? UNKNOWN: Yeah, I do, actually. I’d love to punish you later for it, too. My thumbs freeze over the letters. The last punishment was gruesome and sickening. ME: What, you gonna send me toes next? UNKNOWN: Depends, are you still pretending to fuck other guys? Or would you rather yell at the ghosts in your house again? My head snaps up and I stare into the depths of his hood. His phone is perched in his hand, waiting for my response. The lighting from his phone is set to low, the dim glow casting enough light to show me his wickedly sharp jawline and a portion of his smirking lips. I lift my hand and flip him the bird. Fuck you, asshole. In response, his thumb starts moving, his smile growing wider. UNKNOWN: I plan to. I growl at his audacity. Like hell, he’ll fuck me. ME: You come near me, I will stab you. I’m calling the police if you don’t leave right now. UNKNOWN: So do it, little mouse. I can’t tell if he’s telling me to stab him or call. I’d be happy to do both. I don’t like his insinuation that I’m the mouse and he’s the cat. That would mean he’s hunting me. The last thing I want to be is hunted. Fuck. I hesitate. I need to call the police. I have to. But I can’t convince my fingers to move. He’s challenging me, and I hate that I’m scared to find out what he’s going to do if I do. I hate that I want to.