EroticReverie

Anastasia …..two months later…..

Sometimes he goes a week, sometimes it’s only days, in between him leaving me “presents”.  

I’ve stopped throwing out the roses. What was the fucking point? 

He hasn’t shown his face, but I know it’s always there, somewhere. The notes he leaves me always say something that let me know he’s been watching me. 

I’ve scoured the entire apartment for traces of cameras or recording devices and come up with nothing. And it drives me up the fucking wall trying to figure out how he sees me. 

The case of Miles has gone cold. And the police have questioned me three more times since the first initial questioning. I give the same answers. No we weren’t in a romantic relationship. It was just sex.  No, I don’t have any jealous ex boyfriends that would want to kill a man I was sleeping with. Because I didn’t HAVE any ex boyfriends. A crazy rapist that was obsessed with me? Sure. I had one of those. But I lie by omission on that little fact. 

I’d gone out with Alisa and a few of her friends last night. Tried to have a normal night and normal experience. She’d gotten us into a bar through a guy she knew that was a bouncer. I bought us all drinks. Several of them. I’d flirted with a guy. Or maybe two. I’d danced very unballerina like on the dance floor with another girl. Shared a dance with a random guy , and drank some more. I didn’t even like drinking. But I’d gotten myself wasted. It was a Friday. And I’d just wanted to forget how fucked up my life was. 

When I wake up in the morning , I don’t even want to open my eyes.  A, because of the hangover and B, because I can already sense that he’s been here. 

I peek my eyes open with a groan and then turn my head and roll my eyes as I see another rose and an envelope on my nightstand. 

“Get a fucking life” I grumble and roll over with my back to the “present”. 

It was scary how comfortable I was getting with him breaking in and leaving things for me. Either when I wasn’t here or while I was sleeping. But I clearly wasn’t going to be able to stop him from doing it. And he had to grow tired of this eventually? Right? Maybe he’d find a new girl to be obsessed with. 

I let myself fall back asleep for another hour and then when I roll over I sigh. The rose and envelope still waiting. 

I reach over with a yawn and pluck the envelope. Black as always with Little Ballerina written on the front. 

“Little Ballerina, I hope you don’t get too angry with me. But I needed to taste it.”

My brows pinch and I have a moment of confusion before I feel it. My underwear. I’m not wearing any. I was wearing them and now I’m not. 

I throw back my covers and look down. 

“Mother fucker!” I yell. There’s a handful of rose petals on the bed between my legs. And scrawled above my patch of pubic hair, in black sharpie is one word. 

“MINE”

“Sick fucking asshole!” I yell and throw my covers off and slap the rose petals off the bed and push them off till they’re removed from my sheets. 

He took advantage of me. Again. Took advantage of the fact I was fucking drunk and broke in and fucking….he fucking TASTED me .

I growl in anger and get out of bed and grab my towel and the letter and the envelope and rip it up into tiny pieces and flush it down the toilet like I always do. because keeping that shit was evidence.  All I needed was for Alisa to snoop into my room or come in to help herself to something of mine and see an envelope with the words “Little Ballerina” written on it. The same words written on the windows in fucking blood when our teacher was murdered.

Was he stupid.? What if she came in before I woke up? Before I got home? What if she found anyone of his little fucking psycho gifts before I did?  Nausea hits me. Because I know exactly what he’d do. He’d kill her. 

I couldn’t have another person die because of me. 

For the first time since I’ve seen him, I actually want to see him again. So I can beg him not to fucking hurt anyone else. So I can tell him to stop leaving shit around that can implicate me. Because I’d be complicit now. Too much time had passed.  If they found out I knew who was responsible for Miles…I’d be nearly as guilty as him. 

After my shower, after getting dressed and getting ready to go to school to practice. I take out a piece of paper and pen. Biting of the cap and spitting it onto the floor. I write back to him. 

“Dear Asshole, we need to fucking talk” I write and lay the paper on my pillow and look at It. Huffing as I make my way to school. 

———

After hours of practicing alone in the studio. I slip on my leggings and a looser shirt and make my way back home. 

Standing up against a pillar waiting for my train. I lean my head back against the cement and watch people fill and exit the subway car all at once. As I push off the wall , I stop. 

Inside the subway car , sitting down , is the asshole I summoned. My nostrils flare and he grins at me through the window. I stomp over to the open doors and slip inside at the last second as the doors close. 

It’s crowded and I grab one of the poles to steady myself as I slip between a group of girls and to the other side of the train. 

He smirks up at me from where he sits. Manspreading himself all over the seat beside a woman and her child and a guy reading a book on his other side. 

His eyes look up and down my body and I grit my teeth. 

Ten minutes later were both exiting the car and onto the platform. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks me as we walk side my side. 

I glare at him and say nothing as we take the steps up.

“Are you hungry?” He asks again. 

“No.” I bite out and keep walking. 

“Yes you are. Come with me.” He says and grabs my arm and I jerk it back and a few people look at us. 

“Please Little Ballerina?” He asks and my nostrils flare. Not wanting to cause a fucking scene. I tug my arm from his. 

“Fine.” I bite out. Because I hadn’t eaten all day. The words of a dead man still haunting me. 

“Eating whatever you want? Isn’t working for you anymore. Fix it.” 

Miles complimented my body the first night we were “together” then had tossed an insult at me like it was nothing. When I hadn’t lost or gained any weight since he started screwing me. But it still plays in my head. Always too “fat”. My breasts “too big” , my ass “too big”. 

—-

“You’re not eating enough.” He says as we sit in a pizza shop , tucked away in the back at a table. A giant slice of cheese pizza on my plate , I’d only allowed myself to eat less than half as he ate his and watched and sat in silence. 

“I’m eating just fine. I told you I wasn’t hungry.” I say , and look anywhere but at him. 

“You didn’t eat breakfast.” He says. 

“I was hungover.” I bite out. 

“I know.” He says. 

My eyes go to him and clench my jaw. 

“Of course you do. You fucking psycho.” I bite out and he smiles slightly. 

“No more starving yourself.” He says and I glare at him. 

“I’m not starving myself.” I bite out.

“Other than those drinks you pounded last night, you’ve only had five hundred calories in the last twenty four hours. Not including what you just ate.” 

I blink several times. 

“How the fuck would you know?” I ask and cross my arms. 

“Because I do. It’s my job to know.” He says and I huff and shake my head. 

“Eat.” He says. 

“Go fuck yourself Psycho” I say and he smirks. 

“I do. Plenty. Usually while watching you.” 

I glare at him. 

I still haven’t figured out how he does it. How he seems to be watching me at all times. Even when he’s not physically here. 

“How?” I ask. 

“How what?” He responds and smile and lifts his soda and sips from his straw and sets it back down. 

“How do you watch me?” I ask and he licks his lips.

“With my cock in my hand” he says and I feel my nostrils flare as I glare at him. 

“You know what I mean.” I growl. 

He grins and leans his forearms onto the table and smiles at me. It’d be a great smile if it was on the fact of a killer. 

“Is that what you wanted to talk about? Is that why you left me a love note on your pillow?” 

“It was NOT a fucking love note. You delusional  fuck.” I hiss and he smirks. 

But then I realize that I asked him here for a reason. And I needed something more important that to know his means of watching me. 

“Your letters. They need to stop.” I say. 

“Why is that?” He asks.

I explain it to him like he’s a child. 

“Well maybe because Alisa could find them? Maybe because you kill…” I stop and lower my voice and look around and he smirks. And I lean over and whisper hiss. 

“Killed a fucking man and now I’m fucking responsible too since I know it was you!” 

I then lean back away from the table and snatch my pizza off the plate taking a giant fucking bite. Rage eating the greasy slice and throwing it back on my plate as I chew and cross my arms. Pouting while I chew. 

“You probably think you can just….Miles her if she finds out. But you can’t” i say and he smirks at me and cocks his head. 

“Why can’t I?” He asks and my jaw drops. 

“Because! For so many fucking reasons!” I say my voice raising and I look around. It’s too noisy in the front and there’s nobody seated in the back with us. But I drop my voice again. 

“Promise me you won’t hurt her. Promise me you’ll stop the fucking letters.” I say and he looks at me. 

“Please” I beg him.  When he just keeps staring. I beg again. “Please…” I go to say his name. Realizing I still don’t fucking know it.

“You told me I could have anything I want other than you leaving me alone, so promise me you won’t hurt her. Or anyone else. promise me the letters stop.” I plead and his eyes soften slightly and then he leans back and nods to my plate. 

“Finish your pizza.” 

“Please” I beg with a slight whine. I need SOME kind of reassurance that he wasn’t going to hurt Alisa. Wasn’t going to keep leaving evidence all over the place. 

“Eat.” He says and tears fill my eyes. 

“Please” I croak. 

“If I agree not to hurt your roommate. Will you finish your food?” He asks. 

“And the letters.” I say with a nod, swiping a tear and his nostrils flare. 

“The letters don’t stop.” He says and I feel new tears fill my eyes. 

“But I’ll stop writing Little Ballerina on them.” He says and I exhale. Shaking. And nodding. That would have to do. I couldn’t believe I was compromising with my fucking stalker. 

“Now eat.” 

“Promise me you won’t hurt anyone else because of me.”  

“No. Now eat.” 

I want to hiss his name so badly. I growl. 

“Tell me your name.” I say. 

“Eat Anastasia. Now.” He glowers at me. 

I lift the pizza, deciding the other promises were enough. 

He watches as I take every bite. My stomach growling angrily as I feed it , as if it’s yelling at me for not doing so sooner. 

When I’m done. Eating every bit of it. He looks at my plate. 

“Are you still hungry?” He asks. I shake my head. 

“Saint.” He says and I look at him my brows pinching. 

“Saint who?” I ask in confusion. 

“My name. Is Saint.” He says and blink and my mouth forms a small o, and l look at him. I look at his dark hair, his cold blue eyes and sharp features and large frame. His dark clothes. 

“You don’t look like a Saint.” I say. His lips turn up.

“No, I suppose I don’t.” He says and our eyes connect and I just stare back at him.  I swallow a breath and then exhale. 

“Saint.” I say softly. Not directing it at him. But just letting it roll of my tongue. 

“Mhm.” He hums and leans back over the table slightly. 

“Are you going to kill me?” I ask softly. My heart pounding. Surely his obsession would turn for the worst.

“Never.” He says. “I’ll never hurt you.”

“What about……the showers…..at the studio in California….you hurt me then.” I say and he looks actually sad. 

“I know you think I meant to hurt you Little Ballerina….but that’s not what you think it was.” 

“You can’t say it's not what it IS. Just because you want it to be something else. You hurt me. You raped me.” I say and he closes his eyes for a moment. 

“I’m sorry.” He says. And then looks back at me. 

“I needed to have you. I needed you to know you belonged to me.”

“But I don’t” I say. “Youre…you’re a stranger…who stalks me…who ….kills people” I say. 

“He touched you, I had to.” He says and I shake my head slightly. 

“No you didn’t have to” I say. 

“Youre mine. Yes. I had to.” He says and I suck in a breath. 

“You came to my room last night.” I say. My lips tightening. “You violated me again” I say remembering his note , and it’s as if I can feel the four letters burning my skin that still sit on my skin partially scrubbed off but mostly still remaining. 

“I simply tasted what was mine.” He says and I grit my teeth. 

“You can’t do that.” I say. 

“Why not? Would you feel better if I told you that you liked it?” He asks 

“I was asleep” I say angrily. 

“You were drunk. You were very much awake when I made you cum on my mouth.” 

I inhale and shake my head. 

“I didn’t, I don’t…”

“You might not remember, but I did make you cum Little Ballerina.” He says and I glare at him. 

“That’s still rape.  Again” 

“No. It’s not. Me making love to you with my mouth is not rape. Your beautiful pussy soaking my mouth , isn’t rape.” 

“Fuck you. Yes it is. Don’t do it again”

“What if I ask nicely? Don’t you want to know how it felt to cum for me?” 

“No” I hiss. 

He smirks. 

“Yes you do.” He says , his voice low and he leans over. 

“Let me show you how much I love you Little Ballerina.”

“Absolutely not.  I’ll NEVER want you.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts high and her groans. 

“You already do Little Ballerina. It might be a very small part, but you already do.”