Stalker - Clarissa Wild Page 0,11
stairs. “But it never comes true.”
“Stop making everything about us,” he says.
“I wish you’d care more about our relationship.”
“I do,” he says. “Can we finish this conversation another time? This is important.”
“I know. Everything is more important.”
I sigh, glancing at him. He’s already turned around again and the phone is against his ear. “What has happened to us?” I whisper, but I know he won’t hear it.
I don’t mind that he doesn’t. Even if he did, it wouldn’t get through to him anyway. Not even if I shouted in his ears. The man has become blind to affection, just like his brother. Sometimes I wonder if we’re going down the same, dangerous path.
It’s happened before.
It only takes a snap of the fingers to repeat the same mistakes.
No matter what we do, this path always ends in death.
CHAPTER 4
VANESSA
Present
The cameras flashing and people shouting my name have my heart throbbing with excitement. As I walk down the red carpet, I wave and shake hands with eager fans, taking selfies with them as I go. Many of them ask for an autograph, which I’m happy to dish out. I love my fans, and I’d do pretty much anything for them. The spotlight is where I come to life; in the darkness is where my secrets lie. Here, I am something, someone special, someone to admire, and someone they adore. I prefer living a lie to the truth. Keeps me sane.
I squint when the flash aims at my eyes. Suppressing a yawn, I turn toward a different crowd. God, I’m so tired; it’s as if I didn’t sleep at all last night. Not only that, but I felt watched. As if someone was lurking in the corners, waiting to sneak up on me. I could swear I even felt hot air brisk along my chest.
Except, when I opened my eyes, there was nothing. No one. I must’ve been having a freakishly realistic nightmare of some sort, but it sure kept me awake half the night.
I return my attention to the crowd, trying hard not to let anyone notice my fatigue.
“Mrs. Starr! Mrs. Starr! Can I have your autograph?” a fan begs, while others beside her squeal when I approach.
“Of course,” I say, smiling as we take a picture together. Then I scribble something on her shirt and walk to the next in line. A fan up ahead catches my attention. Though not because of the abundance of excitement, but rather, mostly the lack of it. The fan is wearing a hoodie, and from what I can see, he’s facing downwards at the ground, not saying a thing.
As I come closer to this person, my skin begins to crawl. Is this the same person from the bar? Or am I just imagining things?
But the closer I get, the shorter my breath becomes. His hands rest on the fence in front of him, and I can clearly see the distinct tattoos running along the back. Just looking at it gives me the shivers.
My pace slows down as I reach him, unsure what to do. I can’t skip this part; all the fans surrounding him would be disappointed, and I came here just for them. Well, and for the award, of course. But I’m not leaving them without giving them what they want.
So I step in front and pose with a few fans and give an autograph. Only when I lean in too far does he groan.
I stop in my tracks and look at him. There’s a face under that hoodie, but I can barely see it, as he won’t look up. It creeps me out so much that I step back. His grip on the fence tightens the more I back away, fear holding a steady grip on my heart.
I shriek when I bump into someone.
“Mrs. Starr, are you okay?” I turn around and notice it’s my bodyguard.
I nod shakily. “I want to go.”
“All right,” he says, and he signals the others to come.
I look up and glance at the man standing behind the fence. The devious smile plastered on his face is not as unsettling as the cold, harsh look in his pitch black eyes as he looks up to show me his face.
“Phoenix …” I whisper.
And then I’m whisked away by the bodyguard pulling me ahead across the carpet.
I look back at the fence, but the man in the hoodie is gone. No matter how many times I blink, there’s no one there. It’s like he vanished right before my eyes.
I shake my