Pride-Niklaus's point of view
♕︎ ♕︎ ♕︎
As the last notes of the song faded into silence, I sat there in anticipation, waiting to hear the next track play. I wondered which song she would choose next, but to my surprise, she didn't queue up another one. There was a brief moment of stillness, where only the faint hum of the room's ambient sounds filled the air, before I noticed that she hadn't even bothered to disconnect her phone from the speaker. I glanced at her, slightly puzzled, but she was still focused on something else, seemingly unaware of the pause in the music.
A full minute passed, and I found myself growing more curious about what she was doing. The silence stretched on, almost uncomfortable, when suddenly, the soft, almost imperceptible sound of a man's voice broke through the quiet. It wasn't a song, and it wasn't a podcast either. It was something entirely different—something more methodical. The voice was deep, rich, and resonant, with an almost soothing quality to it. As the words began to unfold, I realized it was an audiobook.
The deep voice continued narrating with smooth precision, its tone steady, as if reciting a carefully scripted passage. I couldn't make out the content immediately, but there was something oddly captivating about it—something about the way the words were spoken, slow and deliberate. The voice carried a certain weight, as though each word held deeper meaning, demanding attention. It was clear that this wasn't just background noise. Whatever this man was narrating, it was meant to be heard, and I found myself drawn to it, even though I hadn't expected to be.
As the minutes passed, I slowly became more intrigued, not by the content itself, but by the way the atmosphere in the room had shifted. The soft cadence of the narrator's voice seemed to fill the space, blending with the sounds of the environment around us. What had started as a minor interruption to the playlist had turned into something far more immersive, and I couldn't help but wonder if she had intentionally switched to it or if it had just happened by accident. Either way, it was clear that the audiobook had taken over, its deep, rich tone now the dominant sound in the room, guiding us through whatever story it was telling.
※※※
[ME: I can still taste you, little mouse.
I stepped back for all of two days before I could no longer resist.
I've beat my dick like it was an opponent in a boxing match and I'm so fucking tired of the feel of my own hand.
There are zero expectations for her to reply today. I'm sure she's still nestled comfortably in that corner of her head where she hates herself and is convinced she'll never give me the time of day again.
But the corner is a farce, and we both know it. The feel of the gun inside of her scared her. But the feel of my tongue in her pussy, and how hard she came will fucking haunt her.
She'll cry about it for a little while, but soon she'll fall right back into temptation.
ADDIE: Did you know a stalker killed my great-grandmother?
My brows shoot into my hairline at her text.
Not only was I not expecting one at all, but the fact that she replied with real words and not some empty threat. Hers don't necessarily hold weight like mine do.
ME: Do you have proof of this?
Based on the few journal entries I read, she and her stalker had a passionate relationship. And he also tossed up with some bad people according to the entry of him visiting her with signs of aggression or violent obsession. But who knows?
Addie's great-grandmother could've just been seeing what she wanted to see, and he really did kill her.]
※※※
The long sip of my drink, which I had just taken a moment ago, was no longer in my hand. It was everywhere—spilled aggressively, splashing across the counter and dripping down onto the floor. My eyes widened, and I gasped in disbelief, feeling the heat rise to my face. "What the fuck?" I blurted out, my voice a mix of shock and confusion. I couldn't even process what had just happened. My hand instinctively went to wipe the mess from my lips, but I was still too stunned to make any real sense of it. "What. The. Fuck?" I repeated, almost in disbelief at the situation.
I touched the solitary red earbud in my ear, still emitting that strange, unsettling audio, and my mind raced to try and understand what the hell was going on. What kind of dirty book was this girl listening to? What in the world was happening? I wasn't the kind of person to jump to conclusions, but this was beyond strange. Why in God's name was she suddenly playing an audiobook like this? The words coming through the speakers made absolutely no sense. "Gun inside her? Murder? Stalkers?" My thoughts were all jumbled up, my brain struggling to comprehend the twisted narrative that was unfolding. What in actual fuck was going on? I didn't even know how to react.
"Dude!" came a voice from across the room, their shocked gasps adding to the surrealism of the moment. I could hear the confusion in their tone, as if they were trying to figure out whether I was laughing or freaking out. My chest tightened, and I could feel my face heating up even more. My mind was still reeling, trying to process this bizarre turn of events, but I barely had time to gather myself before my sister spoke.
"What the hell was that for?" she asked, standing up from her spot and moving toward me with a look of genuine concern. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she clearly didn't understand what had just caused such a reaction. I could tell that she thought I was overreacting, but how could I not? This audiobook was way out of left field, and I was struggling to even make sense of the words that were now echoing in the background.
I wiped my lips again, trying to focus, trying to calm down, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. I quickly put the glass of wine down on the counter with a soft clink, trying to steady my shaking hands. "Intrusive thoughts," I muttered under my breath, brushing off the moment as if it were nothing. But as I looked down at my black silk button-down shirt—now soaked with wine, the red stain seeping into the fabric—I couldn't ignore the fact that I was clearly more rattled than I wanted to admit.
"I'll go change," I said quickly, not even waiting for her to reply. My tone was clipped, more to myself than anyone else. I needed to escape from this situation, to clear my head and reset. "Kai, keep an eye on the oven," I added, turning toward him, trying to divert my attention away from the chaos. I could count on him—he may have a reputation for being a bit of a loose cannon, but when it came to cooking, the guy was a genius. "Don't let Dom get near the pizzas," I warned him, my eyes narrowing as I spoke. "That idiot will eat them raw if he was alone."
The thought of Dom messing up dinner was almost more pressing than the confusion swirling around me.
I hopped off the island and slipped on my slippers, moving quickly toward the hallway that led to my room. Every step was a rush, but the whole time, I couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped in an awkward, disorienting moment. I could hear the audiobook still playing in the background, the deep voice of the narrator now a constant presence in the room. It was like the whole atmosphere had shifted, the bizarre and unsettling content now lingering like an unwanted guest.
I paused in the hallway, considering whether I should take out the earbud or at least disconnect the speaker, but I was too rattled to think clearly. The audiobook had already wormed its way into my mind, and I couldn't stop it. Even as I walked toward my room, the voice continued, unbothered by my reaction, pulling me back into that strange world.
I should have taken the earbud out—I should have stopped it—but something in me resisted. I didn't know if it was sheer curiosity or some twisted fascination with how uncomfortable this was making me. Either way, I didn't change a thing. The audiobook kept playing, uninterrupted, filling the house with its weird and disturbing narrative.
※※※
[She thinks she knows me already, but my little mouse couldn't be further from the truth.
I stalk her because I'm fucking addicted. I'm fascinated with every move she makes, every word that comes from her pretty pink mouth. And now I'm addicted to her scent, her taste, and the way she sounds when she's scared for her life─ just as much as I'm addicted to the way she sounds when she's begging for more.
It's not something I can explain. When I saw her, I fucking nearly fell to my knees with need, and I will have her.
But not because I'm psychotic and delusional. I'm not going to make a goddamn shrine of her and convince myself that we are destined to be together by the gods or whatever weird shit people believe in these days.
I'll have her because she's the first thing that made me feel something good in so long, and I've become obsessed with keeping it.
I don't have very many something goods in my life, and I don't care if it makes me selfish for wanting to hold onto it.
The only way I'll be able to truly keep her is if she sees me at my worst.
I would rather just off myself than trick Addie into loving me as a good man, just to break both of our hearts when she realizes I'm not a good man at all.
So, my obsession with her is just... what it is.]
※※※
Gasping in complete shock at what I had just heard, I couldn't believe what was coming through the earbud. My heart was racing, thudding loudly in my chest as if trying to escape my ribcage. I felt my face flush, my skin burning as if I were suddenly on fire. Every word the man was narrating seemed to crawl beneath my skin, sinking deep into my thoughts, making me uncomfortable in a way that I couldn't easily shake off. I was trying to process it, but the words wouldn't stop replaying in my head. The more I heard, the more my mind seemed to race, connecting dots that didn't feel like they should be connected.
Without thinking, I yanked the earbud out, tossing it onto the counter like it was a hot coal I couldn't wait to get rid of. My fingers felt shaky as I held onto the small device for a moment longer before letting it go. I could still hear the faint echoes of the man's voice, now distant but still present in the back of my mind. It was like his words had taken on a life of their own, crawling around inside me. I couldn't believe I had even started listening to it in the first place.
I stood there, frozen for a second, my skin still burning with embarrassment and confusion. My pulse was racing faster than it should have been, and I had to force myself to take deep, steady breaths to try and calm myself down. I felt almost nauseous, not from anything physical but from the overwhelming realization that something about the story—the way it was being told—was unsettlingly familiar. Not the details, of course, but something in the way the narrator's words seemed to resonate with me. It was like I could relate, like I understood too much of what was being said, even if I didn't want to.
It felt like I was looking into a mirror and seeing something I didn't quite recognize, a part of myself that I didn't want to acknowledge. Why was I reacting like this? Why did his words make my heart race and my mind race even faster? I had barely even processed the words, yet they had already started to sink in, lodging themselves deep in my thoughts. Could it be possible that I, too, was like the characters in this twisted narrative? Were these emotions I was feeling a sign that I was somehow… like them?
My mind couldn't stop running through all the possible connections. But the more I thought about it, the more I started to worry. Was I identifying with the wrong things? What does it even mean when you find yourself relating to something like that? Was I starting to sound like a red flag myself? A part of me, deep down, was terrified of that possibility. If I found myself connected to the twisted thoughts and emotions being described, did that make me just as dangerous, just as broken as the people in the story? The question lingered in the air, heavy and unnerving, as I stood there in the silence, heart still racing, unsure of what to do with the sudden realization that I might have more in common with that narration than I was willing to admit.
Did it mean that I was somehow a red flag, too? Was I a walking contradiction, torn between my instincts and the way I was actually reacting? The voice in my head didn't stop questioning me, forcing me to confront this new layer of confusion I had never expected to face. I could feel my stomach tightening, the unease growing as I stood there alone, processing the impact of what had just happened. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or to run from it.