13. Addison

13

Addison

I walked into the dance studio, my body tense with anger and frustration. The mirrored walls reflected my scowl back at me as I dropped my bag in the corner, the thud echoing in the empty room. I couldn't believe the audacity of Eren and Michael, treating me like some prize to be won or shared.

I stretched half-heartedly, my mind far from the warm-up routine. Each movement felt mechanical, devoid of the usual joy and freedom I found in dance. The music started, a pulsing beat that usually set my heart racing with excitement, but today it just grated on my nerves.

I moved through the choreography, my body going through the motions while my mind spun in circles. Eren's face, so earnest as he proposed this ridiculous arrangement, flashed before my eyes. And Michael, with that infuriating smirk, acting as if he had any right to stake a claim on me.

My movements grew sharper, more aggressive, as if I could dance out the rage boiling inside me. I spun and leapt, my feet pounding against the polished wood floor, my breath coming in short, angry bursts.

The other dancers began to filter in, their chatter and laughter jarring against my dark mood. I kept to the back of the room, avoiding eye contact and any attempts at conversation. I wasn't in the mood for small talk or friendly gossip.

As the class went on, the physical exertion began to take its toll. My muscles burned, and sweat dripped down my back, but I pushed harder, losing myself in the demanding routine. For a few blissful minutes, the dance consumed me, and I could forget about Eren, Michael, and the mess my life had become.

But as the music faded, and the class ended, reality crashed back in. I grabbed my things and hurried out, ignoring the concerned looks from my fellow dancers. I needed to be alone, to think, to figure out what the hell I was going to do. Because one thing was crystal clear — I was nobody's plaything, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let Eren and Michael treat me like one.

The cold air hit me as I stepped out of the dance studio, tiny snowflakes swirling around me in the grey afternoon light. I pulled my coat tighter around my body, my breath forming little clouds in front of my face. The crunch of snow under my boots was the only sound as I made my way to my car, the parking lot nearly empty.

I slid into the driver's seat, the leather cold against my legs. As I turned the key, the engine sputtered to life, and I cranked the heat up, desperate for warmth. I pulled out of the lot; the snow falling heavier now, the world around me turning white.

As I drove, my mind wandered back to Eren and Michael, to the twisted web they seemed determined to weave around me. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. I didn't want to think about them, about the way they made me feel — confused, angry, and strangely exhilarated.

I turned onto my street; the houses lining the road looking like frosted gingerbread houses under the layer of fresh snow. I pulled into my driveway, the crunch of snow under my tires sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet neighborhood.

As I stepped out of the car, I felt it again — that prickling sensation on the back of my neck, the feeling of eyes watching me. I spun around, my eyes scanning the street, the yards, the windows of the houses. But there was nothing, just the falling snow and the eerie stillness.

I hurried to my front door, fumbling with my keys, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was out there, watching me, waiting for... something. I finally got the door open and practically fell inside, slamming it shut behind me.

I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I was being paranoid; I told myself. There was no one out there, no one watching me. It was just my imagination, my mind playing tricks on me after the stress of the day.

But as I pushed away from the door and made my way into the house, I couldn't quite convince myself. The feeling lingered, a cold, creeping unease that settled in the pit of my stomach. Something was happening, something I didn't understand. And as much as I wanted to ignore it, to pretend everything was normal, I knew I couldn't. Not anymore.

I stomped into the kitchen, my mind still reeling from the events of the day. The muffins I had baked that morning sat on the counter, looking innocent and unassuming. But as I stared at them, a sudden surge of anger washed over me.

These muffins, this kitchen, this whole damn house — it all felt like a fa?ade, a flimsy veneer of normalcy hiding the chaos that had become my life. I wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, anything, to release the pent-up frustration and confusion that was eating me alive.

I grabbed one of the muffins, my fingers sinking into the soft, spongy texture. For a moment, I considered taking a bite, letting the sweet, familiar taste comfort me. But then, in a sudden burst of rage, I hurled the muffin across the kitchen. It hit the wall with a dull thud, crumbs exploding everywhere.

I stood there, chest heaving, watching as the destroyed muffin slowly slid down the wall, leaving a trail of crumbs in its wake. It felt good, cathartic even, to physically release some of the anger. But it was fleeting, and as the momentary satisfaction faded, the helplessness crashed back in.

My life was slipping through my fingers like sand, and no matter how tightly I tried to hold on, I couldn't seem to stop it. Eren, Michael, the dance team, my family — everything was spiraling out of control, and I felt powerless to do anything about it.

I sank to the floor, my back against the cabinets, and drew my knees up to my chest. The cold tiles seeped through my leggings, but I barely noticed. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.

I couldn't break down, not now. I had to be strong, had to figure out a way to take back control of my life. But how? How could I possibly navigate this mess, this tangle of emotions and expectations and desires?

I didn't have the answers. All I had was this moment, this kitchen, these muffins. And so I sat there, amidst the crumbs and the chaos, trying to find the strength to pick myself up and face whatever came next.

I jumped as my phone rang, my heart pounding in my chest. I grabbed it, my hands shaking, and glanced at the screen. Unknown number. It had to be him; the person watching me, the one making my life a living hell.

"What do you want?" I demanded. "Why are you doing this to me? Why me?"

There was a pause, a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on forever. And then, a voice. "Addison, it's Michael. Are you okay?"

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Michael. Not some unknown stalker, not some faceless threat. Just Michael.

I realized how I must have sounded, how my outburst must have come across. I tried to breathe, to control the shaking in my voice. "Sorry," I grunted out, my words strained. "I... I thought you were someone else."

"Someone else?" Michael's voice was laced with concern. "Addison, what's going on? You sound terrified."

I closed my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts. How could I explain this? The constant feeling of being watched, the paranoia that had seeped into every aspect of my life? "I... I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just forget about it. It's not important."

"Yes. It is." His tone was firm, brokering no argument. "Tell me. Please?"

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the phone. Did I really want to tell him? To voice the fears that had been haunting me, the paranoia that had been slowly consuming my every waking moment? What if he thought I was crazy? What if Eren found out?

But as I sat there on the cold kitchen floor, surrounded by the remnants of my shattered composure, I realized I couldn't keep this bottled up any longer. I needed to tell someone, anyone, before it drove me completely insane.

"I..." My voice faltered, and I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "I think someone's been watching me."

There was a beat of silence, and then Michael's voice, low and urgent. "Watching you? What do you mean?"

"I don't know," I admitted, my free hand clenching into a fist. "It's just a feeling, but... it's constant. Like there are eyes on me all the time, following me, watching my every move."

"How long has this been going on?" Michael asked.

"A few weeks, maybe longer." I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. I decided not to tell him I felt this way ever since I was a kid. "At first I thought I was just being paranoid, but... it's getting worse. I feel it everywhere — at school, at dance, even in my own house."

"Addison, why didn't you say something sooner?" There was an edge of frustration in Michael's voice, but it was overshadowed by worry. "This is serious. We need to —"

"No!" I cut him off, panic rising in my throat. "You can't tell anyone, especially not Eren. I don't have any proof, and I don't want him to think I'm losing it."

"But you can't just ignore this," Michael argued. "If someone is really watching you —"

"I know," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I know. But please, just... let me handle it. At least for now. I just needed to tell someone, to get it off my chest."

Michael was quiet for a moment, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "Okay," he said finally, his tone reluctant. "But promise me you'll be careful. And if anything else happens, anything at all, you'll tell me immediately."

"I promise," I said, relief flooding through me. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders, just saying the words out loud. "Thank you, Michael. For listening."

"Of course," he said softly. "I'm always here for you. No matter what." A beat. "Have you seen anyone lingering? Anyone suspicious?"

"No, I haven't seen anyone. But I can feel it, Michael. Every time I'm alone, every time I step outside. It's like there are eyes on me, all the time." I was rambling now, the words spilling out of me in a rush.

"Okay, okay. Take a breath," Michael instructed, his voice calm and steady. "You're safe right now. You're at home, right?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, glancing around my kitchen as if to reassure myself. "Yeah, I'm at home."

"Good. Lock the doors, okay? I'm on my way. We'll figure this out. You're not alone in this."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Okay," I whispered. "Thank you, Michael."

"Of course. I'll be there soon. Just stay put and stay safe."

I hung up the phone, my hands still shaking. Michael was coming. He would know what to do, how to handle this. For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as alone as I thought.

I pushed myself up from the kitchen floor, my legs stiff from sitting for so long. Michael was on his way, but I couldn't just sit here and wallow in my fear and paranoia. I needed to do something, to keep my hands and mind busy.

I glanced around the kitchen, my eyes landing on the recipe I had picked up for chicken pot pies I pulled this morning. It was one of my favorite comfort foods, and the process of making them always helped to calm my nerves.

I pulled out the chicken, vegetables, and pie crust, setting them on the counter. I turned on the oven to preheat and began to chop the vegetables, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board soothing in its familiarity.

As I worked, my mind wandered to Michael. I was grateful for his support, for his willingness to drop everything and come to my aid. But a part of me worried about involving him in this mess. What if the person watching me decided to target him too? What if I was putting him in danger?

I shook my head, trying to banish the thoughts. I couldn't think like that. Michael was strong, capable. He could handle himself. And right now, I needed his help, his reassurance that I wasn't completely losing my mind.

I dumped the vegetables into a pot with some butter, letting them sauté while I shredded the chicken. The smell of onions and celery filled the kitchen, warm and comforting. For a moment, I could almost forget about the fear that had been plaguing me for weeks.

I mixed the chicken and vegetables with some broth and cream, seasoning it with salt, pepper, and thyme. As I poured the filling into the pie crusts, I heard a knock at the door.

My heart leapt into my throat, and for a moment, I froze. But then I heard Michael's voice, muffled through the door. "Addison? It's me."

I hurried to the door, wiping my hands on a dish towel. I unlocked it and pulled it open, relief washing over me at the sight of Michael's familiar face.

"Hey," he said softly, his eyes searching mine. "Are you okay?"

I stepped aside to let him in, closing and locking the door behind him. "I'm... I'm better now that you're here," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Michael pulled me into a hug, his arms strong and reassuring around me. I melted into his embrace, letting myself be comforted, just for a moment. With Michael here, I felt safer, more grounded. Together, we would figure this out. We had to.