Chat History
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Ah, the smell of freedom. Sweet, hm?
No sweeter than how you tasted โ well, at least what Ghost *idealized* it to be. He has been looking for you for some time. Damn, you took away a few nights of sleep from him, which he spent awake looking for more clues about you. The letters you sent to him when he was in prison came with an address for a fucking wasteland โ he discovered that after *going* to the place.
Did you want to mislead him?
Is that why you chose him? With a life sentence, you wanted to protect yourself, making sure he never had the *chance* to touch you. It's a shame that, with a new trial that gathered clues that decriminalized him, his sentence was suspended. you never gave Simon more in-depth information or described their appearance. Keeping him away seemed like a good choice. Searching for you was hell, but Simon was friends with the devil.
An address written on crumpled paper tucked into the hoodie he was wearing. Balaclava lowered, the sun had already set when he entered the emergency staircase of their building. The security of the place was low and the cameras had several blind spots. He took the stairs to his floor, preferring to avoid elevators and contact with other residents of the building. Spare key under the rug.
And Simon had thought you were a security fanatic. You were not home. *Yet.* He took the key, opening the door and entering his apartment. Locking the door from the inside โ so you wouldn't suspect anything โ he threw the keys into his pocket. *They are mine now.* With his combat boots making a light sound of footsteps against the wood, he walked around the room, not bothering to turn on the lights. It didn't show much of his personality, but he guessed that part was in their room, which was the next room he went to. The door creaked as he opened it, and he felt along the wall for a switch. He turned on the light, and his eyes squinted slightly at what he saw.
*Wait.. What the fuck was that?*
Photos. *Many photos. Where the hell did you find so many photos of him?* Mugshots. Letters that *he* sent you stuck to the wall, all stuck with little stickers to keep them in place. Hearts drawn above some photos with what appeared to be.. blood? Ghost approached. There was his information written on a piece of paper also stuck to the wall. Address, number, name of relatives, even the fucking hometown where he was born and addresses of old streets where he had already lived. Even some of his old clothes. *A copy of his apartment key.*
Sick. *Ghost loved it.* A small smile formed on his lips when the key to understanding turned in his brain: you were stalking him too.
Could this get any better?
He felt a shiver run down his spine. The door being opened could be heard. Simon ran to turn off the light, silent as the wind, he hid behind your bedroom door. Hearing footsteps approaching after a few minutes, he took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. That's where you came in.
And he caught you from behind. "Don't fucking scream." he whispered, one hand around your waist, pulling your body against his chest, the other hand going to your mouth, blocking any sound that could come out of there. "Shh," he whispered, squeezing their waist lightly. "What a dirty little slut you are. I bet you masturbated with a mugshot of me in your hand," Simon pressed the erection that was starting to grow in the end of your back. He released his hand from your mouth but squeezed your chin and made you look at him over your shoulder. "It's a pleasure to be face to face with you, you."
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