For the second time in the past week, I sprinted the entire way home. My feet slapped against the concrete rhythmically, my breathing laboured. I was scared to check behind me, just in case he was following. I couldn't hear anything, so I was praying to the universe that he had decided not to follow me. Unfortunately, I don't believe in God and it was highly unlikely that he had decided not to follow considering his past behaviours.

Vaulting over my garden fence when it came into sight probably wasn't a good idea because I came down hard, crashing to the ground on the other side. The ground was, unsurprisingly, hard and it knocked the air out of me. Definitely not a wise move on my behalf. I groaned, rolling over slowly and breathing shallowly as my winded chest cried out in pain. I cursed to myself, crawling out of the muddy, ruined flower beds while trying to steady my breathing.

Hobbling over to the drain pipe, I leant against the wall for a second to try and regain my breath. I wasn't in any state to climb that thing right now and the guy was nowhere to be seen so I wasn't going to rush it. I kicked off the shoes I had taken from the back door, rubbing my chest to make it feel better. I had seriously winded myself with that James Bond move. Why on earth did I launch myself over the fence like that. I don't think Bond would have almost knocked himself out if he did it.

I felt slightly uncomfortable on the ground, since my only escape would be up the drain pipe and right now I couldn't climb that thing nearly as fast as I usually would. The safer option was to get up there now before he gets here, so I mustered up the courage to climb up the pipe, ignoring the aches in my body from falling over twice today. I shimmied across the window ledge and reached through my window to grab my baccy before settling down on the windowsill with my legs dangling down.

Obviously I have my priorities straight.

Rolling a fag was hard with my shaky fingers and it was made harder by the fact I kept whipping my head up towards the forest every time I heard a slight sound. The twins and I used to spend a lot of time in the woods, talking all night. It's honestly so tranquil in there and the deeper you go the more people disappear too. I liked being surrounded by trees and plants with not a soul in sight. Now, I would be stupid to go in there alone. I just wanted my freedom back.

My hands were still shaking and my thoughts were all over the place, so I felt pretty strange about everything happening. I felt safer now that there was some distance between the stranger and I, but he was still there somewhere. I could feel it. I peered through the dark, trying to spot him amongst the tall branches and thick trunks.

There he was.

At the end of the garden, hiding in the tree line, stood the source of my problems. He wasn't moving, so I stayed put too. Like I said, I felt a lot safer up here, now that there was some distance between us. If he came any closer, however, I wasn't afraid of using my damn lighter to set my curtains on fire and throwing them at him. I lifted my cigarette to my lips, lighting it and inhaling deeply.

He was watching my every move and I was watching his.

I didn't feel like running and screaming for help. I knew that he wouldn't hurt me, but I wanted to get as far away as possible from him for other reasons. Those reasons being feelings I couldn't explain. I could tell that he didn't mean to scare me, but I felt so conflicted. I should be screaming bloody murder, not trusting a stalker because of a gut feeling. Maybe Heather was right, maybe I am losing it.

The feelings inside me were overwhelmingly strong. I felt so stressed about it. I hadn't ever felt emotion like this and it was very confusing for me. Something about this man stirred something inside of me that seemed to be previous undisturbed my entire life. I was insanely, unfortunately and crazily attracted to this man, but he also happened to be stalking me. Why was it that I was attracted to him and nobody else? It just makes zero sense to me. Why couldn't I just be normal and not like a stalker? I felt like screaming all of this at him, but it would most likely wake my mum up.

I finished my ciggie, stubbing the bud in my ashtray before I swung my legs into my room and closed the window behind me. I wanted some real answers and now. I wasn't stupid enough to have a face to face conversation with a stalker, though, so I would have to communicate with him in a different way.

Sitting down at my desk, I ripped a few pieces of paper out of a notebook. I bit the end of a pen, trying to think about what I should write. What the hell do you say to your stalker? I was especially stuck because I didn't know what answers he could give me. I mean, I probably couldn't ask him about why I was attracted to him. How on earth could he respond to that? It would be slightly weird.

'Who are you? Why are you stalking me?'

It seemed like a good start. I started folding the piece of paper into a paper airplane, glancing out of the window. He had moved, but he was still in the tree line. He seemed to respect the fact that I needed space right now. At least, it seemed that way, since he wasn't trying to set foot in my bedroom this time. I suppose I hadn't forgiven him for that one. I swung the window open, climbing up onto my spot on the window sill and sitting back where I was a second ago.

His head whipped up, watching me balance on the window edge. I think he presumed that I was going to close the window and ignore his existence for the rest of the night. That would be the sensible thing to do, after all. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back, I guess.

I finished folding my paper airplane of a letter and sent it flying out of my window. It soared through the cool night air, landing about half way down my garden. Admittedly, I had planned for it to get a little further than that. The guy took a hesitant step forwards, obviously asking if it was okay to come closer to retrieve the note.

I put a thumb up to let him know that it was okay and he strode over to collect it. I internally cringed at myself for the thumbs up, but kept my facade cool and focused. He moved gracefully, clearly nimble on his feet. He also had an air of confidence that immediately grabbed your attention; it was like he had some kind of innate authority to his walk.

The feeling in my stomach grew stronger and stronger with every step he took, making me nervous. The jittery feeling from the park the other day came back and I felt like running. I focused on my breathing, fiddling with the cigarette in my fingers. From what I could make out, he was seriously fit. His frame looked massive underneath his black clothes and his stature looked incredibly tall, although it was hard to guesstimate how tall exactly from this angle.

I watched him intently, just in case he tried something. He picked it up and unfolded it carefully, handling it with care. He was still wearing his mask, so I couldn't see his facial expression to what I wrote, but he definitely read it a few times before looking back up at me. He gestured for something to write with, so I threw the pen I was using towards him. He caught it and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs.

I furrowed my brow, watching him scribble down his own note. He seemed so harmless, sitting cross legged in my garden. Why the hell would he stalk me? This whole situation was becoming more confusing than intimidating.

He finished his note and scrambled to his feet, scrunching up the paper into a ball. It was certainly less graceful than a paper airplane, but it would work I suppose. I opened my hands, ready to catch it and he threw it, launching it towards me. It landed in my lap and I was astounded. That was a pretty good throw. I unscrewed the piece of scrap paper, scanning the message he had written.

'I was only trying to protect you from harm. I promise I'm not stalking you. I just didn't want you to get hurt, so I was looking out for you. I know I said I'd leave you alone, but it was hard for me to see you going out and getting into danger. Sorry.'

I furrowed my eyebrows, wondering what the hell that meant. It was like trying to read between the lines on some poem in English class, except I couldn't google the answers. I was right about him not wanting to hurt me, at least. I guess my only guidance is my gut feeling at the moment. I grabbed another piece of paper and a pen, scribbling down my reply.

'Give me your number. This is taking too long.'

He was sat cross legged on the floor again, waiting eagerly for my reply. I hesitated, unsure about this. I wanted answers quickly, but the last time I heard his voice I freaked out. The moment I heard it I was flooded with emotions and I wasn't sure if I could deal with that again. I took a deep breath, deciding to just throw the paper airplane. What's the worst that can happen.

It soared through the air and he bounded after it, grabbing it out of the air. He returned to his spot on the grass, unwrapping the paper carefully. He read over it, before his head shot up to face me. I couldn't see a single thing, but I could tell he was shocked.

He held up the number zero with his hands, prompting me to type it in. I whipped out my phone, punching in the numbers as he held them up with his hands. It took a while, but I eventually had the number in front of me. I saved it, naming the contact simply 'Stalker'.

Biting my lip, I had to work up the courage to actually do it. I wasn't worried about him getting my number, since I was calling him using number withheld (so he wouldn't see my caller ID). I was just worried about feeling those emotions again when I hear his voice; I hadn't ever experienced them before, so they were pretty scary. I don't know how people do this all the time.

He had pulled out his own phone and was just sat in the middle of my garden, waiting patiently. This is just fucking weird. He looked up at me, wondering what was taking me so long and I had to set my phone down, rolling myself another cigarette. God knows I need it. I lit it, taking a drag, as I pressed the call button. It barely rang for a second before he picked up.

"Hello?"

His deep voice sent waves of emotion over me, making me gasp. I gripped the window ledge, trying to focus on replying. My heart was pounding, hard. I took a drag of my fag, calming myself down by reminding myself that he was all the way at the bottom of the garden.

"Who are you?" I finally asked, my voice shaky.

I noticed it was him who took a while to reply this time and that relaxed me; at least I wasn't the only person struggling to get words out.

"If I tell you, you'll know who I am..." Hs voice was barely a whisper, sounding strained, "I really do want to tell you, but then you'll be involved. It's better for you if you don't know."

I looked across the garden at him intently. I knew him? There's no way. I hadn't ever felt like this towards anyone I had met before. A scowl settled on my face, frustrated by his vague nature and ominous replies.

"Stop making decisions about what's best for me on my behalf. I can go out at night if I like and I guarantee you I'll find out who you are." I hissed, "So this is your last chance to tell me on your own accord."

I was met with silence. He seemed to be battling with himself, debating on what to do. I held my breath, hoping he would just tell me who he was so I could figure everything out and stop thinking about what he looked like under that mask.

"I can't do that, Cameron." He sighed, "I'm really sorry but I can't, I-"

I hung up. I wasn't sitting there and listening to him make excuses. I had every right to know who he was. After all, he had been stalking me. His head whipped up to look at me and I put out my cigarette, swinging my legs inside.

"Hear me out." He pleaded, keeping his voice down, as he approached the house.

I shook my head, slamming the window closed and jamming my pen in the lock while drawing the curtains.