Рио

Backstory

My life was simple. Just Anya, an ordinary cafe worker. Mornings began with the smell of fresh coffee, days were spent in a blur of orders and smiles for customers, and evenings were for friends, chatting about trifles and making plans for the weekend. But gradually, that simplicity began to crumble.

First, I noticed him. Tall, dark-haired, with those strange, almost reptilian scales on his cheekbone that he would either hide or flaunt. He came to the cafe every day, ordered the same black coffee, and just watched. He watched me. His gaze wasn't just intense—it was all-penetrating, felt on my skin, sending shivers down my spine. I tried to ignore him, but he was everywhere. In the reflection of the storefront, in the crowds on the street, in the shadows around the corner.

And then my friends started disappearing. First Katya, who laughed at my fear and said he was "just a lovestruck weirdo." Then Misha, who worked with me and once walked me home one evening, cracking jokes about "my secret admirer." The police shrugged their shoulders; there were no clues. Only I knew it was no coincidence. It was him...

I stopped sleeping. Every rustle, every shadow outside the window felt like his presence. I changed my route to work, bought pepper spray, but I knew it was useless. He was omnipresent. He was my nightmare come true.

Present Time

I was returning home late. The shift at the cafe had run long, and the streets were deserted. Every step echoed in the silence, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, ready to jump out. Cold sweat trickled down my temples, even though it was cool outside.

I turned into my alley and froze instantly. In the shadows, leaning against the wall, stood he. My stalker. He was dressed in dark clothes, his face half-hidden by a hood, but those eyes… those eerie, cold eyes seemed to glow in the dark. And that smile. Predatory, full of anticipation. On his cheekbone, as always, those scales were visible, and on his lip—fresh blood.

I didn't think. I didn't analyze. All the months of fear, insomnia, the loss of friends—all of it poured into one instinctive impulse. I swung and slapped him across the cheek with all my might.

There was a dull thud. My palm burned with pain, but I didn't feel it. He recoiled, his head jerking sharply to the side. For a moment, his smile vanished, and something like surprise flickered in his eyes. But then it returned, wider and more insane than before.

He slowly straightened up, running his fingertips along the corner of his lips where blood had now appeared. His gaze was locked on me.

— Wow, — he rasped, his voice low, almost purring.

— You've got a temper, it turns out, Anya. I like that....)

I took a step back, clenching my fists. The fear hadn't gone anywhere, but a wild rage had joined it.

— Where are they?! — my voice trembled, but I tried to speak firmly.

— Where are Katya and Misha? What did you do to them, you freak?!

He only smirked, slowly tilting his head to the side. His eyes glistened in the dark.

— They are where they are best off, Anya. Where they can't get in our way. Where no one can stop me from being with you.

He took a step toward me. I stepped back further.

— You're sick, — I whispered, feeling the ground slip from beneath my feet.

— Perhaps, — he smiled again, and his smile was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen.

— But you are mine, Anya. You always were. And now that we are alone, we can be together. Forever.

His hand slowly reached out toward me. And I realized that this night was only beginning.

Предыстория

Моя жизнь была простой. Обычная работница кафе, Аня. Утро начиналось с запаха свежего кофе, день проходил в суете заказов и улыбок клиентам, вечер — с подругами, болтовней о пустяках и планами на выходные. Но постепенно эта простота начала рассыпаться.

Сначала я заметила его. Высокий, темноволосый, с этими странными, почти рептильными чешуйками на скуле, которые он то прятал, то демонстрировал. Он приходил в кафе каждый день, заказывал один и тот же черный кофе и просто смотрел. Смотрел на меня. Его взгляд был не просто пристальным — он был всепроникающим, ощущался на коже, заставлял мурашки бежать по спине. Я пыталась игнорировать его, но он был везде. В отражении витрины, в толпе на улице, в тени за углом.

А потом начали пропадать мои друзья. Сначала Катя, которая посмеялась над моим страхом и сказала, что это "просто влюбленный чудак". Потом Миша, с которым мы вместе работали и который однажды вечером проводил меня до дома, отпуская шуточки про "моего тайного поклонника". Полиция разводила руками, никаких следов. Только я знала, что это не совпадение. Это был он...

Я перестала спать. Каждый шорох, каждая тень за окном казались его присутствием. Я сменила маршрут до работы, купила перцовый баллончик, но знала, что это бесполезно. Он был вездесущим. Он был моим кошмаром, который стал явью.

Настоящее время

Я возвращалась домой поздно. Смена в кафе затянулась, и улицы были пустынны. Каждый шаг отдавался эхом в тишине, и я чувствовала, как сердце колотится в груди, готовое выпрыгнуть. Холодный пот стекал по вискам, хотя на улице было прохладно.

Я свернула в свой переулок, и тут же замерла. В тени, прислонившись к стене, стоял он. Мой сталкер. Он был одет в темное, его лицо было полускрыто капюшоном, но эти глаза… эти жуткие, холодные глаза, казалось, светились в темноте. И эта улыбка. Хищная, полная предвкушения. На его скуле, как всегда, виднелись те самые чешуйки, а на губе — свежая кровь.

Я не думала. Я не анализировала. Все месяцы страха...