Stalker - Clarissa Wild



Six months done, and four thousand five hundred and sixty days left in prison. With a black marker, I write the numbers on the calendar and cross today’s date off like I do each day. On the corner of this sheet is a black skull, which I’ve repeatedly crossed out, punctured, and stabbed to vent my anger, imagining it’s her face.

That woman … just thinking about her makes me want to punch holes in the wall I’m staring at.

I hate her to death, in the literal sense. I don’t just want to kill her … I’ll make it happen. One way or another, she’s going to pay for what she did. Punishment and pain aren't enough … only death is, and I’m going to bring it to her doorstep.

These walls won’t hold me back. Maybe now, but not forever, and when I get out, she’ll be the first to suffer. She’s lucky these steel bars surround me and keep me locked inside, far away from that pretty little lie she calls life. She thinks she’s safe, she thinks she’s innocent, but we both know that’s not true. She’s hiding behind that fake, perfect mask of hers, but all it takes is a snap and it’ll crack right down the middle.

I’ll make sure to bring the pain when I get out of here. She deserves it.

You might think I’m an asshole for wanting to kill a girl, but this girl has gone pretty far … further than most girls will ever go to clear their own name. She framed me so she could point the cops at me and put me in jail. That’s like cutting the heart out of a man. If I had one, I’d be dead already, especially because I involved myself with the likes of her.

I admit that I’m not a saint. I did some bad shit, too. I killed her husband, but he deserved every ounce of the pain that he received. He was a cheating bastard, and so was she. They both deserve to go to hell.

I reek of fury and rightfully so. All I can think about is making her suffer the way she’s making me suffer. Lock her up and hurt her. My fingers twist, grabbing the empty air as I imagine strangling her. I can already feel the bones crack.

She fucking ruined my life, and not just because she put me in jail. That girl is full of secrets, cloaked behind a façade that I’m dying to strip away. Of course, nobody believes me. With my tattoos, piercings, and dark hair, I look like the typical killer, someone whose words mean nothing in the face of a threat. It’s always been that way, and I don’t expect that to change anytime soon. My life has always been about bare-knuckle fights to claim authority over whatever I deemed as mine. That’s all I do, all I know. Fighting in whatever way necessary with whatever means I can gather just to get what belongs to me.

And the worst thing is that I once fought for her.

That’s right; she’s not just my most hated rival, but she also used to be the object of my affection. I say ‘used to’, but I’m not so sure if I’ll gut her that quickly when I see her face again. I might actually fuck her first, and then kill her. Exes … I’d rather ax them.

If I could, I would erase every memory I had of her, just so I’d stop thinking about her. Instead, I’m locked up in this cell, reminded of her day in and day out … thinking of all the ways that I’m going to make her beg for mercy.

“Are you sulking again?”

I turn my head at the sound of the annoyingly sarcastic voice of my cellmate. At times like these, when he says shit like this, I just want to rip his head off. However, the cavity in my chest has reserved a tiny spot for him to the point of it growing on me like a parasite. That’s what you get when you spend months in the same room with another guy. Somehow, you are attached to the person just because they’re there … they’re alive, and you can talk to them. That alone is enough to create a bond. At least, in here it is.

So, I’ll spare him … for now.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Shut up.”

He raises his eyebrow at me, his blue eyes flaring with curiosity. “I know