WICKED | WILLIAM FRANKLYN-MILLER

⟶ 2 | DON'T SCREAM

I walked towards the window, tracing my hands along the curtains and pushing them aside. I could see the Eiffel Tower from where I stood; a dazzling structure of pure history. One could never tire of such a beautiful city. I'd hardly think those who lived here would disagree, either.

The sound of rushing water came filtering in through the bathroom, and I flinched in my spot. I thought I was alone.

"Percy?" I called out, squinting my eyes towards the closed door.

No response.

At the sound of my voice, I heard the squeak of a knob being turned, and the water stopped running. It was eerily silent. and I felt the hairs on my back stand up anxiously, questioning whether or not I had gone unheard.

"Hello?" I asked once again, hoping for an answer, "Perce, is that you?"

While no words were spoken back, I noticed the handle to the restroom door slowly twitch with movement. Alarm surged through my body, and I quickly scoured the room for anything I could use to defend myself. A remote, an ashtray, a room service binder.

I grabbed the crystal ashtray, clutching it in my hands as I faced the door. Leaving seemed like a more reasonable option, but there could be the possibility that it was Percy, and he was playing one of his measly pranks on me again. Besides, if it wasn't, I wanted to see the face of my intruder.

The door slowly creaked open.

There was nothing and no one for a moment, and my sanity was put on the line while I stood frozen to my spot. Then, a figure stepped into view. I only let my eyes grace their features for a second, before letting out a terrified scream and chucking the ashtray towards them.

Whoever they were, they were definitely not Percy. I prepared to make a mad dash for the exit, when I realized they had caught the ashtray in their hand, stepping quickly into the hall—I had to go through them in order to get to the door.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Miss Lovey," they said calmly, setting the ashtray onto the desk, "so please don't scream like an animal."

The voice seemed trained, emotionless, and void of any familiarity. The depth of it told me they were a man, and I backed towards the window to be as far away from them as possible. Pressing myself against the opposite wall, I let myself get a good look at their face through the panic coursing through my veins.

Blue eyes, narrow jaw, brown hair pushed back on the sides. Chestnut cardigan, grey turtleneck. Him.

"You!" I spat out, the blood rushing to my face in shock.

It was the man from the train—the stranger who had been reading the same book as me. Was it truly a coincidence? Or was he a mindless stalker that followed me from the train and to my hotel? What was more shocking, was the fact that he spoke. Not a word had been bribed from him on the journey here, and yet now he has the audacity to break into my room and ask me not to scream in terror.

"Stay the hell away from me," I urged, eyes aflame, "don't bloody come near me."

The man didn't blink. "It's not in my interest to, Miss Lovey."

"How do you know my name?"

"That's a question for a later time," he said smoothly. I felt my heartbeat quickening at an alarming rate, watching him lean up against the patterned paper of the room's walls. His hands were in the pockets of his trousers; casual, as if he wasn't a threat. "Please, sit."

I ignored his request, lunging for the remote and throwing it towards him. I knew it wouldn't do severe damage, but I wanted to make it clear I wasn't going to go down without a struggle. Creeps like him picked on women they thought were 'easy'—I wasn't.