Week Seven: Monday (Narrative)
He had sent her flowers. The sick fuck had sent her flowers at work, as if she wasn't already scared enough. She hadn't slept in two nights, convinced that he would come in and kill her--or worse--in her sleep. She had gone to work because it was the one place she thought she could forget, at least for a few hours, the terror that now consumed her life once again. And for awhile it had worked. Classes and rehearsal required such concentration that she had no time to waste worrying about when the big bad vampire would come looking for her again.
Only then had come her lunch break. One of the office workers had approached her with the vase, smiling like it was something she would be happy about. The dancers she was heading out to eat with thought so as well, all twittering about who Lirije's boyfriend was, how sweet he must be to send her flowers at work, how they wished their boyfriends/husbands/significant others would do that for them. The didn't even have to look at the note to see who it was from. She didn't know anyone else in the city and she was fairly sure that a chorus dancer would not have a secret admirer among the ballet-goers. A glance at the note confirmed her suspicion.
She begged out of lunch, saying she had to make some phone calls, and made her way to the stage door. The flowers and vase went into the dumpster, and she went back to the studio to try and distract herself from her pounding heart until rehearsal started back up.
The day after, she was no less terrified. Monday was a long day at the studio, but not long enough. Eventually she had to go home. Eventually she had to leave the company of the other dancers (not that Drystan would mind an audience, most likely) and get in her car, alone, to drive back to the towers. She normally took the stairs, but she had taken to getting on the elevator instead. It was better lit, and she could see everyone in it. There would be no surprises in the corner of the landings, like there might be on the staircase.
She looked paranoid, speed-walking to her door with her key already in hand so she didn't have to fumble for it, slamming the door behind her only to lock and bolt it. And even then, 'safely' inside, she turned all the lights on so there were no shadows for someone to hide in.
If he had wanted to get in her head, he had succeeded. She knew all she could do was wait until he decided to come back for her. Because he would. She had no doubt about that. The only question was whether she would survive.