Pumped Up Kicks by Foster the People

But he's coming for you, yeah, he's coming for you.

Paris.

I try to stir in my sleep, only to feel two firm hands holding me tightly in place. 

Shit. Someone's holding me down.

I try my best to roll onto my side, but the grip on the hands tightens. 

I mentally recap everything I know. I have a stalker after me, ready to kill me at any given point if I so much as tell someone. I fell and everything went black. A tall guy was staring down at me. I have two hands holding me down

Instantly I jolt awake, hyperventilating intensely as I shove the two hands far away from my body and push to my aching feet. 

I'm soaked through with sweat, wearing no more than a mere hospital gown. 

Hospital. That's where I am.

"Hey, it's okay." A familiar voice says gently, rushing around the bed to stop me moving any further.

"Grayson?" I gasp in air frantically, on the brink of a full on panic attack.

"Yeah I'm here, P." He hushes, pulling me tightly to his body. In his hold I instantly relax and firmly shut my eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, still trying to get my breathing regulated. 

"You had an accident. I flew back to make sure you were okay. You're in hospital, but you'll be discharged by Monday. You've got a sprained wrist, a strained hip and a grade 2 concussion." He settles gently, rubbing his hand up and down my back.

"Someone was holding me down." My heart races. "That was me, I didn't want you rolling onto your bad hip." He explains calmly.

"What time is it?" I demand in a sigh. "11am." Libby replies from behind me, startling me and making me turn around sharply and stumble back in Grayson's arms.

Jameson and Avery are sharing a small seat, they might as well be fucking with how intimate they are. She's on his lap and his hand's on her upper thigh, I'm not even sure they realize they're doing it. 

Beside them Libby and Nash are on a couch with his arm over her shoulder. Xander is perched on the couch uncomfortably close to the edge in attempt to stay far away from them both.

"You feeling okay? You're a little on edge." Avery frowns sympathetically. "Gee, I wonder why." Xander snarks dramatically. 

"I'm fine. Have.. when did you guys get here? How long was I alone for?" I question manically.

"It was a five hour flight." Jameson answers. My face must instantly go pale, because Grayson is quick to ease my fear.

"But Skylar was working with a nearby client so she stayed with you." He assures me.

"Okay.. before she got here, was I alone?" I beseech.

"No, there were some guys that found you.. Seriously, is something wrong?" Grayson replies, working hard to urge me back into the bed.

"Okay.. just don't leave me alone. Please." I whimper.

"Who else is here? Is anyone else here?" I ramble. "No, Paris.. It's just us.. don't worry." Libby soothes calmly. That doesn't ease my nerves.

"Paris, tell me what's wrong." He demands. "Just promise me you won't leave me." I implore.

"Well, we'll have to leave at some point, I mean they'll not allow visitors past a certain time." He informs me.

"No. You have to stay!" I plead.

"Tell me why." He orders, furrowed brows. "Please." I cry out, clinging to him desperately. 

"I'll stay. I swear I will, but you gotta tell me why." He tries to calm me by stroking my arm up and down.

"I.. please just stay." I stammer frantically. "Pear?" Avery speaks up with worry.

"Don't go.. please.. I need to use the bathroom.. Gray could you come?" I hyperventilate, making him walk in first to make sure nobody is there, though I don't tell him that.

When I'm inside, I check behind the shower curtain and finally let myself lock the door.

"Tell me what's wrong." He urges, approaching me delicately. "What did you think you would see behind those curtains?" Grayson whispers, cupping my cheek with a firm grip to force my eyes to him.

"I can't.. I.." I trail off, forcing my teary eyes to stare beyond him because I can't bear to look at him.

"It's just you and me. You can tell me. Just us." He whispers soothingly.

Instead of words, all I can produce are sobs, he's almost instant to pull me into his warm body. His hands hold me tight and stroke my hair.

"Don't leave me." I plead. "I won't. I'm staying all week." He assures me. "Just a week?" I murmur.

"You didn't answer my calls last night." He comments. "I flushed my phone down the toilet." I explain nonchalantly. 

He stares at me, confusion mixing with not even wanting to know. "I'll buy you a new one." Grayson says. "It's fine." I dismiss.

"What happened back there, how'd you get hurt?" He says slowly, eyes scanning all over my face.

"The lights went out. I was being stupid. It doesn't matter." I brush off. 

"Then why are you so scared? Is this the concussion, or is there something else?" He studies me like a great artefact, fragile and intriguing. 

"I gotta shower." I find myself muttering.

"Yeah okay, I'll be right out there." He nods, that spark of worry still simmering.

"No." I interject instantly. He looks startled, blinking at me. "Don't leave." I beg.

He fights with himself not to ask again, knowing it'll be the same answer and he'll get nowhere. 

"I'll get you a towel." He replies, swiftly breaking away from me and slipping out the door.

The second I hear the door click shut a rippling wave of anxiety washes through me. I begin pacing back and forth, a habit I have whenever I think.

You fell. What if I didn't fall. Don't be stupid, it's not like someone pushed you. But how did I fall then? It went black. That's all I remember. I can't have passed out before I hit the floor. So how the hell did it go dark? Lights.

"Shit." I murmur.

Someone messed with the lights. Not just someone. Danny. Danny's dead. What if he isn't? But he is. Then who would be after you? Same person who's been after me this whole time. 

"Shit." I speak a little louder when I begin linking every moment of my life. What if this persons been out to get me this whole time. Since Thanksgiving when I first got that text from Danny claiming to be in my house.

The Thanksgiving text. 

The brick through the coffee shop.

The broken chair I had to dance on.

The call when I was on Grayson's balcony.

The picture of Hayden and I kissing.

Every single photo in my bedroom being burned.

And now the lights going out.

If this is true, if all of this links back, that means this person's been inside my house. Someone was at that party. I mean I guessed they'd been taking pictures of me from windows and bushes, but what if this person's really been in my house before.

Someone seriously wants to kill me. Someone's dedicating their time to sabotage me.

They can somehow see me all the time, and hear me too. They know where I am at all times.

So this person texted me on Thanksgiving when I was alone to tell me I was not in fact alone. Then they must've figured out a way to delete the text from existence so cops wouldn't find it.

They through a brick with a QR code through my window showing me all the pictures they take of me and all the recordings they have of my conversations. 

They took the screws out the chair I was dancing on at MADS annual showcase, so that when I danced on it I fell through it.

They called me when I was at Hawthorne House on Grayson's balcony saying they were watching me.

They snapped a photo of me and Hayden kissing at our party and posted it anonymously.

They went up to my bedroom during the party and spent time burning, cutting and scribbling my faces out of every single picture I had in my room.

And they waited until I was on the balance beam doing a jump to turn the lights out.

That one can't quite add up in my mind. But naturally ass my thoughts spiral, I come up with theories.

I crash the bathroom door open again, Grayson and the others staring at me with alarm as Grayson gets a towel from a nurse.

"Give me your phone." I demand. "Me?" Grayson asks, holding the towel in one hand and producing his phone from his back pocket with the other.

I begin calling the home number to my house, waiting impatiently as it rings.

"Hello?" Rachel's voice asks with confusion. "Is Maddie there?" I waste no time. "Rooney? Are you okay?" She sighs with relief. "I'm fine. Put Maddie on." I growl irritatedly. 

"Okay.." My friend agrees. I hear some loud hollering and muffled footsteps. 

"Rooney, good to hear from you. How are-" Maddie starts.

"You too, I'm feeling fine, blah blah blah." I silence her. "Listen, I need you to tell me where class was this morning." I order.

"What do you mean?" She asks with confusion. "I mean what I fucking asked. Answer me or don't but quit wasting my time." I growl.

I watch as all the eyes on me furrow and look a little taken aback by my rudeness. I start to grab some clothes before anyone can ask why, pulling the hospital gown off and replacing it with my own clothes from ballet yesterday.

"Just in the ballet studio in the 2nd building as usual. Why what's wrong?" Maddie continues.

"No signs on the door? No broken barre?" I growl. "No. Madam Helena wanted to know why you weren't there and I tried explaining to her you left for class this morning. Why were you at Harvard?!" She demands.

"No reason. That's all I needed. Thanks." I mutter, hanging up and tossing Grayson his phone again as I pull on my leotard again.

"You're supposed to wear the gown, P. It's to give the doctors better access to your injuries." Grayson lectures.

"They won't need access to my fucking injuries, okay? I'm leaving." I mumble, bundling up the gown and dropping on the bed.

"You've got a concussion. You can't leave." He scoffs, rounding the bed, to stand in front of me.

"That's weird, it sort of looks like I am." I say sarcastically. "Come on. Sit down." Jameson exhales. "I don't think I will." I snark.

"Why do you want to leave so bad?" Grayson questions. "Because I feel fine. Hospitals are for people who are hurt. I'm not hurt, therefore I am leaving." I smile dryly and head for the door.

Right before I can go, two figures step in the doorway.

"Holy shit." I murmur, walking blindly backwards, relying on Grayson to be there to hold me. When I collide with his body, his arm wraps around my waist, partly to stop me from leaving, and partly because he can feel the terror racking through my body.

"It's him."

(a/n. This is 3 chapters in like 24 hours?!? Go me? Anyway, we love a cliffhanger. See you in the next chapter, which at this rate could be any second with how fast I'm writing (it won't be). Thanks for reading)