Race by Alex G

You're starting to look really weird, your face is out of place and I can't make you out and I forget just what you said, yeah, it's not clear it was about fear and getting out of here but you're okay with me.

I jolt awake in a cold sweat following yet another nightmare. I've had the same nightmare frequently for the two years. Danny on the beach with a gun pointed towards me. Every single night is worse than the last. It used to just be a passing dream that I could push to the back of my mind but now it's persistent. Some nights I avoid sleep altogether to avoid it.

I had assumed that tonight with Grayson's muscled arms wrapped around my bare stomach I'd have been safe from the usual nightmare. But here I am in the middle of the night, gasping in desperate breaths. I've been having a lot of panic attacks recently too. 

Trying not to put too much weight on my hip, I slip out of bed, escaping Grayson's tight grip and heading for the bathroom. Grayson's a tight sleeper, and my roommates can't hear much through the walls.

I check the bathroom as usual, leaving my fast asleep boyfriend and turning the shower on. I lock the bathroom door and slip into the steamy hot water, submerging my whole body in the scolding cleanse. 

I lather my body up 4 times total, making sure I'm squeaky clean. Gingerly stepping out the shower, I wrap a soft towel around my body.

I notice a small slip of paper under the door. Grayson must've ran out. It's 5am. Why would he be up at 5am?

I crouch to pick it up. Typed out on a small piece of paper are the words: You put it there. You don't remember why.

I furrow my brows and reread it at least a hundred times. What does that even mean. It's clearly not from Grayson and probably not one of my roommates. 

Am I having some psychotic breakdown in which I wrote myself a letter, showered and forgot?

But then my mind goes to the fact I have a literal stalker after me. But what could that possibly mean?

"Paris?!" I hear Grayson's voice suddenly yell frantically.

I hear his feet crashing on the floor, a cacophony of what sounds like an elephant stampede. 

"P?? Baby!?" He shouts desperately. "Paris?!!" He roars at the top of his lungs, his beautiful voice tearing and shredding.

I instantly rip the door open, looking for him frantically to see what could possibly be wrong with him.

 The second he sees me, the terror in his eyes disappears, fading to immediate relief. He races from me, wearing the same underwear he slept in, plus a coat of shiny sweat. 

He grabs me in his arms, squeezing me so hard I could puke. His toned chest rises and falls rapidly against my cheek. His hand cradles the back of my head, refusing to let go.

"You've not been stabbed or anything?" He says frantically, still holding an arm around my waist but using the hand on my head to pull me back so he can examine me.

"Does it look like I have?" I retort. "Need to hear you say it." He says in gasps, examining my whole body thoroughly.

"I'm fine!" I yell, "Tell me what's wrong." I order.

He just holds me one moment longer. He breaths in my scent and runs his hand up and down my back, taking in every detail of my figure carefully.

"We need to go. Get dressed. Now." He whispers firmly. "There's a knife.. on your pillow." He explains before I can ask. "It's covered in blood."

My heart stops beating. Frozen in his arms I think about the danger Grayson could've just been in. The danger I just put him in.

I look beyond him, perched on my clean white pillow is a kitchen knife coated in thick crimson blood. 

The stalker was in my room, next to my sleeping defenceless boyfriend, holding a knife.

Blood.

Whose blood?

And very slowly, the context of the note under my door, begins to make perfect sense.

"I put it there. I don't remember why." I state slowly. Whoever it is, whatever their motive is, they're listening, and maybe even watching. They knew when I was in the bathroom. They knew Grayson was sleeping. They knew everything. They know everything.

"What?" Grayson pulls back to examine my features, steadying his own to make sure he's hearing me correctly.

"I put it there-" I repeat hesitantly.

"Whose blood is that Paris?!" He demands, gripping the back of my neck tightly. I don't fucking know whose blood that is. And I'm just as terrified as you.

"Did you hurt someone? Did you hurt yourself?!" He demands. I shake my head sheepishly. "Words, baby. Tell me what happened." Grayson grips my neck firmer, not to hurt me or intimidate me, subconsciously needing to hold onto me tightly.

"I don't remember." I repeat monotonously. "What do you mean you don't remember, P." His gray eyes interrogate. 

Frantically I come up with an excuse. Something to keep this stalker off my back, whilst also stopping my boyfriend from having a stroke.

"I remember putting the knife on the pillow, and I remember that I wanted to prank you.. i just don't really remember why I did it.." I improvise, sounding like an idiot.

He doesn't buy it.

"P, I hate it when you lie to me." He states. "I'm not lying." I assure him. 

He looks to me with restraint, arguing with himself to not say what he's about to say. "Have you been going to therapy?" He asks carefully. "Yeah.." I look up to him with confusion.

"Have you been.. sleeping lately?" He asks softly, letting go of my neck and affectionately brushing the wet hair off my forehead. "Yeah." I lie.

"And your panic attacks? You told me at Christmas you haven't had them all year. Has that changed?" He coos.

"Gone." I lie again.

He looks down at me with conflict. But he just nods. He's starting to get worried. He won't say it. But he is.

And so am I.

(a/n. I love writing paranoid paris, like I know it sucks for her but at least I'm having a good time. I think we're about half way through part four by now?? Not entirely sure. I swear i have a chapter structure plan so i actually know where it's all going. Thanks for reading <3)