Her sorrow, his salvation
Valeria
I had never been this terrified in my entire life. For the past two weeks, I have felt it, his constant, gnawing presence. Someone is following me. Watching me. Haunting me. It is not just paranoia. It is something deeper, darker. A primal instinct, like a whisper from somewhere ancient inside me, telling me that I am in danger. That something is going to happen soon.
There are moments when I want to pack everything and disappear, to vanish into some remote corner of the world where no one could ever find me. But even then, a cold certainty settles in my chest: whoever or whatever is after me will not stop. Running will not be enough. I can feel it. Like they are already ten steps ahead.
What frightens me the most is that I’m not easily shaken. Fear doesn’t get to me like this. Maybe it’s because of the path I’ve chosen, the one that requires composure under pressure, strength in chaos. I’m in my final year at the Medical University of Warsaw, training to become a trauma doctor. It’s not a profession for the weak.
I’ve just moved back to Warsaw after spending the last two years in Madrid on an Erasmus exchange. It was a good time, busy, intense, full of late-night hospital shifts and the occasional escape into the Spanish sun. But this return feels different. Off. Like I came back to something that’s been waiting for me. Watching.
I keep telling myself it’s just stress, that I’m overworked, overtired. That it’s the shift from the brightness of Madrid to the gray rhythm of Warsaw that’s throwing me off. But deep down, I know it’s not that. I know fear. I’ve felt it during moments where seconds meant life or death.
But this isn’t something you can treat with medicine or logic. It’s something else. And it’s getting closer. In my twenty-three years of life, I’ve only known real fear once - when I was sixteen, the day I lost both of my parents in a car accident.
I was sitting in the back seat. I still remember the shriek of tires, the weightless silence before the crash, and the sound of shattering glass that still echoes in my nightmares. The impact threw me through the windshield; I landed on the hood of the other car. Somehow - miraculously - I survived.
When I came to, the world was chaos. Metal twisted like paper, smoke rising from broken engines, people screaming. I dragged myself toward my parents’ car. My father was gone - his body lifeless behind the wheel. My mother was still breathing, trapped, bleeding. I pulled her out with my bare hands, pressed against her chest, trying to stop the blood.
“Where is the fucking ambulance?!” I remember screaming, my voice breaking between sobs. By the time it arrived, it was too late. That moment destroyed me - and rebuilt me. It turned me into someone cold, someone focused. I decided then that if death wanted to take, I would spend my life fighting to take back.
Coming back in my hometown should feel like a new beginning I’m supposed to feel excited, proud even. But all I can think about is the weird sensation of being watched. Everywhere I go even if it’s five minutes to the supermarket I sense this dark and power presence around me.
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m imagining things after too many sleepless nights. But I can’t ignore the feeling that someone is following me. Every morning, I wake up with my window slightly open, and the faint scent of a man’s cologne lingers in the air. Outside of my apartment there is always a black car parked, same around my university.
Maybe it’s harmless. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but my intuition whispers otherwise. So, I wait. For him to show himself. Even if I’m terrified.
Ivan
Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since I found her again.Two years I thought she was gone forever. My angel. I shouldn’t even call her that. Angels don’t belong in my world. My world is blood, bullets, and betrayal. I rule the Polish mafia. Power is mine, and with it comes enemies. The Albanians thought they could end me. That night, they almost did.
It was summer when the ambush came. My convoy was cut off, the SUV's riddled with more than fifty bullets. My men went down one after another. I took a shot to the chest - too close to my heart. I kept firing until the clip was empty, killing a few of those Albanian dogs, but there were too many.
The car spun off the road and into a ravine. Everyone inside was dead, everyone but me. Bleeding out, I dragged myself from the wreckage, every step a war against death itself. The Albanians left me behind, convinced I was finished. They should have known better. I made it as far as a gas station before my body gave out. I was seconds from the end when I saw her. My angel.
She appeared out of nowhere, fragile but fearless. Her hands pressed against my wounds; her voice steady even though her eyes betrayed the terror inside. I don’t know how she hauled a man my size into her car, but she did. She drove like the devil himself was chasing us, whispering words I’ll never forget.“Don’t you dare die on me. Stay awake. Stay with me.”
At the hospital, the doctors ripped me away from her. I was fading fast, slipping under, but I remember her running beside the stretcher, those green eyes locked on mine like they could tether me to life. Then everything went black.I woke two weeks later, out of a coma, and the first thought in my head was her.
I demanded to know where she was. All the doctors gave me was a name, Valeria. My brother was there shocked to hear me ask about a woman. He never known me to love. I don’t love. I fuck, I take, I use. That’s who I am. But her? She wasn’t a distraction. She wasn’t a mistake. She was my new obsession.
And when I want something, nothing in this world will stop me. Not men. Not death. Not even her. For two years I searched. Streets, hospitals, whispers in the underground. Nothing. Until two weeks ago when life decided to surprise me. I was in my limousine when I saw her. She walked past my car, so close I could have reached out and touched her. Time stopped. I froze, staring like I’d seen a ghost. But she wasn’t a ghost. She was mine.
The only word that left my lips was a command.
“Follow her.”
Valeria
This morning, I woke with a strange feeling again - subtle, like a whisper beneath my skin. Yet my mood was lighter than it had been in weeks. For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel him. Not in my dreams, not behind me on the street, not in the shadows of my apartment. Days had passed without that suffocating sense of being watched, and I dared to believe maybe, just maybe, life was returning to normal.
It had been a month since I moved back to Warsaw, my hometown. I missed this city more than I had realized. My family is gone, my closest friends scattered across continents, but Warsaw still holds me. Its streets, cafés, and tram stations carry the weight of my childhood, my first years of university, my solitude… and him. The man I saved that night.
It was two years ago, before I left for Madrid. I was coming home when I saw him outside the gas station near my apartment - broken, bloody, left for dead. Without thinking, I dragged him into my car and raced to the hospital. He was in a coma when I left the country. I never knew if he survived, or if he remembered me at all - the flickering streetlight above us, the blood soaking my hands, my voice begging him not to die. I hope he survived.
But now I was back and was time to start a new chapter in my life, leaving the past behind. October in Warsaw is one of my favorite times of the year. I love when autumn is embracing the city even though the nature is kind of dying, I feel the opposite. Is like the harsh weather makes me more alive. But today was an exception the sun was warm and so my intentions. Ana, my closest friend from university, had invited me to a day party with her friends. From the moment I come back one month ago she insists going out and I always refused her.
I wasn’t the most social person, but something inside me longed for connection again - laughter, conversation, maybe even the touch of a man. It had been far too long since I felt someone’s closeness.
Now that I was finally feeling more relaxed, I dressed a bit sexier than usual - short leather shorts paired with a sheer black bodysuit that revealed a hint of my black bra. I added black boots, styled my long brown hair in soft waves, went for smoky eyes, and finished with a nude lipstick.
The location of the party was in a beautiful garden walking distance from my apartment. When we arrived the soft music weaving through the air. We hadn’t been there long before Ana’s friends surrounded us.
“Why didn’t you tell us you had such a gorgeous friend?” one of the men teased.
“Hello, beautiful,” another chimed.
“Alex don’t scare her,” someone laughed.
I smiled politely. “Hi, everyone. Nice to meet you all.”
“Can I get you a drink?” a girl asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
The party blurred into laughter, drinks, and music. Soon, I was dancing with Alex. He was bold, his hands wandering, and though the alcohol dulled my resistance, I stopped him when he tried to kiss me. That’s when my phone vibrated. A text message.
“Hello, Angel. If you don’t want to see him dead in the next few minutes, step away from him. Now.”
The blood drained from my face. Alex frowned. “You, okay?”
“I… I need the restroom,” I whispered, forcing a smile before slipping away.
Inside the bathroom, I stared at my reflection, panic clawing at my chest. My hands trembled as I reread the message. A private number. My instincts screamed. I forced myself to reply.
‘’Who is this? What do you want?’’
The answer came instantly.
‘’You’ll find out soon.’’
My throat tightened. Maybe it was a sick joke, but my gut I knew better. One minute later, another message appeared.
‘’I WANT YOU.’’
The phone slipped in my grip. I rushed back to Ana, muttered an excuse, and grabbed my bag. Without saying goodbye, I ran from the party. My apartment was only ten minutes away. The streets were deserted, shops shuttered for Sunday evening. Each step echoed too loudly. Fear pressed down on me like a weight.
Then I heard it. A car engine behind me. I walked faster. Then ran. Another car screeched in front of me, a black SUV cutting off my path. Three large men stepped out, their shadows stretching long in the dim streetlight. I turned to escape, but a limousine had pulled up silently behind me. Its tinted windows revealed nothing.
Before I could scream, one man seized my arms. Another pressed a cloth to my face, the sharp scent of chloroform burning my lungs. The world dissolved into darkness.
I was taken.
