Quiet Things
(Content Warning
This story contains themes of stalking, psychological manipulation, coercion, and sexual violence.
This is not a romance.
There is no redemption arc.
The relationship depicted is toxic, predatory, and intentionally disturbing.
The story is told from the victim’s perspective and focuses on psychological horror rather than eroticization.
Reader discretion is strongly advised.)
“Stop, now let’s begin, you’re in too deep to go back again."
Elara stood at the entrance of her apartment complex, fingers searching her coat pockets for her keys.
“Cash, it’s pay to play, you want more hits than lemonade.”
She murmured along with the song, her head moving faintly to a rhythm only she could hear.
“No, you don’t own me, you don’t even know me.”
Finally, her fingers brushed against something metallic before she pulled out her key ring, the soft clatter of metal barely audible through the music in her ears.
After pushing the key into the lock, Elara let out a tired sigh. The door opened with practiced ease. She stepped inside, locked it behind her, and pulled the earbuds free. The sudden silence pressed in on her the moment the music stopped.
The apartment was dark and cold. Boxes were stacked everywhere. Just looking at them made the bags under her eyes feel heavier. It had been a week since she moved in, and she still hadn’t found the energy to properly unpack.
Fumbling for the light switch, the young college student flicked it on and set her bag on the kitchen counter. She pulled out a cup of instant noodles she’d just bought.
Not the best dinner. But better than nothing.
As the kettle heated, Elara walked to a box labeled cups and pulled out her favorite mug—
Pling.
Her head lifted at the familiar notification sound. She set the mug down and picked up her phone instead. The screen lit up with a message from her best friend, Becky.
'Earth to depresso expresso, I have great news!! You home yet?'
Elara smiled faintly to herself. She hadn’t even finished typing a reply when her phone began to buzz in her hand.
Incoming call.
She rolled her eyes and tapped the green button, setting the phone on speaker so she could continue preparing her noodles.
“Hey, Becky.”
Her voice was soft but warm. No matter how tired she was, she was always glad to hear from her.
“Hey my ass, you didn’t respond to my text!” Becky whined. Elara could practically hear her pouting through the phone.
“You didn’t even give me time, you piece of impatient chaos,” Elara teased, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Now what’s this amazing news? Please don’t tell me you found another boyfriend already.”
“I fucking wish,” Becky said dramatically. “No, I finally got my dream job. They actually hired me! I start next week!”
She practically squealed.
“Oh, congrats!” Elara said warmly as she poured hot water over the noodles. “I’m free tomorrow evening. We should celebrate. Want to go to Brustler’s?”
“I’d love to, but… could we celebrate at your place?” Becky’s voice softened. “You still haven’t given me the grand tour.”
Elara frowned slightly, pausing mid-motion.
“You never turn down Brustler’s. What’s wrong?”
There was a brief hesitation.
Well.. its just I'm scared..'
"Scared of what?"
'The Rose killer..' this time it was more a whisper, like she was scared that someone might hear her in her own room.
"The whole and the what now? Becky I've told you to stop watching horror movies." Elara sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“It’s not a movie, you twat,” Becky snapped. “This is on the news! I swear, one day this will save your life!”
Elara never watched the news. She didn’t need daily reminders of how broken the world was. School and work were already heavy enough.
"This shit has been on the news?" She asked.
“Yes! There’s some maniac out there seducing women and leaving them in pieces. Every which way till Sunday.” Becky lowered her voice. “And he leaves roses with the bodies.”
Elara fell quiet. Her gaze drifted to the window. The night outside was dark and still.
She shook her head.
"So this is like a jack the ripper wannabe?" The question was supposed to make light of the conversation but it was obvious that concern edged in.
“I guess,” Becky said. “But the article says there’s no pattern. No connection between the victims. Just that they’re women.” Elara could hear Becky’s fingers tap on the screen as she browsed the Internet for the news articles.
"Alright well, I will try to clear out the living room tommorow, you bring snacks then I will take care of the drinks. After dark the doors will be locked, I hope you don't mind sleeping a rickety old matrass." Elara stated and stirred her noodles, which were long done by now.
'I prefer a rickety old matrass over cut to pieces anyway day!' Becky replied and Elara could almost hear the happy grin on her face.
