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It all started with a dead bird on your doorstep."Disgusting," you groaned. "Richie, grab a broom. The cat got a bird again."
It was the week before Valentine's Day. Everyone at school was getting really antsy about it, and apparently so was your cat. This was at least the third bird this week, all on the doorstep.
But about Valentine's Day, you weren't particularly excited about it. You didn't have anyone to share it with, so you expected it to be just the same as past years. You didn't mind it, but you had to admit that you felt a sort of gross jealousy of the couples around school.
Well, that was until you opened your locker and saw a note sitting neatly on top of your books. Curious, you picked it up. It was folded into squares, but there was only a sentence written in the middle of the page.
"doll,
youre cute when you think no ones watching
-secret admirer"
The handwriting wasn't the best, but legible. But this was not your main concern, of course. You felt your face heat up, unsure of what to make of this note... a love note, perhaps? A borderline creepy love note. You didn't have much time to dwell when the note was ripped from your hands.
"Is this a note from a secret admirer?" Richie's magnified eyes scanned the words.
"Give it back, asshole!" You snatched it back.
"Do you have a secret admirer? How cute! Who is it?" He questioned mockingly.
"How am I supposed to know if it's a secret admirer, stupid?" You shoved the note in one of your books and closed the locker. You walked away from your little brother, heading to your class.
For the rest of the day, you thought of the note. It had to be a cruel joke played by one of the many jerks that roamed this high school. Someone who just wanted to get a reaction out of you. You couldn't let a stupid note make you feel so... flustered.
So, you tried to forget about it.
But the next day, there was another note.
"i want you to be mine, doll.
-secret admirer"
Maybe someone did like you. Or playing a seriously sick joke. You ignored the slightly creepy undertones, since wasn't every love note like that, anyway? Someone was taking time out of their day to write this for you, so the least you could do was appreciate it.
As you walked home, you pondered on who it could be. There was that cute guy in your math class, or the shy kid from--
"Heya, Tozier."
You hadn't even noticed the Trans Am pulled up next to you. You threw a dirty look at Henry Bowers, who was in the passenger seat. "Fuck off," you spat.
"Trashmouth just like your brother," Henry chuckled, looking back at his goons. You could see Victor Criss and Patrick Hockstetter in the backseat. Creeps. "Why don't you put your mouth to good use, huh?"
"You're all disgusting," you huffed, walking faster. The Trans Am followed you. God, you hated them. You stopped abruptly. "What the fuck do you guys want?"
"Just a piece of that ass." That got Henry whistles from his gang.
"Leave me alone."
"Hey, I thought you liked attention. Don't you have a secret admirer?"
"Who told you that?" Richie.
"What if it was me, huh?" Bowers ignored you.
"Oh trust me, it's not you. You couldn't spell half of those words you illiterate fuck." Your voice dripped with sarcasm.
Apparently, that was enough to piss Henry off. "Drive," he grumbled. You watched the Trans Am speed off into the distance.
"Sicks fucks." You really hoped none of them were your secret admirer.
*
You stared at it.
Then, you screamed. It was a... dead cat. A dead cat on your doorstep. It's throat was slashed and its eyes were rolled back into its poor, small head. Its grey fur was stained with blood. You could hear the buzz of flies. It had been there for a while. Maybe all night.
At least it wasn't your cat, right?
You were pretty shaken after that. There was no way your cat killed it like it had done to those birds. This had to be something else. A person. Someone killed a cat and put it on your doorstep.
You opened your locker, and saw no note, but a flower placed upon your books. It looked like it had been uprooted recently. There was dirt on your textbooks. You tried to be happy about it, to forget about the dead cat, but it all just seemed uncanny.
You closed your locker, staring at the chipping, grey paint.
The bell rang, and you listened to all of your peers scurrying to their next class. You just stood, trying to force the image of that cat out of your mind. But every time you closed your eyes, it was all you could see.
"Huh, Tozier skipping class?"
You lazily turned to the voice, being met with the scowl of Patrick Hockstetter. Another of Henry's goons. Oh, but the Bowers gang wasn't what he was infamous for. He was the school freak. Also a creep. And pervert. And a long list of other things.
"Mind your own business," you said quietly. You weren't in the mood for his antics.
"Bein' shy today?" He leaned against the lockers, almost caging you in. "That's alright."
You turned, walking away from him. You weren't very sure of where you were going, but you just knew you wanted to be far away from him. It didn't take long for a few strides of his long legs to catch up with you.
"So... you wanna get outta here? Ditch class?"
"Not with you, no."
"Aw, why not, girlie?"
"Leave me alone, Hockstetter."
You made a sharp turn to your class, leaving him behind. God, he was so annoying. You just hoped he wasn't your secret admirer. If anything, he was the person leaving dead cats on your doorstep. That made you laugh a little.
*
Every day there was something new on your doorstep.
The day after the cat, there was a rabbit. Then a few more birds. There was no way your cat could be doing any of this. These animals looked like they were killed by a person.
And the notes in your locker were becoming more... gruesome. You didn't want to remember them just like you didn't want to remember the cat. The notes talked about hearing your cry and cutting up your soft skin. You hoped it was all some twisted joke.
You were beginning to dread Valentine's Day.
"do you want to know who i am?"
You weren't very sure if you did. You looked around the hall, trying to pick someone who could've written this. No one seemed to be looking your way. You gazed back at the note. At that fucked handwriting.
You crumpled the paper in your fist and slammed your locker closed. After you threw away the letter, you went to class. You didn't want to think of your secret admirer or of those dead animals or of anything else. You wished that it would all stop.
*
On the day before Valentine's Day, you found a letter on the inside of your windowsill.
"doll,
for a week ive given you gifts and notes but you dont seem to like them very much. its okay though because tomorrow im going to give you a better gift than you could have asked for. youll know my name since youll be screaming it soon enough.
- secret admirer"
You looked back at your windowsill, seeing another red, uprooted flower. It made you sick. In a few moments, you tore the paper to shreds, and threw it away, along with the flower. You were not going to let some creep get to you. It was all just a joke that would pass.
There was nothing in your locker. The day was going on without a hitch. Whoever was doing this to you probably had their laugh and was going to leave you alone.
At the end of the day, you went to your locker to put away your things. There were no notes, no gifts, nothing. It had to be all over. You walked out the school doors, only to find someone waiting for you.
"Tozier, just who I was looking for."
You walked right past him. "Fuck off, Patrick."
He trailed behind you. "C'mon, doll, don't be like that."
You froze.
.i want you to be mine, doll.
.doll, youre cute when you think no ones watching.
"What did you call me?"
You turned to face him. Patrick had a wide grin on his face. You'd figured out the mystery. He knew it. You knew it. And you were repulsed.
"It was you. All that time."
"Y'just figured it out?"
You backed away from him. He seemed so casual about it all.
"You... you killed those animals and left them on my doorstep. And those notes..." you began to walk, hoping he wouldn't follow you. He did. "They were sick."
"I thought girls liked notes."
Your eyes stung with tears. You stopped and screamed at him, "Yeah! When they aren't about cutting you and making you scream! You're sick! Fucking sick, Patrick!"
"C'mon, doll, it's not all bad--" he moved to touch you.
"Don't fucking touch me!" You went ballistic. And you had every right to. "Fuck off! Leave me alone!"
You hadn't noticed the prying eyes of people in the schoolyard watching.
"Calm down, doll, I--"
You interrupted him again by slapping him right across the face. "Don't call me that." You spit. Every time you heard it come out of his mouth it made you want to vomit.
You looked around, seeing all the stares. You swallowed thickly before running off. You wanted to be at home, in your room. But you weren't sure if you were even safe there. Patrick had put that note on the inside of your window.
There was no place to hide from him.
*
"Not going to school today?"
"I'm feelin' sick, Richie." You grabbed ice cream from the fridge.
"Is it because your secret admirer dumped you?" Richie laughed.
"Sure." You answered. You hadn't told him of those grisly notes. He didn't need to know.
The rest of the day you spent in bed. You didn't want to show yourself after blowing up on Patrick yesterday. And you especially didn't want to see him, either. Hopefully, it would all blow over and after today it would be forgotten.
That night, your parents went out for a Valentine's Day date. They left Richie with you, who stayed in his room blasting his radio. You were in your room with the lights off, staring at the ceiling. It was nearly eleven o'clock.
You tossed and turned, wanting to fall asleep. Richie's radio was just muffled, background music. You had so much on your mind. You couldn't get the images of dead animals and awful words out of your mind.
With your back to the window, you couldn't see the figure standing outside of it.
You stared at the light that was visible from under the door. If your parents were home, you would probably see them walking down the hall to tell Richie to turn his music off and go to bed. You didn't really care--
Creak.
You turned your head towards the window, seeing a lanky body fitting themselves through your window. You tried to scream, but they were on you in an instant. Their hand covered your mouth, and you could feel cool metal against your lips. They wore rings.
In the moonlight that poured from your window, you could see their glowing, green eyes. His hair framed his face, and his tongue swiped out to lick his bottom lip. It was Patrick.
"If I take my hand off, promise you won't scream?"
In the moment you nodded, you noticed Richie's music was off. He was probably asleep.
"Wouldn't want to wake little Trashmouth up, would we? Huh?"
You nodded again, frantic. He took his hand away, and you didn't do anything. You didn't scream. You only whispered, "What-what are you doing here?"
"Keepin' my promise." He grinned, and you saw him pull something from his pocket. You whimpered as you watched him pull out a pocket knife. "Don't be too loud, alright?"
You closed your eyes as you heard garments tearing. Your chest was exposed, and you could feel the flat of the blade against you. "Open your eyes, doll," he spit the word with much venom.
He grabbed your jaw, forcing your eyes open as he delivered his first incision. You hissed as he cut over the skin of your chest. "Stop, stop." Your eyes filled with tears. You tried to push him off.
"Don't move, I'll fuck it up." He squeezed harder on your jaw, sure to leave a bruise.
He kept carving into you. His slices were rather precise and sharp. Once he was done, he placed the knife to the side, staining the sheets with your blood. Patrick looked fondly at his work, and then back up at you.
Shakily, you brought a hand to your chest and you were met with a sting. In the dim light, you could barely see blood on your fingers. "I'm bleeding." Your lips shook.
"What'd you think I was trying to do?"
You felt fear as your eyes met. He crawled over your, his face right over yours. His hand on your jaw moved down to grasp your throat. "You're a lot of work, y'know that?" He murmured.
"Patrick, please..." Your chest burned from the wounds he inflicted on you.
He kissed you. His tongue delved straight into your mouth, licking hard at your teeth. You wanted to gag, but you restrained yourself. He was sloppy and unrefined, unlike when he was cutting into you. You concluded he had a lot of experience with cutting things, and not with kissing.
You could feel one of his hands trailing down your body, messing with the waistband of your shorts. You cringed, trying to push him away from you. Patrick's mouth moved towards your ear, whispering, "Watch it. You don't want me to use my knife on you again, yeah?"
You stilled, letting your hands fall pathetically at your sides. Your chest still burned from his first infliction, and you didn't know if you could keep quiet from a second one. "Why are you doing this?" You croaked, voice scratchy.
He answered you by shoving his hand beneath your shorts. You screwed your eyes shut as you felt his fingers on the fabric of your panties. You wanted to scream and cry, but you didn't want to scare Richie. You didn't want him to see you like this.
His fingers pushed past your underwear and dragged along your core. You attempted to look away from him, but Patrick's grip on your throat brought you back. "Don't look away, now, doll," he laughed at you.
You observed his face as he fit his fingers inside of you. Your hands reached for the his on your throat. You didn't try to throw him off of you, you just held onto him as he fingered you. His fingers stretched you out painfully. You could feel tears stinging your eyes as he pushed in and out.
"So tight," he commented, licking his lips. "I've waited so fucking long for this."
He tore his fingers from you and leaned forwards again to kiss you. You could feel the ends of his hair falling on your face. His erection rubbed against your thigh. You wanted to spit at him, bite him, do something, but you weren't sure how that would turn out for you.
Patrick pulled your shorts down as far as he could. You could hear his belt buckle jingling as you anticipated him. As you waited, you could feel the skin around your throat getting sore from Patrick's hand. Whatever he had carved into your chest stung and burned.
He pushed into you, splitting you apart. You gritted your teeth as he sheathed himself fully inside of you. You moved your hands to grip the sheets, just to have something to hold onto. Patrick let out a shaky sigh above you, staring at your every expression. If possible, he gripped your throat tighter.
He began to fuck you, thrusting in and out. You could feel his cock dragging on your walls. You wheezed for air as he pushed himself deep, sparking a pain you'd never felt before.
"C'mon," Patrick snickered, "Relax. You feel so good."
You felt tears spilling down your cheeks as he continued. The pain was slowly fading away to change into something else. You tried to look away from him, but Patrick would keep refocusing your attention. He bit at your lip, dug his fingernails into your skin, and now he had the knife to your face.
The flat of the blade was cool against your face, but the tip dug into your cheek. You tried to pull yourself as far away as possible from it, but Patrick just pressed the knife further. It was a game to him. That's all it was.
Patrick thrusted harder into you, letting his knife trail down your face. You grimaced as you felt him nick your skin. You stared into his eyes, wondering what could have gone differently. You wished you never caught his attention at all.
He moaned into your ear, letting his hand on your throat rise to grasp your jaw again. You felt a bit better now that you could breathe properly. "See how you got me, doll." He bit your earlobe. "So close..."
You could feel his thrusts becoming sloppy. You were glad this would end soon. He breathed in your ear as he reached his end. You didn't mind that he had finished inside you, you were just glad he was done. He pulled out, tearing himself away from you completely. He tucked himself back into his pants, staring at you.
He grabbed his knife and put it back in his pocket. You could only watch, too scared to say anything. He readjusted himself and headed for the window. He stopped before he made his exit. You worried that he'd changed his mind and wanted more from you.
"Almost forgot," he smiled, "Happy Valentine's Day, Doll."
He clumsily fit his body out the window and disappeared.
You stood from your bed on shaky legs. You needed a shower now. As you got to the restroom, and looked into the mirror, you saw what he had carved into you.
"D O L L"