One week had passed since Christina was almost killed. Seven, agonizing, frustrating, upsetting days. Her mind was constantly telling her all the reasons why she wasn't even worth being killed by a murderer, all the reasons why she wanted to be killed, and all the reasons why she was pathetic for not doing it herself already.

Christina shot up in her bed, sweat pouring down her body as she breathed heavily. Her head shot to the clock on her bedside table.

'Four am. It was only a nightmare,' she told herself as she tried to calm her breathing. Slowly, she pushed the covers away from her and took shaky steps to the bathroom that was across from her bedroom. The bathroom wallpaper was peeling, revealing a dirty rotting wood. The floor was old plastic tile slabs that were broken around the toilet and the bath tub. The whole room reeked of mold, yet none could be seen.

Christina turned the hot water on and looked into the mirror as she waiting for the water to actually be semi-warm. Her chocolate brown eyes drooped into large dark folding bags. Her skin was mildly wrinkled with stress, lack of sleep, and lack of proper nutrition. Her stringy blonde hair was tied up in a messy bun atop her head, multiple strands of hair hanging down limply. Christina looked awful, and she knew it too.

Unfortunately, the young woman was all too used to waking up from nightmares. This wasn't the first time she had been forced out of a restless sleep by traumatic nightmares of past experiences, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

The water was comforting against her sweaty face as she began to splash her lowered head with it. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she stood up and walked out of the dimly lit room, ignoring the sound of a small metal tool clattering on the floor as she bumped into the counter.

Christina made her way down a short hall, coming to a large open area where the kitchen and the living-room were separated simply by different flooring. The door to the outer hall on the apartment building was on the edge of the kitchen. Groggily making her way into the kitchen –a room in as deteriorating state as the bathroom-, Christina began to make herself a sandwich.

Not having a table or chairs, Christina slowly made her way into the living room to sit in the only chair in the house, her favorite lounge chair. She was a few feet away from the chair in the dark room when she stopped, her eyes finally looking at something other than the floor and her sandwich.

"Quite the shithole you live in," a sarcastic voice chuckled.

Christina stared at the white-hooded figure sitting in her chair, her mouth still open from the intended bite of her food.

The man laughed, "What? Are you that envious of my beauty?"

Christina snapped her mouth shut, forgetting about her sandwich altogether. The man sitting in her chair was the same man from a week ago, although despite his hood, she was able to see some of his face. The first thing she noticed was large white eyes peering at her through thick, matted, brown locks of hair. The eyes were strained right on her in focus, and never blinked. The next thing Christina noticed was the man's smile, the ways it stretched up much farther than the average smile should. Then his skin. His skin seemed to be so pale white that she could distinctively see it in the dark room.

"Oh come on, I didn't come here just for you to gape at me. Say something," he said. Despite his chuckling however, Christina could hear the annoyance and threat in his words.

"H-hi," she croaked out.

The man laughed, his head leaning back on the recliner.

"Hi? Well hello to you too! How are you doing hun," he chuckled.

Christina stared at the man's face, his hood falling back when he brought his head forward. Her eyes widened at the sight of the clearly abnormally large smile in his seemingly bleached-white face. She could tell where his lips ended and where torn smile lines appeared to be cut into his cheeks. The once separated cheeks were together though at the corners of his mouth the lines seemed to crack open and scab over.

"I asked you a question," the man said, this time in a much darker tone that sent shivers up Christina's spine.

F-fine!" Christina instinctively replied.

"You're lying to me," the man whispered in a deadly monotone.

Christina's mind seemed to be on autopilot as she responded to this man, "I'm confused."

"Why?"

"Because," she began, a slight shake in her voice, "you're here."

The man sitting in front of her chuckled, "I decided to stop by."

"I... I thought I wasn't worth killing," she whispered, multiple thoughts and emotions surging through her. She was scared of this man; that much was clear to her. She was scared of his mutilated face and how he had been in her apartment for who knows how long. She was upset; sad because of the despairing thoughts of being worthless occupying much of her mind. And confused; baffled as to why he was here if he wasn't going to kill her.

"You're not, but that doesn't mean that I can't use you for other things," the man said, his grin widening.

Christina took a step back, tremors going through her tense body.

'No. Please just kill me. Please don't do anything else to me. Please. Just kill me,' she begged inside her head.

The man laughed at her anxious reaction, amused by the fear she showed. He had a momentary thought of killing her, now that she was finally scared of him, but decided against it. He was having far too much fun with her and planned of playing some more of this game.

"I need a place to stay, so I thought that you would be more than happy to accommodate me," he laughed, "After all, you're not scared of me-" anxiety surged through Christina by his whispered question, "are you?"

He was challenging her, Christina could tell. The man was trying to show her that he was in control, and she was too listen and agree without any problem, or face the consequences. Too much of her life had given Christina the clues to notice the behaviors from a mile away.

"N-no," she whispered out, hoping that it was satisfactory.

"Good," the man laughed in his chair, "What's your name sweetheart."

"Chr-Christina."

The man's grin grew by her quick response, his eyes lighting up as well. "Hhmmm, I'll call you Chrissy."

Christina nodded her head. She continued to stare at the man, her emotions and thoughts a hurricane inside her.

"I'm hungry Chrissy," the man commented.

"W-w-would you l-like a s-sandwich?"

"Yes, that would be nice," he replied with a satisfied smile.

Christina nodded and made her way back into the kitchen. She could feel his eyes on her as she got out the lunch meats, mayonnaise, and bread and began making the sandwich for him on the counter. Her back was to him, for which she was grateful as her wide eyes stared unblinking at her work.

'If he's not going to kill me, then what is he going to do? Mooch off me? Bring bodies here? Simply use my place as his secret hideaway? Or… is he going to use me… Is he going to torture me or hold me hostage… Is he going to-' Her thoughts were interrupted as she felt hot breath against her exposed neck.

"My name's Jeff by the way," he whispered. Shivers went up Christina's spine. He was so close. He was too close.

Jeff watched as Christina whipped herself around, a sandwich in her hand.

"H-here!"

Jeff took the sandwich from her grasp slowly, staring into her eyes the whole time. 'She's not afraid of me killing her,' Jeff thought to himself, 'But she's still scared of me.'

The realization amused him as he began to think of ways that she could entertain him. Jeff took a bite of the sandwich as he turned away from her and headed back to the recliner. Flopping down in the chair, he stared at her thin form. She wore baggy grey sweat pants and a t-shirt that hung loosely off her shoulders. She was gripping the counter behind her, a barely eaten sandwich resting off to the side. She was thin, as though she ate far less than the average person. The young woman's head was slightly bowed, her shoulders forward and her legs squeezed together.

"Why don't you come over here, sit," Jeff grinned as he gestured to the ratty couch that resided near his chair.

The woman nodded, her forgotten sandwich on the counter as she strode over and sat down on the couch, keeping her head down to avoid eye contact.

"Look at me."

Christina's head shot up and her eyes locked with the killer's own. Jeff laughed, seeing the fear in her small orbs. She was clearly submissive, something that Jeff could work with.

"Do you have a cell phone," he inquired, taking another bite out of his sandwich.

"No," she mumbled.

"A landline?"

She nodded.

"Why don't you bring that here Chrissy," he smiled at her.

Christina bolted up and scurried down the hallway to her room, her mind racing. 'I should call the police. No matter what he's going to hurt me some way, and if he doesn't hurt me, he'll hurt others.' She bent down to the floor and gripped the white hand held phone, the cord bouncing as she brought it up to her ear. 'Why couldn't he just kill me? If I call the police, then he can't hurt anyone else. I won't be responsible for the death of others. If I call the police, he can't use me for his own twisted desires. I have to be quick,' she thought as she began to push the numbers for 9-1-1.

"What's taking so long Chrissy," a shout echoed throughout her apartment.

'Shit!'

Before the second ring finished, Christina pulled the connection cord out of the wall. She picked all the parts up into her arms and hurried back to the living room.

Jeff sat in the same chair, his sandwich gone and his right foot resting on his left knee.

"I was getting worried Chrissy, thought something might have happened to you," he chuckled with a light bite in his tone.

Christina stood still, clutching the telephone to her chest as she stared at the man. He was toying with her. He had to of known that she had tried to call the police. Panic surged through her.

"Can I see it Chrissy," he questioned.

Hesitantly, Christina walked over to him and held it out, her arms shaking ever so slightly.

Jeff kept his mouth closed as he smirked at her, satisfied by her obedience. He took the phone out of her hands, which fell quickly to her side afterwards. He began to examine the phone, rotating it in his hand and pushing on some of the number buttons.

"Quite an old phone, looks like it was made in the 90's."

Christina nodded slowly as she watched him show mock interest in the communication device. In one simply motion, he pulled the curly handset cord out of the base and held the handset with his two hands. As easy as if the phone was a stick, he broke the thick plastic in half, wires bouncing out. Then, using his dirty finger nail, Jeff picked the buttons out of the base, each one falling to the floor.

"There," he said, handing the broken parts back to her, "that's much better."

Christina took the defiled phone into her hands, despair setting into her. Slowly, she walked into the kitchen and dropped the telephone into the plastic garbage can.

"You got any family Chrissy?"

Christina's head snapped up from the broken pieces to the killer that sat in her living room. 'Is… is he threatening me?'

"N-no," Christina responded honestly. She didn't have any family, no family that she knew the location of anyways. The only family she ever cared for were dead and her father… well she didn't know what she would do if she ever found her father's whereabouts.

"Hhmmm," Jeff squinted his eyes at her small frame then sighed, "Well, you're not going to find some way to get those pesky police officers here, are you."

It wasn't a question, it was a command. She was not to get help, or else he would do something to her. Whatever it was, Christina didn't feel inclined to allow the imagination of a serial killer to contemplate punishments for her.

"No."

Jeff smiled, enjoying every minute of entertainment his toy brought him.

"It's been a long night," he said in a smooth tone, smirking as shivers went up the woman's spine, "I'd like to get some sleep. Mind if I crash?"

Christina stared at him as he gestured to the couch, "N-no. Go ahead."

The killer continued to grin as he stood up, walked over to the couch and laid down on his side facing the back of the couch. Christina stared in astonishment, her mind trying to comprehend everything that had happened. A murderer that she met the other night broke into her home, still hadn't killed her, manipulated her into making him food, destroyed her only communication device, threatened her against getting help, and curled up on her couch. She could hardly believe all that was happening.

"I'm not fond of being stared at as I sleep," a low voice mumbled from the couch, causing Christina to jump in surprise as she realized she was staring.

"S-sorry," the woman squeaked out before walking down the hall to her own room. She shut the door lightly and slowly locked it.

'What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do? What am I doing!?'

Christina curled up in her bed, pulling the covers tight around her. Her eyes stayed wide open as she laid though, staring at the door.

.o.o.o.

Second chapter. I had some writers block writing the first meeting between them. I actually had written two other scenes that simply were not flowing correctly and ended up deleting them before finally settling with this. The song Snow White Queen by Evanescence is a haunting song about her experience with a stalker. The song goes back and forth between the stalker's perspective of idolizing her, craving her, manipulating her actions through her fear, and claiming her to her perspective of being scared, traumatized, and her helplessness. Thought it fit for this chapter. Heh…