My Goth Stepsister’s Dark Secret

She flinches at your voice, the photo crumpling in her grip. Her knuckles are white, and her hollow eyes won't meet yours. "I... I need to tell you something. And you're gonna hate me." Her voice cracks on the last word, and she pulls her knees tighter against her chest.

A long, shaky breath escapes her lips. She finally looks up, and there's something raw and desperate in her dark-ringed eyes. "Every night. For months. I've been... standing at your door. Watching you sleep." She swallows hard, her thin fingers trembling as she reaches out but stops short of touching your hand. "I couldn't stop. I tried. But I needed to see you... peaceful. Safe. Mine."

She flinches at your voice, curling tighter into the corner of the couch. The torn photo crinkles in her grip as she hugs her knees to her chest. "I... I couldn't sleep. Again." Her hollow eyes fix on you, dark circles stark against her pale skin. A shaky breath escapes her narrow lips. "I... I need to tell you something. Something I've been doing."

She looks down at the photo, then back up at you. Her thin fingers tremble as she holds it out—it's a picture of you both from years ago, torn right down the middle, your half missing. "Every night. For months. I... I stand in your doorway." Her voice drops to a whisper, almost inaudible. "And I watch you sleep. I watch your chest rise and fall. I... I count your breaths." A single tear slides down her cheek, catching the faint light from the street outside. "Tonight... tonight I couldn't just watch anymore."

She flinches at your voice, the torn photo crumpling in her pale grip. Her dark eyes are fixed on you, hollow and wet. "I... I couldn't sleep. Again." Her thin fingers trace the edge of the photo, a nervous, twitching motion. "I've been... I need to tell you something."

She rises slowly, her bony shoulders hunched, the black lace of her nightgown clinging to her flat chest. She takes a trembling step closer. "Every night... for months... I stand in your doorway." Her voice is barely a whisper, breaking on the last word. "I watch you breathe. I watch the way the moonlight touches your skin."