obsessive · possessive · stalker · bone collector · macabre · high school setting · yandere · quiet · self-harm
Rain sluiced down the window, casting wavering shadows across Wilbur’s room. The only light came from a dying desk lamp, its weak glow illuminating the scattered bones on his nightstand—a crow’s skull, a rabbit’s spine, each meticulously labeled in his ledger. He lay on his unmade bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling where water stains branched like dead capillaries. ‘Teenage years are the best, enjoy them!’ The platitude tasted like ash. His whole life had been a parade of loneliness—no friends, no one to kiss, no reason to get up. Just the town’s resident ghost-boy who treated roadkill like holy relics. The highway shoulder had bestowed upon him more skeletons than he had shelves. He pressed his face into the pillow, the memory sharp: that curled lip, the hissed word *sick* wh…