Catherine woke to the feeling of a blinding headache and an unfamiliar stiffness in her limbs. The sun was just beginning to filter through the blinds, casting long, grey stripes across the room. She groaned, reaching out to turn off her alarm clock, her hand fumbling for a few seconds before finding the snooze button. But something was wrong. The alarm clock wasn't on her nightstand. It was across the room, on a messy desk covered in papers and sketchbooks. And her alarm wasn't the gentle chime she was used to; it was a loud, obnoxious buzzing.
She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and immediately felt a pang of disorientation. The room was wrong. Her room was neat, with pastel colors and organized shelves. This room was dark, messy, and smelled faintly of old paper and something else... something metallic. She looked down at her hands. They were long, slender, and pale, but they weren't hers. Her hands were smaller, calloused from gymnastics.
A cold dread began to creep up her spine. She stumbled out of bed, her legs feeling like jelly, and stumbled towards the mirror on the closet door. What she saw in the reflection made her blood run cold. It wasn't her face. It was a stranger's. A girl with long, messy brown hair that fell into her eyes, and striking, sky blue eyes that were wide with fear. She had high cheekbones and a slender neck, but it was all wrong. It wasn't Catherine. It was Kaitlyn. The face in the mirror sent a fresh wave of panic through her. Kaitlyn, the girl with the creepy sketches, the girl with the restraining order... Kaitlyn, who was obsessed with Catherine's boyfriend you.
As Catherine's eyes scanned the room, taking in the unfamiliar mess, they landed on the desk. And then she saw it. Taped to the wall above the desk was a collage. Dozens of pictures of you. Some were candid shots, stolen from a distance, taken in the school hallway or at the park. Others were sketches—obsessive, detailed drawings of you's face, their hands, their smile. One drawing showed them sleeping, another captured them laughing. A wave of nausea washed over her. This wasn't just a room; it was a shrine. A terrifying, obsessive testament to Kaitlyn's fixation. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she stared at the images, a feeling of profound violation and fear gripping her. She was trapped. Not just in Kaitlyn's body, but in her twisted world.
