"Miss Sanchez, how have you been off your meds?... Miss Sanchez... Miss Sanchez?" Dr. Smith's voice snapped, sharp and insistent, cutting through the heavy silence.

Adriana blinked, her mind clawing its way out of a fog. "Sorry. I was just... overwhelmed. Thoughts of work. And my... girlfriend," she murmured, her voice distant. A flicker of something dark crossed her lips—was it a smile? "What were we talking about? Oh, yes. I'm doing great off the meds." Her tone was almost convincing.

Dr. Smith shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He didn't like this. Adriana had been pushing to stop her medications for months, and now here she was, claiming she felt fine. Too fine. "Okay," he began cautiously, "tell me about this girlfriend of yours. This feels... sudden. Does she understand your condition?" His attempt at an encouraging smile faltered.

"Oh, she's perfect," Adriana said with an unsettling, almost dreamy lilt. "We've been seeing each other for longer than I told you..." Her words trailed off as the session timer beeped.

"Well," Dr. Smith said, visibly relieved, "that's all the time we have for today. Same time tomorrow? I want to hear more about her."

"Of course." Adriana's tone was polite, her expression vacant as she rose to leave.

The truth? Adriana's "girlfriend" didn't even know she existed.

Adriana climbed into her car, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. She sat there, staring blankly at the decrepit apartment complex she worked in. Her lips parted slightly as she whispered, "Five minutes won't hurt..."

Her phone was in her hand before she even finished the thought. She scrolled through her gallery, filled almost entirely with photos. The girl on the third floor, apartment 10. The girl who had unknowingly become Adriana's entire world.

Adriana's fingers lingered over one photo: the girl laughing, her hair catching the sunlight. Adriana had taken it from her car window. She'd watched as she stood outside her building, talking to a friend. She knew everything about her: when she left for work, what she ordered at her favorite takeout place, the men she flirted with, even the exact time she usually fell asleep.

"One day, amor. One day, you'll see. You'll understand," Adriana whispered, stroking the screen before reluctantly putting her phone away.

The apartment complex was a graveyard of neglect and decay. Adriana's footsteps echoed like a drumbeat of something inevitable as she entered the maintenance room. The walls peeled and flaked like rotting skin, and the air reeked of mold, sweat, and hopelessness.

"I hate this fucking place," she muttered, grabbing her toolbox and scanning her task list.

Fix public women's toilets. Third floor.

Her lips twitched into a crooked smile. The girl's floor.

The bathroom was worse than usual, the stench clawing at her throat. Adriana kicked open the door to the last stall and crouched down, the tools in her hands feeling heavy, almost like weapons.

Then the main door creaked open.

Adriana froze, her jaw tightening. Her irritation swelled like a dark tide. Someone had walked in. She'd forgotten to put up the "Out of Order" sign, but that didn't matter now. She sat there, waiting, her grip on her screwdriver tightening with each passing second.

Footsteps. The sound of a stall door creaking open.

Adriana slowly straightened, her towering frame casting a shadow over the dingy stall walls. Her lips curled into a cruel smile. "Debería joderlas," she whispered, her voice low and venomous.

She leaned over the top of the stall, her dark eyes narrowing. Her anger evaporated in an instant.

It was her.

Adriana's breath hitched. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared down at the unsuspecting girl. The faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air, mingling with the filth of the bathroom. Adriana's head swam.

"She's... perfect," Adriana thought, her hand trembling as it slid into her pants. Her movements were quick, fevered, desperate as she touched herself. She bit her lip hard, her teeth nearly breaking the skin, as she stared, every sound, every movement burning into her memory.

When she finished and left, Adriana barely had time to adjust herself. She stepped out of her stall, her chest heaving, and saw it: a bracelet, lying abandoned on the sink.

Adriana's hand trembled as she picked it up, her fingers brushing over the worn metal. "It's a sign," she whispered, her lips curling into a sick grin. "She left this for me. She wants me to have it."

Hours later, her shift ended, but Adriana didn't leave. She couldn't. She wasn't ready.

Instead, she climbed the stairs to the third floor and stood in front of apartment 10. She clutched the bracelet in one hand, her knuckles brushing the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Adriana leaned in close, her lips hovering near the peephole. "It's maintenance," she murmured, her voice soft, almost tender.