Chapter 5
Like A Normal Person
Hannah
My mind is running a million miles an hour as we walk up the steps to the fourth floor of our building.
So much has happened tonight that I need to process it.
Organize it into something rational. Otherwise, I’m worried I’ll erupt all over Damian.
Say things I’ll regret. On the other hand, I don’t want to give him some watered-down version of me.
Someone who chooses other people’s comfort over their own.
I’ve been that woman way too many times before, and I hate her. I’m sick of her.
I head straight for my door but then halt and stare at it once I reach it. Stymied.
“I don’t have the keys,” I tell Damian. “They’re in my purse.”
He hesitates, eyeing me like I’m something wild, unpredictable. Then he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a ring of keys, gently bumps me aside with his hip, and opens my door.
I stand there with my mouth dropped open, gaping.
“I’m, uh, a hacker and also kinda your landlord.” A tiny shrug of his shoulders. “I bought this building a few years before you moved here.”
He steps to the side to let me walk in, then follows, closing the door behind us with a soft click.
There’s a yowl and an explosion of black-and-white fur as Mr. Wiggles shoots across the room. I turn and hold my arms out, ready for him to leap into them like he always does, but to my absolute shock Mr. Wiggles flies right past me and into Damian’s hands.
What the hell?
I stare disbelieving at my cat, the same cat who hisses and swipes with open claws at anyone who isn’t me, now curling in Damian’s arms like a baby and gently licking Damian’s chin.
“Wha—wha—what’s happening?” I croak out.
Damian has the decency to look uncomfortable as he unsuccessfully tries to peel my cat off his chest. A few tugs and Mr. Wiggles just digs his claws even further into Damian’s shirt until Damian gives up and stands there with the cat glued to him, looking miserable but petting Mr. Wiggles’ head while the cat purrs.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “He hates everyone but me.”
“Well,” Damian begins, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Remember how you told me that the neighbors were complaining. Saying he cried, meowed, so loud when you left him for work?”
“Yeah.” I draw the word out, still not understanding.
“You know, I’m right down the hall.”
“Yeah,” I repeat.
“And he really was loud. Like I could barely get any work done.”
“Okay…” I trail off, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.
“So I did what any good neighbor would do.” He chews on his lip, looking everywhere but at me.
“And what’s that…exactly?”
“I catnapped him,” Damian says in a rush.
“What?!” I rear back. “What do you mean you catnapped my cat?”
He finally looks at me. “Every day. When you go to work. I come over and get Mr. Wiggles. He spends the day at my place. Keeping me company. Walking all over my keyboards.” A fond glance down at the feline in his arms. “Chewing on my shoes, my very expensive shoes might I add. And eating all the food in my house. Right before you get home, I sneak him back in here so he’s waiting for you. ”
Damian waits, scanning my face for a reaction. When there isn’t one, he gives a small, hopeful smile and says, “See? We’re like cat co-parents. He’s so much happier with the both of us in his life.” Damian gives me a solemn nod. “Isn’t that what’s most important, Hannah? That Mr. Wiggles is happy?”
I lose it.
“What the fuck?!” I go to grab Mr. Wiggles, but he’s still got his claws in Damian’s shirt, plus Damian holds onto him so soon we’re in the middle of a full-on cat tug-of-war. Mr. Wiggles yowls in protest.
“You fucking stole my cat? Who does that?” I rant, my face on fire, my breath coming in angry spurts.
“And what do you mean when I come home? How the fuck do you know when I’m coming home?
What about two weeks ago when I had a migraine and came back early.
Mr. Wiggles was here waiting for me. How did that happen? ”
Finally, I have the cat in my arms. I yank him into my chest, ignoring how he squirms, trying to break free.
The traitor.
Damian is frozen, staring at me with wide, fearful eyes.
Details come trickling back in then, things from earlier in the car and at the restaurant.
“How did you know Mr. Jones and Ms. Whittle never go to each other’s apartments?”
Puzzle pieces drop into place like I’m playing mental Tetris.
“When I was having my allergic reaction, I could still hear you,” I say slowly.
Damian gulps and takes a step back.
“You knew the names of my parents. How I call them on Sundays.” I drop Mr. Wiggles to the floor, where he slinks a few feet away and starts licking his paws, looking disinterested.
I’m pacing now. “You knew I talk to my friends on the phone for hours.” I gasp, whirl around, and point at him. Damian shrinks back like I just pulled a gun.
My voice rises. “Wait! How did you know about the peanuts? My allergy? Where I keep my EpiPen?”
Everything clicks into place as reality comes crashing down.
“Oh my god,” I cry out. “Are you stalking me? Are you a stalker? Like a genius-level hacker and a cat nabber and my landlord and a stalker? Is that who you are?”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Damian and I stand frozen. Just staring at each other.
He moves. “Look, Hannah. I can explain.” Hands up, he approaches me, but I shrink back, suddenly terrified. Of him. Of what this all means.
“Stop!” I tell him, and he does.
“I don’t want to hear it.” I’m pacing again, muttering to myself.
“I’m going to have to move. Which really sucks because I love this place.
” I wave my hand around, randomly pointing.
“Do you know how hard it is in this city to get an east-facing one bedroom with good morning light? Huh? Do you?” My voice rises to a near shriek, but I don’t care. I’m too busy feeling betrayed.
“You don’t have to go anywhere.” His hands are still up, placating.
“Yes,” I insist. “Yes, I do. I have to go somewhere safe.” I glare at him. “Where my cat is safe.”
“You’re safe with me,” he argues. “Mr. Wiggles is safe with me. I’ve taken good care of him for two solid years now.” In a voice so soft I almost miss it, he adds, “I could take good care of you too, Hannah.”
“What?” I stop pacing and stand there with my heart in my throat. My mouth dry. “What did you just say?”
Surer now, Damian pulls himself to his full height, which is quite frankly impressive. My eyes dip to his muscles, his chest, his legs, like they just can’t help themselves.
“I said,” he enunciates slowly, “I can take care of you too.”
He advances a step, and I move back.
“You’re right.” He sets his jaw. “I have been stalking you. Watching you.”
Another step closer, which I match with a backward movement. My heart is hammering now, and I can’t tell if it’s from fear…or something else.
“There’s a camera up there.” He points to the heating vent high on the wall. “And a microphone too.”
I gasp, my hand coming to my chest.
“I watch you every day. Just in here, your living room. Not your bedroom or your bathroom.” Another step. I move back but bump into the wall. There’s nowhere left to run.
Damian keeps coming, his voice low but steady.
Strong. “For two years now, I’ve been studying you.
” He’s on me now. Close enough to feel the heat of him, the restraint.
He picks up a single lock of my hair and winds it through his fingers, his eyes, those intense crystalline blue eyes, never leaving mine.
“I’ve learned what you like. What you don’t like.
” He brings his lips to my ear, his breath hot, and yet a shiver goes through me. “What you want. What you need.”
My breath hitches at that word. Warmth pools in my core. Need. He says it like he’s completely sure. Totally confident that he can give me what I want.
I press my palm flat to his chest. Firm.
“No.”
Damian freezes instantly.
That alone matters.
His hands lift, empty, deliberate. He steps back, giving me space. I suck in a deep breath. My pulse is racing—not because he touched me, but because he listened.
I swallow. “You don’t get to decide what I need. Not after what you just told me.”
His jaw tightens. He nods once. “You’re right.”
That word, right, hit harder than any excuse could’ve.
“I have to know something,” I say, forcing my voice to be steady. “Did you ever plan on telling me?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” he admits quietly.
No spin. No charm. “I thought I was okay with it. Living by myself. My only real, or not so real, interaction watching you, but I see I was lonely and now that I’ve spent time with you, well…
it’s not going to be enough. Going back to how things were.
I want more. I want…” He swallows, his throat bobbing, then finishes his thought, “you. I want you, Hannah.”
That honesty is dangerous. It makes me want to run, but it also makes me want to stay…and that terrifies me.
I fold my arms. “You don’t get to keep me by trapping me.”
“I know.” He looks wrecked. “That’s why I’m telling you now. And why I’m not touching you unless you ask me to.”
Silence stretches between us. Heavy. Charged.
I should throw him out.
Instead, I ask, “What else do you know about me?”
He hesitates. “Do you want the truth?”
“Yes.”
He exhales. “Everything.”
My chest tightens.
“Let me prove it to you,” he continues, his voice rough. He glances at the clock over my stove. “We’ve got one hour left.”
“One hour of what?” I frown, baffled.
“Valentine’s Day.” His eyes never leave mine. “Let me prove that I can give you the perfect Valentine’s date. You deserve it. Meet me on the roof. Thirty minutes.”
I laugh once, sharp. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.” A beat. “You don’t have to come. I’ll walk away if you say the word.”
I search his face, really look this time, trying to find the man underneath.
Obsessive? Yes.
Dangerous? Probably.
Liar? No.
“What happens if I don’t show up?” I ask.