10. Myles #2
But on the other hand, I didn’t try to contact him again. I didn’t try too hard to spot him when I looked out my window or glanced around when I was walking around campus. And I didn’t go for another run until I was back home.
I told myself that was the responsible thing to do, but the only reason I did it was that I didn’t want confirmation that he’s moved on. I’ve gotten used to always being able to sense him around me, and I feel vulnerable when I don’t.
It’s like Schrodinger’s stalker, and he’s both out there and not out there as long as I don’t “open the box” and try to contact him again.
I get to keep my feelings of safety, even if they’re bogus, and I also get to pretend like I’m being responsible and not obsessing over a guy who brought me to my knees, quite literally, and got me hotter than anything ever has when he “forced” me to suck his dick.
That worked while I was finishing exams and trying to get through the last few days before the break, but not so much now that I’m back on campus and I have a week off with no real responsibilities beyond keeping myself alive.
I pause in front of the dresser where I put my 3D puzzles. The dragon looks the same, but the clock is showing the wrong time.
I stare at it for a few beats, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. I’ve had the hands in the same position since I built the thing during my first week at school. It’s silly to admit, but I set the hands at 2:17, which is the time I was born. The hands now read 4:22.
Another rush of terrified excitement tickles my chest at the discovery. There’s no logical reason the hands would be in a different place if there wasn’t a message behind it.
But what is it? Why 4:22? Is it supposed to represent a date, or maybe it’s a specific time that means something? Or is it just random, and the message is the scrambled hands, like proof he was here, and not the actual time on the clock?
Instead of changing them back, I leave the hands where they are and keep looking, going so far as to open all my dresser drawers and inspect my closet to make sure there aren’t any hidden differences or clues.
When I get to my desk, one of my Rubik's Cubes catches my eye. It’s a shadow cube, and what makes it different is that each of the individual blocks has a black, heat-activated coating on it, so the cube looks completely black until you warm it up and reveal the colored squares underneath.
I always leave that cube unsolved and use it as a sort of fidget spinner because the black coating covers up the mismatched colors, and it doesn’t set off my “must solve this” instinct like my other cubes do.
I also always keep it in the same place on the left side of my computer between my speaker and mouse pad when I’m not using it, and I know it was in its proper place before I left for the break.
The cube is still on the left side of my computer, but now it’s next to the statue of one of my assassin characters from a game we used to play that Echo had made for my birthday last year.
Hesitantly, I pick up the cube and cup my hands over as much of the surface area as I can.
I’m being paranoid. There’s no way this is anything more than one of the cleaners not putting it back in the same place after they wiped down my desk.
After twenty seconds, I open my hands and look at the cube. Only about three-quarters of the cube is visible under the black coating, but all the squares I can see are in the correct place.
“No way,” I say to myself and blow on the cube, using my breath to activate the squares that are still black. “Holy shit,” I mutter when all the squares are revealed.
It’s been solved.
I know that solving a Rubik’s Cube isn’t some crazy rare ability, but it’s not a common one. And it’s not something that someone would do, especially with a shadow cube, unless they were trying to send a message.
My heart is racing in my chest as I put the cube down on my desk and try to make sense of any of what’s going on.
Someone was in my room who shouldn’t have been, and they deliberately left clues behind so I’d know they were here. Why did they choose those three things to change, though?
Of all the stuff in my room, they moved a chess piece, changed the hands on my clock puzzle, and solved and moved one of my Rubik’s Cubes.
It had to be him. There’s no one else who could have done this.
Is this his way of saying he wants to play more games?
Heat pools in my belly, and my dick perks up as that familiar sensation of having eyes on me intensifies.
Is he watching me right now?
Without thinking too hard about what I’m doing, I go back over to my dresser and pull my curtains open. This time, when I look outside, I search the branches in front of my room for any sign of him. There’s nothing, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t out there.
Before I can change my mind, I rush back over to my desk and grab my notebook and a black marker. When I’m back in front of my window, I quickly write out a message, then press it against the glass.
It’s dark out, and I have no idea if he’ll even be able to see my message, but it’s worth a try.
Are you out there?
There’s no flash of light, but one of the branches in front of me shakes gently and rustles the leaves.
Was that him, or the wind?
Chewing on my lip, I flip the page of my notebook and scribble out another question.
Was that you?
The branch wiggles, and the leaves flutter and shake in a way that wouldn’t happen if it was just the wind.
The rush of excitement that moves through me is so strong it takes my breath away, and I have to bite back my grin as I lower my notebook and write out my next message.
Before I show it to him, I pick up the pawn that was moved, then hold it up, then put it back on the board in the same place I found it as I press my next question to the glass.
Did you do this?
The branch shakes.
That doesn’t freak me out nearly as much as it should, and I scribble out a new message. This time, before I show it to him, I push one of the black pawns forward two spaces in a counter move.
Is this what you want? To play a game?
I can’t stop my smile when the leaves rustle again.
There are so many things I want to ask him, like why did he solve the shadow cube or move the hands on my clock, but I hold back. I want to know the answers, but they’re not yes or no questions. Instead I ask one that’s been on my mind since the first time I held a message up for him in my window.
Did you like playing in the woods with me?
The branch shakes again. My chest tightens, and my stomach swoops at how much more forceful this shake is than the ones before it.
I flip the page and write out another question that’s been on my mind since that night.
Do you want to do it again sometime?
As much as I want to experience that again, now isn’t the time.
It’s too dark out, and I’d spend more time tiptoeing around and trying not to fall on my face than I would running or hiding from him.
If we’re going to do it again, then I want the full experience, and it won’t be the same without the hunt.
The branch shakes almost as soon as I press the page against my window, and I grin at how enthusiastic it looks, even compared to the last “yes” answer.
An idea pops into my head, and I write out my question before I can talk myself out of it.
Do you want to watch me touch myself right now?
My dick is rock hard, and my skin feels tight and hot. I’m more turned on after a few window messages than I’ve been since that night in the woods, and the idea of him watching me get off while I’m thinking about him is way sexier than it has any business being.
The branch shakes again, much more forcefully than before, and his apparent enthusiasm makes me grin.
This is insane, and I’m going to need so much therapy when everything is said and done, but whatever. I have the chance to explore one of my fantasies, and I’m taking it.
It’s not like I’ll ever have a chance to do any of this again, and if I’m going to get offed on campus, then I want to have some fun before I die.
The lights are on in my room, and even though there’s no possible way anyone else can see what I’m doing, I feel completely exposed and vulnerable, like I’m live streaming this to the world and not just in my room alone with my stalker watching.
That isn’t helped by the fact that I can faintly see my reflection in the glass, but instead of being a turnoff, it just makes me want more as I step back from my dresser so I’m better framed in the window for him.
There’s a brief moment of panic when I pull off my jacket and then my sweater, but I push it aside as I toss the garments on my desk chair.
I’ve never been impulsive, but that’s not because I don’t have impulsive thoughts and urges.
It’s because I’m good at talking myself out of things, even when I really want to do them.
Right now, I’m not talking myself out of this.
Shaking off the last of my hesitation, I pull my shirt off and throw it aside. The sudden influx of cool air against my heated skin sends a shiver dancing up my spine that only adds to my feelings of being exposed and vulnerable. My nipples pebble, and I gently brush my fingers over one of them.
The gasp that escapes me at the little jolt of pleasure is soft in the quiet room, but my moan when I do it again is loud and unrestrained. Wanting more, I run my hand down the front of my torso and rub my palm over my cock.
I’m already rock hard and leaking, and the rough scrape of denim over the soft material of my boxer briefs feels incredible against my sensitive cock.
Jesus. I’m already halfway to finishing, and I haven’t even pulled my dick out. Hopefully he thinks my eagerness is a turn-on and he doesn’t judge me too hard because there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to hold out once I start.