15. Hoodie Guy
Chapter fifteen
Hoodie Guy
I watch her, my beautiful clover, with rapt anticipation strumming through my body, as she looks over her shoulder with undisguised wariness once again after leaving her last class, in which I left her a little note, discreetly tucked into the front pocket of her bag. It made my heart sing with glee when she emitted that high-pitched squeak, as she reached for a pen, and instead found my present, as I sat across the lecture hall from her, forcing myself not to grin or look in her direction. It was almost too easy slipping it in there, when I brushed past her as we went up the stairs. She really should be more careful; not everyone around her has good intentions.
The dark corners of my mind light up with possible ways of causing her to make other noises, ones that bring unrestricted pleasure to my soul. I try not to look too closely at why I want that, since I know it’s not exactly normal. It’s not even a matter of wanting her anymore. She’s not a toy I wish to play with. She’s an ardent need inside of me, one that threatens to consume me whole with an uncontrollable scorch ing blaze. All my thoughts day and night now revolve around this woman. She’s the air I breathe, the light in my darkness, and the reason my blood hums in my veins.
She crosses the grassy quad, and stops to speak to another female student a few feet away from me, her sweet, melodic voice being carried on the wind. My eyes trail over the pretty cream sundress with a red cherry print she’s wearing, that hits her at knee length, and leaves her toned calves on display. I bet she doesn’t realize that, in the sunlight, the material is almost sheer, and displays her lush curves for anyone glancing at her. The swell of her round breasts peek over the scalloped edges of the material, and cause my mouth to water with heady anticipation to taste them. I observe with humor that her body is tense, her shoulders are up by her ears, and her eyes keep darting around the open space, attempting cautious glances. Does she sense me watching her? Does she know how very close I am to her at this very moment? Almost close enough to reach out, and touch the strands of her wavy brunette hair. A part of me wants to try, just to see what she’ll do, but I force myself to stay still. Soon, she’ll be mine, and then I can do what I wish with her.
My obsession with Phoebe Murphy started in an unlikely way back in Illinois years ago, when my family was indebted to hers, for my father’s drunken gambling bets. She probably never even noticed me in all the years we lived in the same area, and went to the same church. I was nothing then, and much like her, I decided to run from my family, and start a new life away from the corrupt system that kept us both prisoners. Our shared pasts give us commonality, but that’s where it ends. Phoebe was a beautiful princess, and now she’s a tarnished whore. Her fate has taken a turn that no one, including her, would have expected. In contrast, mine has only stabilized, and become easier to bear.
Who would have guessed that the day I spied her, outside of her class last semester, and followed her around for a few days, would be so interesting? If someone had told me the only sister of the head of the Irish Mafia in Chicago was out in California, hiding under an alias, and doing porn, I would have laughed in their faces, and asked them what they were smoking. Yet, after watching her, and following her to the warehouse where she does, in fact, perform for a paying audience, I was shocked. It didn’t take me more than a few days to find her videos on their subscribers’ site, and I have enjoyed watching her ever since. I couldn’t afford her top-tier stuff, so I used my skills to hack her system. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my higher education at work, and being used for something other than corporate greed.
It brings me a sick, perverse joy, seeing the depths the spoiled princess has been reduced to. Her cold demeanor back in Chicago always made her unapproachable, and her brother’s violent temper made her untouchable. Couple that with those two simpering psychopaths that never left her side, and everyone gave her a wide berth growing up. Now she’s here all alone, hiding who she is, and I have my chance. To do what, I am not entirely sure yet. A part of me wants to play with Phoebe a bit, like a spider does with a fly caught in its web. I find her fascinating, as if she were one of the pretty butterflies I used to tear the wings off when I was growing up, to see how long they could survive without them, or the alley cats whose tails I would cut off, to see if they would still land on their feet, and have perfect balance. I want to see inside of Phoebe Murphy’s mind and body. I want to know what makes her tick, what causes her pain, and how much she can endure. I want to hear her beg and scream. I want her to plead, with my name on her lips, as her sweet and delicious tears slide down her face.
Do I know that’s more than a little unhinged? Sure. Does it mean I plan to stop, and forget all about the girl who I spent years crushing on, when she didn’t even know it? Not even for a second. I know that what was once a normal childish crush has turned into a raving obsession, where I can’t think about anything except her. My days now begin and end with Phoebe Murphy, or should I say Phoebe Smitherson, as she’s now calling herself.
“Yeah, his class is brutal, one of the worst I have ever taken, and don’t even get me started on all the papers I had to write last term.” I listen to her with amusement, and try to hide my smirk, as I lean back against the brick half-wall, and pretend to be reading something on my phone. She scans the grounds again, looking for someone with a dark hoodie like the one I have tucked away in my backpack. It’s way too hot out here today, even for me to be wearing one. Poor sweet Irish princess, you don’t even know who the villain is that may mean you harm.
I watch with intensity as she drags her long, thick hair off of her slender neck, which would look amazing with a collar strapped to it, and uses her graceful hands to pull it into a high ponytail on the top of her head. I much prefer her natural dark hair, to the gross blonde wig she wears, as she’s performing sexual acts for strangers. The desire to run my fingers through the silky strands and wrap them around my fist, forcing her to arch that pretty neck of hers, while I take her mouth, has starred in many of my fantasies. As has her lovely pink pussy, and that puckered hole she loves to display, adorned with jewelry. My obsession with her has only grown more powerful, and unhinged, in the last couple of weeks. Every moment in her unaware presence is a hit of dopamine to my brain, forcing me to become addicted, and crave her more and more.
I’ve tried to work up the courage to speak to her in person, but chickened out almost every time, except for once when I forced myself to sit next to her, at the coffee shop with the tarot reading, and weird Tibetan chanting music, she loves to go to. I had hoped that she might have recognized me from back home, so that I could tell her that she was safe now, that I would protect her from her family, and help her continue to hide her identity, but instead, she looked right through me, as if I didn’t even matter. For over an hour, I sat at the small bistro table right next to her, breathing in and savoring her roses and vanilla scent, while she scrolled on her phone, and drank her sugary butterscotch coffee concoction, and not once did she acknowledge me sitting there. Not once did she attempt polite conversation with the person at the table next to her. I wanted so desperately to hear her voice directed solely at me. Yet, even when I purposely dropped my napkin next to her chair, she made no attempt to pick it up. That’s when I realized it didn’t matter that we were both far from our families, and who we once were. Nothing had changed for either of us. I was still unworthy of the Irish princess, even in this new life I had built for myself.
That’s when I allowed my anger to take root, and made a poor judgment call. One I have regretted ever since, and is now causing me tons of anxiety. Instead of just working up the courage to talk to her, like a normal human being, or trying at that moment to understand that she perhaps is fearful of everyone around her, because of her circumstances, I lost my sanity. I went on a rampage, allowing hate to momentarily take root inside of me. I anonymously forwarded her cam girl link to none other than her enemy, and waited with bated breath for the world to come down around her. Every single day since, I have been waiting for that fucker Nicolo Amato to show up, and force her back home to Chicago. Except now I know that I will murder him if he tries.
I t ighten my grip around my phone, almost cracking the screen at the thought of him taking what now belongs to me away from me. He had his chance with her. He had years at her side, and I have only had a few short months. I have no doubt that he’s coming to reclaim his bride. I may be hiding out in California just like Phoebe is, but I still manage to get news from back home. I know she left the obtuse cunt standing at the altar on their wedding day. The question I am sure everyone and their momma wants to know is why. They were thick as thieves growing up, and I’m sure she had to know that he had a crush on her most of his life, since it was so obvious to see. Something happened to make Phoebe run, and how she got out of Chicago undetected, and unscathed, by both the Irish and Italian mafia, is a mystery I seek to discover.
“I have to go, Sonja. Forward me the notes, and I’ll look over them after my next class,” she waves at the girl she’s talking to, and starts to make her way toward the cafeteria. I allow her to get across the quad from me, before picking up my backpack from the grass and trailing behind her, all while keeping an eye out for the man she was supposed to marry, or her brother’s lieutenant, Aiden ‘Massacre’ Doyle.
If either one of them thinks they are going to take away what belongs to me now, they have another thing coming. I will end Phoebe’s precious life before I allow her to leave me. I am done sharing her; she’s mine, my pretty clover. They had their chances, and they wasted them. I won’t make the same mistake.
With a small smile gracing my lips, I get in line behind her in the cafeteria line for food. Eat up, baby. You’re going to need your strength, when I take you away from all of this, and keep you safe.