7. Elena
Elena
I woke to the sound of movement in the apartment, my body sore in ways that reminded me exactly what had happened before I’d fallen asleep. The bed beside me was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. I sat up, disoriented, trying to remember what time it was, how long I’d been asleep.
I heard water running in the kitchen, the sound of a glass being set down on the counter. Dominic must have gotten up for water, must be trying not to wake me. The consideration was sweet, thoughtful, exactly the kind of gesture that made me feel guilty for not telling him about Marcus.
I should get up. I should go to him, explain everything, show him the photographs I’d hidden in the drawer. Tomorrow was already here, technically. I’d promised Lucia I would deal with this first thing in the morning. There was no reason to wait any longer.
I was about to get out of bed when I heard it; a sound that didn’t belong, that made my blood run cold with recognition.
The soft whisper of paper sliding under my apartment door.
The sound was distinctive, unmistakable, exactly the same sound I’d heard numerous times over the past eight months. Marcus was here. He was outside my door right now, delivering another photograph, another piece of evidence that his obsession hadn’t diminished despite my relationship with Dominic.
I heard Dominic’s footsteps moving toward the door, heard him pause, heard the rustle of paper being picked up. The silence that followed was absolute, suffocating, the kind of quiet that preceded violence.
Then I heard him move again, his footsteps quick and purposeful, heading toward the kitchen.
I heard a drawer open, the drawer where I’d hidden the photographs; heard his sharp intake of breath as he discovered what I’d been hiding.
The silence that followed was worse than any sound could have been.
I got out of bed, pulled on the first thing I could find, Dominic’s t-shirt from earlier, and walked into the kitchen on unsteady legs.
He was standing by the counter, the drawer open in front of him, the photographs I’d hidden spread across the granite surface.
In his other hand, he held new photographs, the ones that had just been delivered.
His expression when he looked up at me was something I’d never seen before, a combination of shock and betrayal and a rage so complete it transformed his features into something dangerous.
“What the fuck is this?” His voice was quiet, controlled, more frightening than if he’d been shouting. “What the fuck are these photographs, Elena?”
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t find words adequate to explain what he was looking at. He didn’t wait for my answer. He held up the new photographs, the ones that had just been delivered, and I saw what Marcus had captured.
Us. Tonight. Through my bedroom window. Every intimate moment we’d shared, documented with the clinical precision of someone who’d been watching the entire time. The violation was complete, devastating, exactly what I’d been trying to avoid by not telling Dominic about Marcus in the first place.
“Someone was watching us.” Dominic’s voice was still quiet, still controlled, but I could see the rage building beneath the surface, could see his hands shaking as he held the photographs.
“Someone was outside your window, watching us fuck, taking pictures, and you knew. You fucking knew someone was there, and you didn’t tell me. ”
“Dominic…”
“How long?” The question was sharp, demanding. “How long have you known about this?”
“Eight months.”
The admission hung in the air between us, heavy with accusation and betrayal. Dominic set down the photographs with careful precision, his movements controlled in a way that suggested he was barely maintaining composure.
“Eight months.” He repeated the words as though testing them, as though trying to make them make sense.
“You’ve known for eight months that someone was stalking you, photographing you, and you said nothing.
You let me believe everything was fine. You let me…
” He stopped, his jaw clenching, his hands fisting at his sides.
“We just had sex, Elena. We just had sex while this sick fuck was outside your window taking pictures, and you knew. You knew he was out there, and you said nothing.”
“I didn’t know he was outside tonight. I didn’t know he would…”
“But you knew he existed. You knew someone was stalking you, and you invited me over anyway. You let me touch you, fuck you, while this man was documenting every moment for his own twisted purposes.” His voice was rising now, the control slipping, the rage breaking through.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any concept of the violation you’ve allowed to happen? ”
“I was scared.” The excuse sounded pathetic even to my own ears.
“I was scared of how you would react, scared of what you would do if you found out. Your intensity already frightens me sometimes, Dominic. I was afraid that if I told you about Marcus, you would do something reckless, something that would ruin your career.”
“So you lied to me instead. You let me believe I was the only one watching you, the only one who wanted you, while this man was building his obsession into something that now includes me.” He picked up one of the new photographs, the image of us in bed together, and I saw his hand shake with barely contained fury.
“He has photographs of us having sex, Elena. Explicit, detailed photographs that he can do whatever the fuck he wants with. He can post them online, send them to the media, use them to destroy both of our careers. And you let this happen because you were too scared to tell me the truth.”
“I’m sorry.” The apology was inadequate, hollow, exactly what he deserved but nowhere near enough. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I should have gone to the police months ago. I made the wrong choice, and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix this.” He was pacing now, his body vibrating with barely contained energy, his mind clearly racing through possibilities and consequences.
“Sorry doesn’t erase these photographs. Sorry doesn’t undo the fact that some obsessed stranger has been watching you, watching us, for months. ”
He stopped pacing, turned to face me, and the expression on his face was something I’d never seen before; a combination of hurt and fury and betrayal that made my chest tighten with guilt.
“I need to leave.” His voice was flat, emotionless, more frightening than his earlier rage.
“I need to not be here right now, because if I stay, I’m going to do something I’ll regret.
I’m going to find this man and hurt him in ways that will land me in prison.
I need to leave before I do something that proves you were right to be afraid of me. ”
“Dominic, please…”
“No.” The word was sharp, final. “You don’t get to ask me to stay.
You don’t get to ask me for anything right now.
You lied to me, Elena. You let me believe I knew you, that I understood what we were building together, while you were hiding something this significant.
You don’t get to ask me for comfort or understanding or forgiveness. Not tonight.”
He walked past me without touching me, without any of the casual affection that had become habitual between us.
I heard him moving around my bedroom, heard the rustle of fabric as he dressed.
When he emerged, he was fully clothed, his expression closed off in a way that made him look like a stranger.
He paused at the door, his hand on the knob, his back to me.
“Call the police. File a report. Get a restraining order. Do whatever you should have done eight months ago.” His voice was cold, distant, nothing like the warmth I’d grown accustomed to. “I’ll be back tomorrow. We’ll figure out what happens next. Right now, I just need to not be here.”
The door closed behind him with a quiet click that felt louder than a slam.
I stood in the middle of my apartment, staring at the closed door, feeling the weight of my choices settle over me like a shroud.
The photographs were still spread across my kitchen counter, evidence of eight months of surveillance and one night of violation that I’d allowed to happen through my own cowardice.
Lucia had been right. Avoidance hadn’t made the problem disappear. It had just given it time to grow, to fester, to transform into something worse.
I walked to the counter, gathered the photographs with shaking hands, and stared at the images of Dominic and me together. The violation was complete, devastating, exactly what I’d been trying to avoid by keeping Marcus’s obsession private.
I’d failed. I’d failed to protect myself, failed to protect Dominic, failed to do anything except make the situation worse through my own fear and stubbornness.
The regret was useless now.
I picked up my phone and dialed 911, my voice steady as I reported the stalking, requested an officer be sent to take a statement and collect evidence. The operator’s questions were clinical, professional, exactly what I needed to keep myself from falling apart.
The police would arrive soon. They would take my statement, collect the photographs, begin building a case against Marcus. Dominic would come back tomorrow, and we would figure out what happened next, if there was anything left to figure out after the betrayal of my silence.
I sat on my couch and waited for the police, surrounded by evidence of my own failure, wondering if Dominic would ever forgive me for the choice I’d made to protect him from his own intensity.
The irony was devastating. I’d been so afraid of his possessiveness, so convinced that his reaction would be worse than the stalking itself, that I’d allowed Marcus to violate both of us in ways that could never be undone.
Lucia had been right about everything.
The police arrived twenty-three minutes later.