17. Carter
seventeen
carter
I sit in my new apartment across from Sydney’s brownstone. I’m one level up, with a perfect view in through her front-facing windows. With the help of binoculars, I can see everything.
She’s cleaning with an unmatched fervor.
But it’s Monday morning, and I expect she’s just delaying the inevitable trip to school. I don’t have class until later, and my muscles are getting stiff from remaining in the same position for so long.
The apartment I’m in is empty except for a cot and the chair I currently occupy. The lease is paid through the end of the semester in cash, above the asking rent price, and the owner was kind enough to not put my name on a lease.
I don’t think anyone would go looking into who’s living across from her, but I don’t want to make my intentions obvious. Especially with that fucking goalie circling…
The fact that she even transferred here is a tragedy. If I knew what the SJU administration was going to do, I never would’ve showed Coach those plays. Or I would’ve lied about where they came from. And if there was something different I could’ve said to the ethics board to put the blame on me instead of her, I would’ve done that in a heartbeat.
Her best friend, Scarlett—ex-friend, I suppose, since they haven’t seen each other in quite a while—has been all over me at parties and when she catches me between classes.
Avoiding her has been a full-time job. She wears red lipstick that she might think is hot, but all I can picture is the color hiding spilled blood.
I like blood.
I like the idea of Sydney’s blood.
It’s one of those fucked-up fantasies that I haven’t been able to find someone to act out with me. Sex with Syd is too good. And there’s this undercurrent of thrill that keeps me coming back to her.
But we never got to the point where I could push her. There was just… possibility.
She’s still wearing Walker’s necklace, and she hesitates holding his sweatshirt. I will her not to put it on, but it’s also armor. I can’t blame her for wanting protection, or her hesitation. The double-edged sword sits heavy in her hands.
After a long moment, she tugs it over her head.
The black fabric hangs on her slim frame, the sleeves too long for her, too. She pushes them up to her elbows and tucks the necklace in, hiding it from sight. Her long dark hair is in a crown braid, and only a few strands came loose from putting it on.
I let out a sigh.
Once she’s gone, striding down the street with purpose, her backpack on both shoulders and her head held high, I leave my brownstone and slip into hers. I have a copy of her key, so the semantics on whether it’s breaking and entering—or just entering—could be debated.
A frantic call to maintenance about her stove being left on secured me entrance while she was at school one day, and I took the spare she had in her kitchen. Once it was copied, I replaced it.
She never noticed.
She hasn’t noticed when I’ve been in here this past week either, but that’s going to change. I want her to feel my presence. Not the Carter Masters she associates with currently, but the darker side of me. The one who wants to pull at her until she comes apart.
What she has begun to sense, however, is that I’m following her. She glances around more, double-checking over her shoulder.
It’s a long, drawn-out hunt.
Poor Sydney. I feel almost bad that she thinks I’m some safety net for her. It’s the last thing I can be.
It’s time for my stalking to be more apparent.
I move some things around. I yank open the dresser drawers in her room, rifling through her panties. Some cotton, some lace, some thongs. Buried at the bottom is a stack of cash that gives me pause.
She has more than a poor, jobless college girl should have. Especially since she admitted that her mom is missing.
I thought the woman simply moved on. She’s never been a good mother to Sydney, and the woman should disappear. But is my girl saving up for a private investigator or something?
Hmm.
There’s an idea.
I leave her drawer open, the money exposed, and exit her apartment.
She’ll be in class with her volleyball-playing friend, Dylan, and then another one with Penn Walker later. If he doesn’t throw her under the bus, then she should be safe enough on campus.
And it’s the one place I can’t follow.
But I have a phone call to make and a plan to set in motion.