Chapter 20 #2
It occurs to me distantly that this is too easy. I got in here with hardly any effort at all, like it was second nature, leaving me uneasily wondering if this was a regular occurrence that I've forgotten.
Too late to do anything about it now, if it was. Maybe I'm better off not knowing.
I glance at my phone. I've got maybe 20 minutes until Brigit walks through her front door.
Easing the window closed and latching it, I breathe a sigh of relief, peeking out the window to make sure there weren't any passersby who caught me calling the authorities. That would be far less fun than Brigit threatening to do it.
On my phone, I turn the system back on as if it were never deactivated. If it's off and she decides to check, I'm fucked. Then my fun little surprise would be ruined before I got a chance to pull it off.
I know I can't leave this room, or I will definitely be caught. Her entryway camera spans down the entire hall, all the way to the open bedroom door.
Now my mind spins through places in my limited space I could hide.
Can't be the closet. She'll be checking there first to grab something to sleep in.
Shower? Eh. If she needs to use the bathroom... ugh, some things would just be too much of a violation, even for me.
Under the bed? Might have to. She keeps it free of even a single dirty sock, so there's almost no chance she'll be looking under it.
But I've got a few minutes before I need to hide. For now, I can at least peruse her room a little bit.
I bring my attention back to the bookshelf, to the collections sitting on the white geometric shelving.
For someone so practical, I wasn't expecting anything like this from her. A handful of books about crystals, the laws of the universe, even a couple of tarot decks that have a decent amount of use, a massive purple, glittering geode in the middle of it all.
And the photos.
I run my fingers along their frames, admiring my girl and how she's changed throughout the years. Darker hair, lighter hair. Pictures of her dancing in a club that I suspect is Mingle, but there's no way to know.
A tween that has to be her, braces barely peeking through the scowl plastered across Brigit's face, those little bunny lines already in full force as she glares up at the man beside her.
I chuckle, moving on to one of her at her law school graduation, standing alone while everyone around her is surrounded by parents and siblings.
A twinge of pain fills my chest as I note the heartbreaking smile she fakes, proud of her accomplishments even if no one else was.
Brigit has spent much of her life being the only person in the room who wants her to win. She carries herself with the surety of someone who has handled everything life could throw at her without another person to lighten the load.
But she doesn't need to.
I'll carry it for her.
I'll cheer for her loud enough to drown out everyone who's not.
I'll hold her pain, her guilt, her shame, cradle it like it's my own so it's not so heavy anymore.
Next is a group of people, all dressed similarly to Brigit, so it's not a stretch to assume they're lawyers.
Off to the side, a man holding a drink is leaning down to whisper something in Brigit's ear, while a woman on the other side has her hand wrapped around Brigit's elbow, holding her own glass up in a toast. Brigit's cheeks are bright red, my favorite color, but only when I make them that way.
Instinct screams for me to dispose of the picture, get rid of the proof that another man used to make her feel a way that is reserved for me.
The only thing that keeps me from doing so is the vicious black pen marks drawn across his face, so crudely that the paper beneath has been destroyed, the white partially revealed.
This is the only picture where she's surrounded by people who likely supported her, and for some reason, she needed to scratch out one of their faces.
I can only imagine that's the boyfriend she's mentioned in passing and refused to give me more details about.
Maybe eventually.
The click of the lock signals the end of my time to explore.
Fuck.
Diving underneath her bed, I lay completely flat and motionless, keeping even my breathing quiet and shallow. I was so meticulous in planning that I even had to skip my cologne that always makes Brigit's panties wet.
If she were to smell me, she would know immediately that I'm here. I couldn't take the risk.
The sound of high heels clattering against the wooden floor draws my attention, waiting for the inevitable picking them up to put them away.
Sure enough, the soft padding of her feet in her tights grows louder as she comes closer, and my heart pounds with exhilaration.
When her legs appear in my line of sight, I swear to fucking god I can hear colors, so elated to see her and know she can't see me.
I'm aware this is completely, utterly fucked up.
I just can't seem to make myself give a shit.
Better this than being out committing murders.
Maybe.
I'm sure that hobby will rear its ugly head before too long. It seems like Skyler is just waiting for me to snap.
In any case, Brigit is my favorite distraction from the deranged, violent urges, and she's close enough now that my every thought becomes consumed by her.
The little muffled tap of her feet, the scent of her sweet perfume, the habitual humming she always does when she gets home, filling her apartment with sound so she feels a little less alone.
She's not alone now, but she doesn't know that.
And she's not going to.
Just as I guessed, her first stop is the closet.
Her fucking dress hits the ground, and I stop breathing.
Both because that means she's standing there in little sheer tights and a bra, and because she's going to have to bend down to pick that up, bringing her right where she could turn her head and see me.
And just like that, the game would be over.
"Fuck," she mutters, using her foot to kick it up instead, letting my heart start beating again.
Next go the tights, her pretty hands easing them down, revealing her legs inch by inch while I'm salivating watching her, wishing to be the one stripping those thighs bare.
Jesus Christ.
I cannot get a fucking erection right now.
But what was I thinking was going to happen?
I knew she would come in here and undress. Knew I'd get a front row seat just close enough to see the edges of it without getting to really see her. Bare feet and clothes hitting the floor are enough to make my body drown in lust.
I palm the poorly timed hard-on, hoping I can just ease the ache and make it calm down.
I close my eyes, painfully pulling them off of Brigit for a few breaths.
When they open, looking up at the bottom of her bed frame, my throat goes dry.
Absolutely undeniable proof that I've been here before greets me in the form of little knife marks, shallow and decorative, leaving no real damage behind.
Running my fingers along the divots, retracing my own steps, I wish the familiarity of it would give me some clarity; wish that something would come back as I'm repeating behaviors I had before everything.
It's just further proof of what Skyler said.
I am who I am.
And who I am, who I've been since the day we met, is wholly, unrepentantly devoted to this woman, even when I was too afraid to do anything about it.