Chapter 5 #2
I can’t remember the last time I watched something just because it made me feel good. And it does. Even when it hurts. I can’t have her. Can never touch her. Her light wouldn’t last two minutes in my darkness. I’d kill anything good and innocent in her.
A man starts showing up at the angles of my screen.
First it’s the doorway of her office, his knuckles on the jamb like he owns the frame.
Then it’s the copy room, his hip too close when she reaches for paper.
He learns her timings and starts arriving seconds before she does, just enough to make “coincidence” a habit.
On cam his hands are polite; his eyes aren’t.
He touches everything he can touch without getting written up, the back of her chair, the edge of her desk, the tops of her shoulders.
She laughs at something he says. It doesn’t reach her eyes. He still moves closer.
My thumb finds the knife. One, two, three.
The next day at her office, he corners her by the elevator. She flinches. I call Adrian.
A sigh. “What rule are we breaking now?”
“I need her phone. I want her calendar, emails, texts.” I watch Wyatt tilt his head to see the V of her dress and my pulse spikes. “And before you say it, this isn’t about curiosity. If this fuckhead at her office is a problem, I need to know it before he hurts her.”
“You already have building cams, street cams, her garage,” he says. “You want inside her skull now? That’s not security, Cassius. You just can’t stand that she’s giving some guy attention.”
“You’re right,” I admit. “I can’t fucking stand it, so clone her phone,” I say, low.
“I cannot believe you’re jealous.” Adrian can’t help himself.
“I’m not jealous. I could drown this fuck in the water cooler jug before he even knew what was happening.”
“Not of him as a man, little brother,” Adrian might be laughing at me now. “Of the time he gets with her.”
I can’t argue with that so I stay quiet.
“Say it,” he presses, enjoying himself, for sure laughing at me now. “Say you understand this is invasive.”
“I understand this is insurance.”
“Against?”
“Men who think forced proximity is consent.” My voice goes flat.
“Eventually, you’ll have to move out of denial,” Adrian says. “You’ll have it in five.” The call ends. The elevator doors open. She steps in. Wyatt does too.
The doors close on her face and my decision.
When the alert pings that I can now remotely access her phone, I tell myself it’s another layer between her and the world. I tell myself if Wyatt puts one big toe over the line, I’ll already have my hands around his neck.
I should feel sated.
I don’t.
I now know she has a meeting on Thursday about a possible editorial promotion. I know she’s been looking up flights to Boston and didn’t finish checking out. I know she Googled “pork tenderloin oven temp” last night and “is two glasses of wine too much alone” right after.
She's lonely.
I open the app Adrian built for me to house my access to her in one place.
She’s a red dot on a map now. My map. She’s currently at work, not moving.
I glance at the live feed from the traffic cam down the block from her building just to confirm she’s there.
Existing. Breathing. Smiling at someone that isn’t me. And fuck, I hate that.
“I can go by her office today,” Atlas says, sliding into the empty chair beside me, already knowing where my head’s at. “You’ve got the car-dealership consult. She’s having lunch at the deli cart downstairs.”
“You see her yesterday?” I ask.
He nods. “She wore blue again. You would’ve lost your shit. You’re already halfway there, though, huh?”
I don’t answer. I keep watching. Her face hasn’t shown up yet, but I know it’s coming. Soon. I need to get cameras inside her office. I’ve never stalked anyone I wasn’t planning to kill before.
I’ve tailed men I was going to kill. Hunted down rapists and human traffickers and men who leave little girls in dumpsters. But this isn’t that. This isn’t about duty. She isn’t prey. She’s something else entirely. This is obsession.
The thought catches me off-guard, my brain finally calling this what it is. Fixation. I’m done pretending. I’m way past justifying. Forcing distance. Setting timers. Fuck all that straight to the depths of hell. Wanting her outruns control. I’m past the line and still moving.
I'll probably be in the depths of hell too for chasing her, watching her, ruining her. Because I will ruin her. I’ll chase her, watch her, ruin her, because that’s what I do.
The only variable is time. How long until the light of her turns to ash in my hands.
I can endure an eternity in flames for one heartbeat’s worth of time with her pressed into my orbit. Burn me for it. I won’t flinch.
“I’ll go now,” Atlas says, standing. “You owe me dinner. And not the cheap kind.”
“No one touches her.”
“So you’ve said. Don’t worry, I take following your future wife very seriously.”
My glare could cut glass, but I don’t correct him. Because he’s not wrong.
I sit on my Harley after work, helmet on.
I text Atlas the second I turn over my bike and he sends me her location.
I’ll get the play-by-play on her lunch and the rest of her day later.
For now, I have to see her. I’m not ready for her to see my face.
I’m not exactly sure why I keep hiding from her, only that I do.
She’s sitting in her car outside the grocery store, clearly avoiding going in.
Why keep settling for pixels? I’ve seen the shape of her, the way the air shifts around her, but not up close. Not to mention I won’t be able to sleep knowing Atlas has seen her face probably close enough to touch, more than once, and I still haven’t.
A man pulls up beside her and gets out, waving at her through her too-clear windows. And her, being the polite goddess that she is, waves back. First chance I get, those windows are going dark. New-moon dark.
I clench the throttle, and watch him go into the store. Then I watch her. She finally shuts off her car and gets out.
The moment I lay eyes on Melinda, the world dulls.
Everything fades into insignificance. She exists in a spotlight of her own making.
It's surreal, seeing her so close after all the texts. She’s not rushing into work or trying to get home.
For the first time, she’s just existing in a moment.
She's more captivating than I imagined. More…
real. There's a light to her. An aura that pulses gently against the shadows I live in.
I swing my leg over my bike as she’s entering the store.
I ditch the helmet before I follow in behind her, wearing it indoors would draw too much attention.
She’s halfway down the baking aisle when I find her.
Talking to the waving idiot from outside.
Her hands are on the cart handle, knuckles white, thumb tracing a figure eight.
Cans in the basket are turned label-forward and I’m pretty sure she alphabetized them.
“How are you today?” he asks.
“I’m good. How are you?” Her voice is mesmerizing.
I’m going to have to teach her how to say fuck right off.
I live in a world painted in shades of gray, where right and wrong blur into a smear of blood and rationale. And yet here she stands, vivid, warm, unmistakably good.
She’s not just beautiful, though she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever set eyes on.
It’s her energy.
Her light.
The way she radiates something holy.
I've lived in darkness so long, I forgot what light feels like on my skin.
But it’s here now. In her.
And I crave it.
I watch her, unnoticed for now. A tightness expands in my chest. A cocktail of anticipation, hunger, and a fear so sharp I’ll kill myself before ever admitting to it.
She represents everything I don't deserve.
“Great. Look what I found.” He holds up some kind of round multi-spice contraption. It’s like a miniature spice rack. Why the fuck is he showing it off?
“That’s neat. A lot of variety.”
“Is it just you?” Her eyes meet his, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to intervene. She doesn’t answer right away so he tries again. “You don’t have a man?” She absolutely does. She just doesn’t know it yet.
“I have a husband,” she says. Well, well, well, what a liar. I hate liars. But in this case, I’ll happily let it slide.
“Where is he?” This fucker just signed his death certificate.
“Right now,” she hesitates. Mistake, baby. Never hesitate. “He’s at work.”
Not anymore.
I step in before she has to come up with anything else, unable to watch this horror show any longer.
“Sorry I’m late, darling.”
Her eyes go wide and I can’t stop my grin. She freezes for a breath, but then, God bless her, she adjusts. Tilts her head, smooths her expression. Doesn’t blow our cover.
“Oh,” she says, voice a little high. “Hey, honey.”
Honey. I never would’ve pegged myself as a man who would enjoy being called a ridiculous name like honey but hearing her say it, I could die a happy man.
I brush a hand against her lower back, enough to make my point, and lean in to kiss her cheek. She stiffens beneath the touch, but she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t correct me.
That’s my girl.
The other man clears his throat. “Uh, I didn’t realize you were meeting someone.”
I give him a look that says move along. He gets the message.
“Dried oregano,” I say, tossing the words over my shoulder like an afterthought. “She always forgets it.”
“Always,” she echoes, cheeks flush but recovering fast. “Well, uh… good luck with your baking,” the loser says, then retreats like he’s been set on fire. He has no idea.
When he’s gone, I let my hand fall from her back. I don’t want her scared. I want her curious.
Her fingers touch the spot on her cheek where my lips brushed. I fight every instinct to stay, but this game only works if I don’t come on too strong too fast.
But she saw me. Really saw me. And she didn’t flinch. That means something.
“You’re safe now,” I tell her. For once, it isn’t a threat to someone else. It’s a promise to her, a vow. She doesn’t know it, but that man is hours away from drawing his last breath.
She lets out a breathy laugh. “Thanks for that.” Her laugh lodges in my bloodstream, where it’s going to live until I die.
It makes my chest tight not to be able to tell her I’m going to wipe the earth of that man.
I let myself, for one beat, imagine that I’m good enough for her.
I allow myself the fantasy of being a man worthy of standing by her side, not as a shadow, but as the source of her strength.
Then reality puts a hand on my throat. I was shaped by a world she's never had to navigate, a world I hope like hell she'll never have to.
“Of course.” I take a step back, about to walk away, but not before I soak in every inch of her again. And then I lock it down. She's standing right in front of me, and she played along. Maybe only to get rid of the creep. But maybe not.
Maybe something in her liked it. The leash around my soul just got shorter.
She gave me a taste.
And now I’ll starve without more.
I tilt my head and lean in close enough that only she can hear what I say next.
“I’ll play the part of your husband any day, Lindy girl. Just say the word.”
She inhales, sharp and unsteady. Her lips part, but no words come. She doesn’t stop me as I pull back and doesn't look away. Her cheeks are flushed, her lashes heavy.
God, yes. Her reaction will fuel me for days. My thumb finds the hilt. One, two, three. The tap doesn’t calm, she’s too close. Husband sits in my mouth. If I swallow it, I’ll choke. It’s a vow I’ve got no right to make…yet.
I picture a ring on my finger and almost laugh at myself. Almost. The Machine wearing gold. Then I see it on her instead and go still. If I can’t be good, maybe I can be legal. One day I’ll put the ring there and dare the city to touch her.
Fluorescents hum. A register chirps. The cooler coughs cold air. I breathe. In. Out. Only her. Only gravity. Then I walk away, counting the steps. Not too fast. Or too slow. But like a man who knows she’s still watching.
Because she is.
I will possess her, but she’s not ready for that yet. I’ve never much cared for playing the game of impressing a woman, but she’s the exception to every rule.
And next time, she’ll be ready for more.