10. The Ghost
The Ghost
I watch her slink towards her bathroom once she’s alone in her room.
She found my gift. I knew she would.
Undressing, pulling her shirt over her head, exposing her stomach, her breasts, and then sliding down those woolen leggings, inch after inch of pale thigh exposed. Naked, she is as beautiful as a marble statue, carved solely for my viewing pleasure.
After the last time I watched her, I made sure to cut the wires for all cameras in this wing. Leo thinks no one knows how he keeps extensive surveillance in the majority of the house, but I know. Nothing happens in this house that I don’t know about.
And sharing her is not an option.
She taps on her phone a few times, and then something soft with guitar comes out of the tinny speakers, low enough just to break the silence.
She sets it down on the edge of the counter before sinking into the water, her dark hair in a knot atop her head.
I much prefer it down, unbound. I imagine running my fingers through it, tugging at the strands, angling her head back, tasting the sweetness of her lips.
Her eyes flutter shut. She doesn’t know I’m here.
Seeing her like this—when all pretenses are dropped and she is baring her soul—this is just for me. No one else gets to watch. She unveils herself, for me.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
The sound of her sigh is itself a pleasure. Her bath oils throw an oil-slick watercolor across the surface, the scent of roses and vanilla in the air.
I could watch her do this every night.
I have not been able to look away from her at all these past days.
This is when her beauty shines: when she turns inward, shedding the mask she wears all day; when she is serene and I can gaze upon her as she’s meant to be seen.
Some time passes. That same draw that had me at the foot of her bed is pulling me closer again. Impatience, maybe, or impulsiveness.
Out of the shadows of the room, I step forward.
All she has to do is open her eyes and she’ll see me. With the flickering candles there is more to illuminate my mask this time. She will truly see me.
She is awake. She could see me.
I want to bare myself to her, too.
I want to be known. Completely. Am I not owed this?
As I step forward on silent feet, her lips part further, a slight crease between her brows, a low breath, nearly a gasp, but her eyes remain closed. And then I realize, under the water, her hands are between her thighs.
I stop just within the light’s reach.
That should be my hand between her thighs.
As if I had called her name, her eyes flick open.
Mallary.
Unlucky. Burdened. Ill-fated.
She stares at me.
I see her pupils widen, then constrict to pinpricks. I hear the jagged sound of her breath.
I wonder what I must look like to her—standing not ten feet away, my true face hidden. Clothed in black. Formed by shadows. A ghost.
Any second now she’ll scream.
But she surprises me—she only stares. I know that’s terror causing her to grip the edge of the tub white-knuckled. She doesn’t move. Quiet as a mouse.
Is she wondering how far she can run before I catch her?
This can go one of two ways. Either I’ve fucked this up she’ll leave by sunrise. Or—
Or she’ll stay. And she’ll let me have my fun.
I can’t deny how fucking good it feels to have her eyes on me now.
She sees me.
Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. “Bas—”
Her phone clatters against the counter. Shockingly loud in the otherwise softly quiet room, echoing against tile and glass. It vibrates, cutting the music off with its loud alarm. She jumps.
She was about to say my name.
The moment she turns to grab her phone, it’s my opportunity to hide and slip back into the wall before she even notices I’ve moved, disappearing into thin air like a ghost.
I could have fucked this all up. But that was my name on her lips.
Bas, not Arnie.
My mind short-circuits from the sound. The urge to visit her again tonight is almost unbearably strong, but I hold out, spending every second until the sun rises mourning the moment I will no longer hear her voice echoing in my ears.