Closer To The Edge
Nightshade
The dim glow of my computer screen is the only light in this ranch-style home, casting long shadows on the worn wooden walls. I sit back in the chair, my eyes scanning the screen, but my thoughts are miles away, wrapped around the idea of her. This house—it’s not just a place to live. I bought it for us. For me and my Little Bird, when I finally get her back. A space where no one can reach her, where we can finally be together without anyone getting in the way.
Outside, the wind rustles through the fields, but I hardly notice. My entire world exists here—behind a computer screen, immersed in writing and hacking code within these walls. It’s in these quiet moments, just before everything changes, that I feel it most. I’ve built this life for us, piece by piece, and soon—soon, she’ll be here, and I’ll make sure she never leaves like she did before.
Aviana. My Little Bird.
Her name pulses in my mind, syncing with the clicking of my fingers on the keyboard. This isn’t wrong—it can’t be. I’m not hurting her. I’m protecting her. The world is dangerous, unpredictable, and she’s already suffered enough. I won’t let it happen again. Not on my watch.
The first time I installed the cameras, my hands were steady, precise. It was easy—a few well-placed devices, hidden in the corners of her room, the living room, even the hallway. I knew her schedule, when she’d be out, when it was safe to slip in and out unnoticed. Each camera was a silent promise: I’m here. I’m watching. I’ll keep you safe.
In the corner of the screen, a live feed plays, her face half-lit by the soft glow of her bedside lamp. She’s reading, oblivious to the fact that I’m here, always here, just beyond the surface of her world. I lean back in my chair, a small smile playing on my lips. She looks peaceful tonight. That’s good. She deserves peace.
My fingers move swiftly, pulling up her phone’s GPS data. She hasn’t left the house today. Good. I scroll through her recent browser history, my stomach tightening at a series of searches— Heal the Soul Trauma Retreat.
Why is she looking this up?
The words on the screen blur for a moment as anger flares hot in my chest. Heal the Soul Trauma Retreat? Why would she even consider going to a place like that? Doesn’t she realize she doesn’t need them—she has me ? I’m the one who’s been protecting her, watching over her, making sure she’s safe.
But instead, she’s looking for help from strangers who won’t understand her like I do. They’ll just dig up old wounds, make her vulnerable, put her in more danger. I can’t let that happen. I click into her emails, looking for more information, anything that might tell me when she plans to leave for this retreat. I need to find a way to stop this—to remind her that she doesn’t need them . She needs me.
I scroll through the usual flood of school notices and spam until a new email catches my eye. It’s a confirmation from the retreat—details about her Uber pickup in two days. My brow furrows as I read the details. She’s going. She’s really going.
The thought gnaws at me. What if she meets someone at the camp? Someone who gets close to her, someone who might make her forget about me. My hands tighten around the phone as the idea takes root in my mind.
I can’t let that happen. Not when I’m still here, not when I’ve been waiting for her. I’ll have to make sure she remembers who she belongs to.
I open a new window, my mind already calculating. A few keystrokes, a well-placed virus in the admissions system… it won’t even trace back to me. The acceptance will vanish like it never existed. She’ll stay here, where it’s safe, where I can watch over her.
But a flicker of doubt creeps in. Would she be happy? I don’t want to trap her… just keep her close. Maybe I can convince her to stay without interference. Maybe…
My thoughts spiral, the lines between protection and possession blurring further. I pull up her social media, scrolling through photos of her smiling with friends. Those smiles—they’re nothing more than masks. I know that better than anyone. Each one feels like a knife twisting in my chest. They don’t see the cracks, the parts of her that only I know. They can’t love her the way I do.
A notification pops up from the Fish Bowl dating site. My heart drops as I click on it, and my breath catches when I see it—she’s finally added a profile photo. The picture is a candid shot, her smile bright and carefree, eyes shining in a way that makes my chest tighten. She’s putting herself out there, letting strangers see her like this, in a way I can’t protect. My vision blurs at the edges. She’s still here, still at home, but with every click, it feels like she’s slipping further away.
I swipe my hand across my face, trying to shake off the heat rising in my blood. My fists clench at my sides, but I force myself to close the app, even though the image of her profile photo is burned into my mind.
I don’t know how long I stand there, my heart pounding, before I stand up. I can’t just sit here and watch her slip further away, can’t just keep pretending this doesn’t bother me.
Taking a deep breath, I pace across the room. Every part of me wants to reach out, to pull her back in, to remind her of who she belongs to. But I can’t just do it like this. No. I need to make sure she remembers—remembers what she means to me.
I can’t let this go. Not now, not ever.
I can’t just sit here and let this happen. I can’t keep hiding in the shadows while she drifts further away, exposing herself to anyone who comes along. I need to be there. I need her to know I’m not going anywhere.
Heal Your Soul camp. The thought slams into me like a freight train. It’s perfect—exactly where I need to be. Close enough to watch over her. Close enough to protect her. But this isn’t just about being near her anymore. It’s about keeping her safe. It’s about reminding her who I am. It’s about getting her back.
My gaze drifts back to the live feed. Aviana has put down her book, her eyes fluttering closed as she drifts to sleep. I watch her for a long time, memorizing the rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips part slightly when she dreams.
I grab my phone, my fingers moving almost instinctively. The thought of her being there without me, without someone who truly knows her, eats at me. But I don’t care. I’ll figure out whatever I need to. I’ll play by the rules, if that’s what it takes.
A few taps on the screen, and I’m signing myself up, making arrangements. It doesn’t matter how far away it is or how hard it’ll be. I’m not going to let her go through this alone. Not when I can be there, watching, waiting, keeping her safe.
I don’t think about the consequences. I don’t think about what will happen when she realizes I’ve followed her there. All I know is, I can’t let her be out there, vulnerable, with no one watching over her but strangers.
I close my laptop with a quiet click, the darkness swallowing me whole. But I don’t need the screen to feel close to her. She’s in my mind, my heart, my very soul.
Tomorrow, I’ll find another way to remind her that she isn’t alone. That someone out there cares enough to watch over her, to keep her safe from the shadows.
And one day, she’ll understand.
One day, she’ll love me back.
I am Nightshade. And she is my Little Bird.