Chapter Fifteen Travis
Chapter Fifteen
Travis
Sage’s breakfast is surprisingly palatable.
I’ve never had shakshuka before, but I wouldn’t be opposed to having it again.
After all, the recipe was relatively simple, and it is a very healthy and fibrous breakfast. She doesn’t say much while we eat.
I know that’s from her own worries about the message from her stalker, but it is a pleasant change of pace.
It makes me think that even with her here, I might have some semblance of normalcy. For the briefest moment, I think things might not be all bad with her around. As long as she stays out of my way, I think we’ll be fine.
The thought has barely entered my mind when Sage reaches for the pepper in haste, knocking down both the salt and pepper shakers, spilling grains everywhere.
“I’m sorry!” Sage blurts out before adding, “You look like I just killed your dog.”
This is worse.
Okay, maybe I’m being a tad dramatic here, but this feels worse. Sage tries to get up to clean it, but I stop her, knowing she won’t do it right anyway.
“I’ll Venmo you for emotional damage,” she says when I’m done cleaning her mess.
“You can’t afford me.”
She giggles. “Yeah, probably not.”
After we finish eating, I promptly clean up her mess. She attempts to help, but her attention to detail is clearly not as defined as mine.
“Leave me your log-in information. I’m going to try to find who this guy is,” I say as I take a towel that is meant for drying hands away from her before she wipes the counter with it.
“You should spend some time outside. Leave me to my work for a while. I turned the hot tub on this morning, so it should be perfect now.”
Sage nods, taking a few deep breaths. “I could really use that right now.”
She offers me a smile and squeezes my forearm before bounding off toward the guest room. I don’t want to think about the mess that has probably swallowed that room whole since she’s been here. It hasn’t even been a full day, and I feel it’s safe to assume the worst.
I’ll wait until she’s outside before I go to my office.
The last thing I need is her walking in and disrupting me while I’m in the middle of preparing for something that will help her.
She’s already been enough of a distraction.
This is my chance to get back to my routine. She better not fuck this up.
Sage walks out of the guest room in a skimpy pink bikini she’s almost spilling out of. The blood immediately drains to my cock as I watch her saunter through the living room and make her way out the door.
It’s not time for that. I force thoughts of her away and shake my head before heading to my office.
I take a seat behind the desk, sinking into my plush leather desk chair and letting the anticipation for what I’m about to do fill my chest. This is the part I love. The planning, the prep work. Finding out everything I can about someone and figuring out how to use it against them.
I live for this.
Sage gave me her Instagram account log-in information, so I start there.
Her stalker has a faceless profile. I immediately know this man uses some kind of burner account to keep his online proclivities private.
More often than not, with accounts like this, you’ll find some kind of clue as to who they really are.
People are often vain enough to follow themselves with their burner accounts because one extra follower on their main will make them look that much more appealing to the people in their real lives.
If they’re not following themselves, they might follow people they know in real life.
I wouldn’t put it past a man like this to follow female coworkers and friends with this account just to contact them personally and harass them, thinking he can get away with it.
I start digging. I look through every post on the profile, most of which are memes and inspirational quotes that lean heavily toward the red pill community.
Not surprising. There are no personal photos on the entire account, nor is there anything he has been tagged in.
That means there’s no indication through the content alone of who this man is.
I look through his followers list to see it’s mostly bots that mass follow random people, with a few up-and-coming OnlyFans models following him too.
The list of people he’s following is much greater.
About a third of the people are famous actors and comedians, and the rest are all women.
Some profile pictures look harmless, which I think could be people he knows in real life.
Some of them are obvious influencers, like Sage.
After skimming through the list, I don’t think I’m going to find anything, other than the fact he might have some kind of pornography addiction.
If I can’t freely get information on him, I’ll lead him into a trap. It doesn’t take long for me to throw together a website for Sage. Honestly, she should probably have one already, but that’s a conversation for another time.
I saw him mention the possibility of Sage creating a wish list for her fans to purchase things for her. Clearly, he thinks that will buy him some favor with her, and he desperately needs that because he doesn’t get validation anywhere else in life.
I open the chat exchange and start typing a message to him.
Sage doesn’t respond to him a lot, but I do my best to mimic her voice as I type.
Hey! Trust me, you’ve nothing to worry about.
In spite of everything I believe in, I attach an emoji that’s blowing a kiss.
I’ve just been really busy filming some new content.
I think you might find this especially interesting.
She uses a lot of emojis. I cringe as I attach another to the message. I attach the link to the end and open the software I have and wait.
The message is read almost instantly, which comes as no surprise. I can imagine this man seeing a message from her pop up and immediately dropping everything he is doing to read it. His self-worth hinges entirely on this, and I pity him.
Immediately after, I get a ping on my software, letting me know someone has clicked on the link to the website I created. “People make it too easy.”
I smile to myself as his IP address is given to me freely. All I had to do was throw together a mediocre website with a few pictures of her embedded in it.
Not seeing any new content here. But I can’t wait to see what you have to show, babe! he replies.
Eli Morrow. Thirty-five, lives in Birmingham, Alabama. He works from home as a social media and data analyst for a men’s health vitamin line that has far too many bought followers on Instagram and Facebook. I would assume their sloppy business is Eli’s doing, knowing what I know about him.
He doesn’t look anything like I pictured. I was imagining some grimy man-child in a basement, but the pictures I see of him standing in front of his Christmas tree with his fiancée don’t look anything like that.
“I bet Carol doesn’t know anything about your little indiscretions, does she?” I shake my head as I scroll through years of pictures detailing his life. He lives online. He has thousands of friends and followers on his main account, yet nobody but his fiancée has tagged him in anything.
I can read him like a book. He lives for online validation from strangers because if people who don’t know him think he’s great, that must mean something.
In real life, he’s sad and lonely. He might be engaged, but neither of them is happy.
Eli isn’t bad-looking, but he’s not good-looking enough to go out and get anyone he wants, so he’s happy to settle with someone he thinks will stay with him.
I’m sure Carol thinks he is the charming, loyal man he’s portrayed himself as for so long.
A squeal of laughter from outside catches my attention, and I look up from the computer to see Sage in the hot tub.
She’s standing up with a wide smile on her face, looking not at me but at a squirrel in the distance, water dripping down her perfect body, making her glisten in the sun.
I lick my lips, staring at her, not thinking any better of it.
Her tits are practically begging to be free from that bikini top, and I want nothing more than to go over and untie it myself. She lowers herself back into the water and calms down when the squirrel scampers off. I watch as she closes her eyes and relaxes against the side.
I try to turn my attention back to my search, but my mind is tainted with images of Sage once again. I think about waking up this morning with her riding me, how good it felt to have her pussy wrapped around me like that. How much she liked when I choked her.
“No,” I say. I clench my fists and focus on the screen, trying to force every thought of her out of my head. I thought this was done. I thought I was going to be able to do my research without her intruding on it.
Maybe I can’t have her around after all. It’s never going to work. As long as she’s here, I’m going to be distracted, and that’s going to ruin me. I’ll do it after Eli.
When he’s gone, I’ll kill her. I close my eyes and think about exactly what I want to do. I imagine walking through the front door with a knife in my hand. She’s asleep on the couch as I approach, ready to plunge the blade into her chest.
But as I get closer, the image shatters. It’s ripped away from me before I can get to the most gratifying part. I try again, imagining strangling her while she’s in the shower, but just as my hands wrap around her throat, the image morphs into the memory of this morning.
I’m going crazy. I’m losing my fucking mind.
No matter how many times I try to imagine what her face looks like when the life slips away and her eyes turn cold and dead, the image dissipates before it comes to fruition. I can’t kill her. Not even in my own fucking mind.