Page 69 of Stalkers Anonymous

Even if it kills me.

And it might. This woman might actually be the death of me.

But what a way to go.

Chapter Fifteen: Cole

The community center basement smells like dust, stale coffee, and poor life choices. I arrive precisely on time for my third IBSG meeting, no longer bothering with the dilemma of being early or late. This is my reality now—Tuesday nights in a fluorescent-lit purgatory with six other people who can’t seem to leave well enough alone.

At least we’re consistent.

Tyler nods as I take my usual seat, his expression carrying that particular blend of encouragement and concern that I’ve come to expect. The others filter in one by one: Grant with his permanently tousled hair and the camera bag he refuses to leave in his car, Austen sliding his phone into his pocket like he wasn’t just looking someone up, Zach looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else, and Jessica clutching her ereader like a security blanket.

We’re quite the crew. If dysfunction were an Olympic sport, we’d sweep the podium.

Tracey enters last, clipboard in hand, that same neutral therapist expression cemented on her face.

“Good evening, everyone,” she begins, settling into her chair. “Before we jump into our progress reports, I want to remind you that this is a safe space for honesty. Growth requires acknowledging setbacks as much as celebrating successes. Who would like to begin tonight?” She scans the circle with a raised eyebrow.

Grant raises his hand. “I had something happen this week. A wedding I was photographing. The bride reminded me of someone I used to…know.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, then continues, “I found myself taking extra shots, focusing on her more than the groom.”

“And how did you handle it when you recognized what was happening?” Tracey prompts.

“I deleted the extra photos when I got home. Told myself it was an artistic choice at first, but I knew damn well what it really was.” Grant’s voice carries that familiar tone of rehearsed confession. “It was my obsession with getting the perfect primal shot. The way she smiled. I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to capture it.”

Tracey nods approvingly, making a note. “That’s excellent self-awareness, Grant. Recognizing the pattern before it escalated.”

The conversation continues around the circle. Austen claims he had an uneventful week, but his bouncing knee and fidgeting thumbs suggest that his definition of “uneventful” might differ from the dictionary’s.

Jessica talks about avoiding her ex’s social media for a full week—apparently a personal record. She’s practically glowing with pride about it, which is both impressive and deeply sad.

“Seven whole days,” she says. “I almost broke on Thursday, but I called my sister instead.”

“And how did that feel?”

“Terrible. But better than the alternative.”

Each confession is met with Tracey’s poker face and probing follow-up questions. The whole process feels grimly performative, like we’re all competing for Most Improved Stalker.

“Cole?” Tracey’s attention shifts to me. “How has your week been?”

“Fine,” I say automatically, then catch myself. They expect more. “Good, actually. I went for a walk around a lake with the woman I mentioned last week. The doctor.”

Tracey’s pen hovers over her clipboard. “That’s interesting. Can you tell us more about it?”

The way she says “interesting” puts me immediately on edge. Like going for a walk is somehow inherently suspicious.

“We met at a park. Walked the sculpture trail. Talked for a couple hours. Made plans to see each other again.” I keep my tone deliberately neutral. “It went well.”

“And during this date, how did you manage your tendencies?”

“I noticed I was scanning the environment more than necessary,” I admit. “Assessing other people on the trail. Actually, she was the one who recognized what I was doing. She called me out. I was a little shocked, but it was good to know how I’m coming across to other people.”

I don’t mention how hard I studied myself in the CCTV footage the night Lars Winters keyed Hailey’s car.

“Good.” Tracey makes a note. “And afterward? When it was time to part ways?”