Page 111 of Trick or Stalk

It’s a bullshit excuse.

I lean my shoulder against the wet trunk.

A murderer with some morals.

Imagine that.

I huff out a low laugh. The rain battering the leaves and ground around me muffles the sound.

Fine. I wanted to see her.

After lunch today, I told myself I'd stay away for a few days.

Give her space.

Give myself space.

That didn’t even last until dark.

Pathetic.

Through the window, Presley is curled beneath a blanket on the couch. Penny is pressed against her leg, chewing on something.

The television flickers in front of them.

I can't hear much over the rain, but every once in a while, Presley's voice carries through the glass.

She's talking to Penny.

She does that a lot.

I like it.

I like knowing what she's doing when she thinks no one's watching.

Presley reaches for something on the table.

I shift closer to the edge of the trees, trying to see what it is.

She takes a drink, then grabs a handful of popcorn.

Her attention remains on the television.

Mine remains on her.

I've learned more about Presley over the last few days than I should know.

She talks to her dog.

Drinks coffee constantly.

Reads before bed.

Checks her locks more than once.

Loves Halloween.

Misses her grandmother.