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Last night was not a good night for me. I tossed and turned, being haunted by a faceless man. I dreamed. I know I did. But the only parts I remember are of a man standing in front of me, about ten feet away. It was dark out and he wore a black jacket. The hood was pulled over his head, rendering his face in dark shadows. My heart beat erratically and my body shook with excited energy when he slowly reached up to his hood, only for my treacherous body to wake up before his face was revealed.
I bolted up in bed, covered in sweat, with the sheets tangled around my legs and my breathing coming in loud huffs. After several seconds, I flopped back on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling until I drifted back to sleep, only to be woken again with the same dream. This happened four times before I gave up on sleep.
I crawled from my bed and did what I always did when I was stressed or worried—I cleaned. At four in the morning I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor. Once that was done, I removed everything from my cabinets, cleaned the shelves, and rearranged everything before putting it all back. Next was washing every window in my house. Cleaning always helped me clear my mind; I got that trait from my mom. There were many times you’d catch us both cleaning the house from top to bottom. There was no need for spring cleaning in our house because it never got to the point where we needed to. Everything was already done.
As hard as I scrubbed the floor and windows, my thoughts kept going to Sterling, a name I dubbed my mystery man last night. I mean, I can’t very well keep referring to him as my mystery man, even though that’s what he is. I figured Sterling was a perfect match because of the roses he sends.
There’s no way he could have known I was getting in the shower. It had to be coincidence. It’s common for people to come home from work and shower, so he had to have assumed that’s what I would do. There’s no other explanation. Even with that thought, a little voice in the back of my head wouldn’t let me believe it. I pushed it away and locked it up tight in my ridiculous thoughts box.
After pulling the last of my curtains from the washer and throwing them in the dryer with a dryer sheet, I walk out of the laundry room and move to my office. I take a seat behind my desk and flip open my laptop, deciding to work on my family tree until I need to start getting ready for my date later this evening. My family tree is something I have been working on over the last few weeks.
I debated on cancelling my date tonight. Between being asked out by Eric and my texts with Sterling, it doesn’t feel right when I think about going. But Eric and I are just friends, and I have no intention of changing that, and I still have yet to discover who Sterling is. I should go. I don’t owe anyone anything. And it would be rude to cancel right before the date.
I spend the next couple hours working on my family tree, something I discovered I really enjoy doing, when my phone pings. My pulse quickens as I grab it off the desk. The name Sterling flashes across the screen, because I programmed his number and fake name into my phone last night.
Sterling: What are your plans this weekend?
Hmm. I think a minute before replying. Should I tell him the truth about my date? It’s not like I’m hiding it or anything. He doesn’t own me… although, he sure seems to think he does, which is crazy, but I won’t lie. It doesn’t even matter what he thinks.
Me: I have a date tonight.
I hold my breath and wait for his response. I don’t know why I even care.
His reply doesn’t come right away, and for several minutes I’m worried it won’t. He’s usually quick with his responses.
Finally, after several tense moments, my phone vibrates and dings. His message isn’t what I thought it would be, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m a little disappointed with it.
Sterling: Keep your phone with you at all times.
Huh? What happened to the caveman response I feared I would get from him? The response I was stupidly, but secretly, wanting? The you’re-mine-and-I-forbid-you-to-see-someone-else speech. I was sure I’d get a different reply.
Confused, and unwisely hurt, I send my reply.
Me: I always have my phone with me.
Sterling: Good. Have a great time tonight.
Umm… what the hell was that? I frown as I look back down at the message.
A little miffed, I decide to not add some kind of retort. I close down my computer and go to my room to get dressed for tonight. It’s stupid of me to be upset because he didn’t act the way I expected. The last thing I want or need is a man that’s possessive over me, but the thought of it appeals to me on some level.
I’m losing my mind.
My first mistake was continuing to accept his flower deliveries. My second was to engage in conversation with him. My third is letting him get to me. It’s definitely not normal for a woman to allow a man, a stranger, to capture her attention so completely. To let the same man get to her in ways that causes her body to tingle in awareness of him. It’s dangerous and stupid, and just asking for trouble. My only excuse is that the mystery of it all is so… exciting.
I shake my head and push thoughts of Sterling away as I pick out a deep plum, knee-length skirt and cream colored blouse, then I match the outfit with a pair of plum colored pumps. Moving to the bathroom, I touch up my makeup. I pull my hair up on the sides with small clips, leaving the back flowing and loose.
Looking at the time on my phone, it shows I have thirty minutes before my date is set to arrive. After tonight, I’m closing down my account on the dating site. Obviously, the guys that frequent them are all desperate douchebags. I’m wasting my time with them. I’m now starting to dread this date and wish I would have called and cancelled earlier.
I pull a bottle of wine from the fridge and have a glass while I wait. I have a feeling I’m going to need the extra boost it’ll give me to make it through the night, and it’s not long before my glass is empty. I pick up the bottle to pour more in my glass, when I hear a knock on the door. Putting the bottle back in the fridge, I grab my purse off the bar and walk to the door.
I’m pleasantly surprised when I see the man standing before me.
“Hi… Marc?” I ask with a smile. His own smile gets wider.
“Yes. Poppy, right?” His voice is deep. At my nod, he holds out his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Poppy.”
I grab it for a brief shake. “You as well.”
