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Plus, it would be nice to show her how great things are. She had nothing to be worried about in the first place. If I could talk to her, I could show her that. Maybe she could even come over for dinner some night, just to hang out. Just to ease her mind a little.
It’s Cynthia who really surprises me. She seemed happy for us the night we had dinner at the house, yet when I called her the next morning hoping to get her true feelings—I want so much for her to like him, to like us together—all I got was her voicemail greeting. It’s been that way ever since, too, for a few days now. She’s never been like this before.
If this goes on much longer, I decide as I step out into the evening air, I’m going to drive out to the house and check on her. Only the fact that we’re each other’s emergency contact has kept me from doing that before now. If anything was wrong, I would’ve found out by now.
Is it childish of me to wonder if there will ever come a time when everything in my life will be good all at once? Is that too much to ask? I’m so happy to be with Christian now. I’ve never felt so good, so secure. So much like there’s somebody who genuinely cares. When we’re together, it feels so right. I don’t have to ask myself what he’s really thinking or why there are long stretches of time when I can’t get ahold of him. After a while, that’s all I ever went through with Taj. He made me question everything about myself, right down to wondering whether I was even worthy of him. That’s something Christian hasn’t put me through, something I doubt he ever will.
And I want to share that with somebody. Is that so wrong? Don’t they want me to be happy? Especially Cynthia. Isn’t that what a mother, even a mother figure, is supposed to want? Everything seemed so great during dinner, and the two of them got along so well. Was there something I missed? No, there couldn’t have been, or else she would have told me about it. She would’ve wasted no time sharing her opinion, especially if it was a negative one.
Of course, I can’t tell Christian about this. I feel he senses my unhappiness, but he doesn’t push for answers. It might hurt him to know I’m feeling disconnected. I know he would blame himself for it, and that’s the last thing I want. None of this is his fault. No, I should thank him for everything he’s added to my life.
But that still isn’t enough to make me feel secure when I’m alone, the way I am now as I cross the campus. No matter how much I wish it was.
It’s been weeks since that last contact with the stalker, the day I moved in with Christian. But I know better than to think he’s stepped out of my life—he’s gone much longer than this without making contact. Probably trying to lull me into a false sense of security, waiting so he can catch me off guard. That’s why I can never be off guard, not when I’m by myself.
My shoes slap against the sidewalk, my head on a swivel as I practically jog across campus to get to my car. Does he know he’s doing this to me? Is he watching from somewhere, laughing to himself, knowing he’s worked his way into my subconscious? In the end, maybe this is all he wants. To have power over me. Maybe it’s enough to watch me run in the dark, always ready for him to jump out from behind a corner or to grab me from inside a car.
Or to force me into an alley. Bile rises in my throat, and I move faster, barely short of a run. I won’t let that happen again. I can’t. I’m so close to the car. Almost there...
The sight of paper stuck under the windshield wiper brings me to a stop. Well, my feet stop, at least. The top half of my body is still in motion, and I come within a hair’s breadth of tumbling over before getting a hold of myself. My throat is so tight, my heart thudding sickeningly, blood rushing in my ears. My head snaps back and forth, eyes taking in everything around me. Where is he? Why won’t he leave me alone?
With a trembling hand, I reach out and close my fingertips around one end of the paper and ease it out from under the wiper.
Then I bark out a laugh, one of surprise and relief. I might even laugh at myself a little as I figure out what was waiting for me. A damn parking ticket. All this over a parking ticket from campus police. The meter expired, and I didn’t even think about it—I’ve been that distracted. “Siân, you need to get it together,” I murmur to myself, still chuckling, relief now flooding my system to where I feel weak.
