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I smirk, imagining them all bounding for her—as any sane mammal would.
I was normal before her, I swear it.
But since her? Since her, I’ve become something wholly different, haven’t I? Now, I’m the man who sneaks into a single female’s home each night, watches her sleep, dreams of touching her, then follows her around every chance he can get.
What I’m doing isn’t even legal, but that’s something to worry about in the event I get caught. It’s been almost a year, and she hasn’t caught me yet, though. So, I think I’m safe.
That’s when criminals get caught.
The thought settles into my brain, making me nervous. Maybe, I should start being more careful.
I turn, knowing she’s already asleep and start to do the dishes. She never seems to question how they get done. I’m sure she thinks she does them in her wine-induced stupor. It’s the only way I get away with anything I do around here.
Sometimes, I feel unappreciated.
Says the stalker washing dishes in the light of a nightlight for a woman who knows nothing of his existence.
I smirk at the thought.
I turn from the sink after finishing the last glass and look at the calendar on the freezer. Written on its whiteboard-like top are meetings with businesses for interviews, a cat’s birthday, and something that sayscall C.I cock my head as I read it.
Who’s C?
Seems my girl’s been up to something unbeknownst to me. I don’t fucking like that one bit.
I notice she’s added a notepad to the right of the calendar with a pen on a magnet and I think about picking up the pen and leaving her a note, but I refrain.
Huffing, I stalk up the stairs.
Stalk.
I laugh inwardly at myself as I ascend to her room. She’s in the middle of her bed, like always, surrounded by cats and sleeping deeply.
Her hair is across her face, shadowing her beauty to me. I reach down slowly, slipping it past her face and letting it drop down near her ear. Her blonde waves are thick and silky. The orange tabby picks his head up, sees it’s me, and lies back down.
He’s used to my presence now.
The first time I’d snuck in, he hissed and snarled something fierce. Over the course of a few weeks, however, I’d won them all over with some catnip and toys. They’d already had so many, she never even realized new ones had appeared.
Now, none of them bother me one bit. I’m a constant in all their lives. It’s only her who doesn’t know it. Not yet anyway.
When I finally leave, I return the key and whistle as I descend the stairs and move through the night.
I’ve watched shows and read plenty on men who stalk women in the night. They’re all insane, though. I’m perfectly sane.
That’s most likely what the insane think, too.
I scoff at the thought.
She’ll know me one day. I don’t need to stress her now; she needs to be focused. Although, I won’t lie that her sadness and distress make me want to reach out and do more than move her hair from her face.
I straddle a thin line with my desire for her.
On one side of the line, is my desire to covet her, be there for her, become her everything. The other side of the line, however, is my immense desire to hear her screams muffled by my hand, see fear racing in her eyes, and feel her heated skin as her body realizes she’s being threatened.
It’s a very, very thin line.
And I often wonder what it will be that throws me over one side or the other.
