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It’s like I can breathe easier now that I know she’s safe. I can move on with my day. And I do, taking my coffee with me, heading to the car where I’ve already stashed the equipment in the trunk. Not many people will be in her building at this time on a Monday morning, if any at all. Everyone will be at work.
It takes me all of five seconds to pick the lock on her front door, and I blow out a frustrated sigh as I step into the apartment. She’s lucky I’m the only person who’s ever broken in around here.
I didn’t get a chance to take much of a look at her apartment when I was here on Saturday, but now I have all day to familiarize myself with her. I can’t help smiling a little as I look around.
It isn’t until an ear-piercing squawk startles me into almost dropping half the equipment that I remember she has a fucking parrot. “Klaus is a good boy!” It shrieks from its cage.
“Are you serious?” I ask the bird.
“Klaus is a good boy!”
“She could at least give you something to say about yourself, Marley,” I mutter. Honestly, what is the obsession with that cat? A cat who couldn’t care less that a perfect stranger just strolled into the apartment. He barely bothers to glance my way before turning his attention back to the window. There’s nothing like a cat to make a man feel worthless.
“Fuck you very much, too,” I mutter. It could be worse. He could’ve attacked.
I’m glad for his disinterest as I take a tour of the cheerful little place. It’s exactly the kind of home I would imagine her having: tons of books stuffed into shelves that are all but overflowing, bowing a little in the center under all the weight. Plenty of plants—I’m not a plant person, so I couldn’t identify any of them, but it’s obvious she takes the sort of zealous care of them that she does of her animals. I ask myself how she manages to keep the cat away from them, but I get the feeling Klaus can’t be bothered.
Some would say good boy; others would say lazy, pampered cat.
It takes no work to unscrew the grates over the air ducts and place the cameras inside. On the tablet I brought along with me, I pull up each feed one at a time. It takes a little strategic maneuvering, but I manage to obtain a clear view of her bed from the vent positioned diagonally from it. I even go so far as to lie down, making sure I’m visible the way she will be.
The bed smells like her. The entire apartment does. It’s the shampoo she uses or the soap, maybe both combined with something extra. Something that’s uniquely hers. I run my hand over the cheerful little quilt, snickering at myself. Since when am I so sentimental?
But it’s Ainsley, and everything about her does this to me. Lying here, it’s almost like I’m with her. Protecting her, watching over her, making sure the world can’t hurt her anymore. I’m not a person familiar with miracles, but I know when I see one. The fact that there’s still that spark of innocence present in her heart is right up there with the greatest of them all. After what I witnessed at that wedding, she has no business being so sweet and forgiving, and she sure as hell has no reason to be so damn determined to march to the beat of the song that plays only in her head. That’s the sort of thing that needs to be protected at all costs.
Like the cost of all this equipment. Not that it matters. Nothing would be too much if it meant looking after her.
Before leaving the room, I open her dresser and look around inside. The sight of her lacy, feminine panties makes my cock stand at attention. I take a pair and slide them into my pocket before making a stop at the bathroom to go through her toiletries. One sniff of her shampoo and I groan softly. That’s it; that’s where that light, floral scent comes from. I make a note of the brand before double-checking to be sure I didn’t leave anything behind. One last test of the cameras to confirm the feed is working, and I’m out, down the stairs, and outside in no time. I never so much as crossed paths with a neighbor.
My heart is heavy as I leave, but I can’t do anything about that. If I can’t be with her, this is the next best thing. And I still can’t guarantee it would be safe to walk back into her life so soon after Paul’s death. Funny how a precaution that would seem like common sense at any other time is such a fucking hassle now.
One thing that keeps me moving and gets me into the car is knowing I wouldn’t be able to see her if I went to prison. That’s enough to get me rolling, stopping only at the drugstore to pick up shampoo before heading back to my own apartment.
Now that I’ve spent time in hers, where she’s clearly bent over backward to make it really and truly her own, do I see the stark difference in my own home. I’ve never seen the point in going all-out—this is where I sleep, where I eat, where I do my research and occasionally watch a show or a movie on my laptop. Stepping into the almost sterile space, though, makes me sorry that I never bothered trying to make this a home for myself. But when you grow up without one, grateful to have enough food to get by and enough money to keep a roof over your head, you tend to overlook the little comforts. She’s changing me in ways I couldn’t have predicted.
For instance, I never imagined myself as a stalker—not when there wasn’t a job involved, that is. Yet here I am, settling in to watch tonight’s show. There’s no way she’ll pick up on the presence of those cameras. Not a chance.
By the time my microwave dinner is cool enough to eat, the show begins. Her cheerful, high-pitched voice rings out, “I’m home!” What would it be like to hear her say that every day? Walking into our home?
She comes into the frame in her living room and immediately goes to Klaus. “He’s not much of a guardian,” I murmur, my eyes glued to my screen. She greets the bird and the turtle, asking them how their day went. If she only knew.
I reach into my pocket to pull out her panties and hold them to my nose, inhaling deeply. That’s not enough—I can almost imagine myself peeling them off after getting her good and wet, then burying my nose in her scent. My cock is painfully hard, and I have no choice but to free it, wrapping the panties around it before I begin to slowly stroke.
She’s doing nothing sexual, nothing I have any reason to be excited by, but I can’t help it. The simple act of watching her as she goes about her night, feeding the animals, and holding one-sided conversations is driving me out of my mind. She fixes herself dinner in the kitchen, and I watch from the vent while she tests a spoonful of pasta sauce, licking the corners of her mouth to catch every last bit.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, reaching for the bottle of shampoo. I pop the cap and close my eyes before inhaling, and in my head, it’s her hair I’m smelling, hair that’s fanned out across the pillow while I drive her crazy, worshiping every last inch of her. Claiming her for me, just for me. She’ll never be anyone else’s.
After one more sniff of shampoo, I’m gone, coming hard enough to make my ears ring and my breath come short and quick. By the time I return to my senses, her panties are covered in cum, and she’s oblivious, sitting down and turning on the TV with a bowl of pasta in her lap while Klaus settles in beside her.
I know now this isn’t enough. I could sit here every day, every night for the rest of my life, and watch every move she makes, but that will never stack up to being in her presence. Touching her. Watching as she comes undone thanks to me and only me.
I won’t get a minute’s sleep tonight if I don’t do something about this. I’m a junkie craving his fix, fighting with myself, knowing it’s wrong but finding it difficult to care about right or wrong in the face of obsession.
Eventually, the obsession wins out. After watching her prepare for bed, where she reads for an hour or so before turning out the light, I grab my jacket and my lock-picking tools before heading out. If there’s one skill I’ve mastered in my work, it’s how to break in undetected.
Her building is quiet, and nearly all the windows are dark as I walk up the pathway leading from the street. Rather than park nearby, I left the car two blocks down, though I seriously doubt I’m in any danger of being discovered. People around here have no idea how dangerous a quiet little town can be when people like me are involved. They expect their boogeymen to run around with chainsaws or assault weapons.
Thanks to the sheet covering the birdcage, there’s no screaming from Marley this time around. This could have all ended before it began were it not for that. I step into the apartment and close the door slowly, silently. There isn’t so much as a creak of the bedsprings in the other room to hint at her hearing my entrance. I creep toward the open bedroom door, crossing the living room with care now that it’s pitch black in here.
