Page 157 of Letters From A Stalker

“I mean exactly that. I didn’t know at first. I would get this feeling sometimes, especially near the windows, like somebody was out there, and then he started leaving letters.”

Tessa lowers the glass very slowly. “Letters.”

I nod. “Yes.”

“From the man standing outside your house.”

“Yes.”

“And you never called me.” The anger in her voice is there, but underneath it I hear something worse. Hurt.

I look away. “I know.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Because at first I wasn’t even sure I wasn’t imagining it. Then I knew I wasn’t, and by that point…” I run my thumb against the side of my glass while I try to explain something that still sounds insane in my own head. “It had started changing.”

“How does getting letters from your stalker change into something that doesn’t warrant calling your best friend?”

“When I started wanting him there.” That stops her completely.

For several seconds, she simply stares at me, and I can almost see her trying to decide whether I misspoke. “You wanted him there.”

“Yes.”

“Your stalker.”

“I am aware of how it sounds.”

“I don’t think you are, because I’m sitting here hearing it and I’m not sure I understand how it sounds.”

Despite my foul mood, my mouth twitches.

“He started with letters about things he noticed, things I did when I thought I was alone. At first they scared me, but then they became more personal. More sexual. He started giving me ways to answer him without having to write anything back, and that changed things.”

Tessa’s brow furrows. “What kind of ways?”

“The lamp, mostly. If I wanted him to watch, I left it on. If I didn’t, I didn’t.”

Something complicated passes through her expression because that answer doesn’t fit the category she has already put Ghost into.

“He never came inside until I invited him,” I continue. “Eventually he left a letter telling me that if I wanted him to come in, I should leave the door open. So I did.”

Tessa’s mouth opens but no sound comes out.

I lift one hand immediately. “I know.”

“No. You absolutely do not know, because I currently have about eight thousand questions trying to crawl out of my mouth at once.”

“Please let me finish before you yell.”

She leans closer, all humor gone now. “Just tell me this, did he ever hurt you?”

The question comes so quickly and with so much naked concern that I finally look at her properly. “No.”

“Julia.” Her voice carries my name as a mixture of warning and concern.

“I mean it. He never hurt me in a way I didn’t want him to. If I told him to stop, he stopped. Immediately. Every single time.”