Page 41 of To Obsess

Forever curious,

-V

My heart skips one painful beat, followed by another. She wants to know more about me? A tiny kernel of hope blossoms in my chest before I have the wherewithal to squash it with thoughts of the reality of our situation.

She only wants to know more about me in hopes of figuring out my identity. This whole thing seems so alluring to her because she doesn’t know who I am yet. It’s the mystery and intrigue of it all that draws her to me.

The second she finds out how I am—and how absolutely deranged I’ve become—she won’t want anything to do with me at all. I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t press charges honestly. God forbid she finds out about all the things I’ve done to keep her safe and be close to her through the years. They’d bury me under the jail if they knew about all of it.

As much as I would love to give her the information she keeps begging for, it’s in everyone’s best interest if that doesn’t happen. That doesn’t mean I can’t give her some information, though. The thought of telling her more about myself has my heart racing and a grin slips onto my face before I can catch myself.

I make the quick jog home, mentally running through ideas of what to tell her, quickly scratching most of them out, and digging for more meaningful tidbits.

The late-night air cools my face and eases my worries, allowing me to breathe somewhat freely for the first time since our meeting at the office. All too soon, I’m face to face with my front door. I fling off my shoes as soon as the door closes, foregoing my normal neat placement on the mat in the entryway. I hurry through the apartment, grabbing a pen from the kitchen table as I go.

The feel of the paper against my fingers as I pull it from my pocket sends shivers up my spine. I never would have expected Violet to take any kind of interest in me. Over the last twenty years, she hasn’t so much as taken a second glance at the letters and cards I’ve left her. Now that she has, adrenaline dumps into my system, urging me to go faster, like she might change her mind if I’m not quick enough.

I know that’s the opposite of the truth, at least from a psychology standpoint. Most people are more intrigued when the object of their curiosity doesn’t respond immediately—almost like a game of cat and mouse. However, I’m in too deep to play that game. I’ve waited too long for her to have an interest in me to prolong it any more than absolutely necessary.

As I bring pen to paper, my blood rushes through my veins, giving me a high like I’ve never experienced before. Having any of her attention is always intoxicating, but her taking the time and putting in the effort to ask questions and seek out information takes this to an entirely new level.

I scrawl the words across the paper before I lose the nerve, opting to give her one new fact about me this time. Nothing that would give her any real idea about who I am, but I think it’ll be enough to keep her interest. Neatly folding the paper in half, then half again, I place it on the coffee table with the pen on top.

This is such a bad idea, my head chides, ever the pessimist. I brush it off, determined to keep myself from ruining my elation at the way things have progressed.

The hot water of the shower is nearly scalding my back ten minutes later, filling the bathroom with a thick fog. Knowing I need to get up at a decent time in the morning to take care of some errands, I hurry my shower along, opting for a quick wash so I can hop in bed and get a few hours of decent sleep before the alarm is dragging me out of bed yet again. Even with that knowledge, it takes a monumental amount of effort to shut off the water and step out into the slightly chilly night air.

After making sure the front door is locked and all the lights are turned out, I tuck the note under my car keys on the counter and stalk back to my bedroom to slip into the cool caress of the sheets.

Chapter 38

Violet

I crack one eye open, searching for the blocky numbers of my clock. “Fuck!” With a growl of pure frustration, I sling the cover back over my legs and leap out of bed, leaving the bed in a complete mess, but I just don’t have time this morning.

I was supposed to be at the bookstore nearly half an hour ago. Maybe you’re not ready to have the store after all, my thoughts chime in.

“No, no, no,” I half-chant, half-yell when I miss a step and nearly faceplant the floor, catching myself just in time. I groan as I roll to my back, massaging my now tender wrist. With an exasperated grunt, I roll back over and push up onto my feet before making my way to the door a little more cautiously. The last thing I need today is a self-induced black eye.

The entire drive to the store is spent in the agony of replayed memories from last night. I had gone to bed at around 10:30 p.m. like normal, but my mind simply would not shut up. No matter how tight I screwed my eyes, or how many sheep I counted, or how many times I rubbed my feet together beneath the sheets, I could not fall asleep. Every time I would start to drift off, thoughts of the man lurking in the shadows outside my house had me jolting back awake.

Three times of this cycle had me at my wits end. I could nearly see the fraying rope of my sanity, snapping the teeny tiny threads with each passing moment. As a last-ditch effort, I forced my feet out of the bed and onto the floor, down the stairs, and into the kitchen where I’d found a piece of paper and pen laying on the kitchen island. I scrawled words across it, scratched them out, tried again. “Ugh!” I balled the paper up and tossed it across the kitchen, missing the trash can by an inch. “Of course,” I’d grumbled, rolling my eyes.

I found another piece of paper tucked under a napkin holder that was pushed against the wall and tried again. After only moderately more success, I balled that one up and tossed it to join the other page. One long, steadying breath had me trying one last time. As the last letters made their appearance, I had decided it would have to be good enough, tucked it under my keys on the coffee table, and trudged back upstairs with heavy footsteps.

The next thing I remembered was waking up in a blind panic when I realized the time.

The drive to the store took what felt like four lifetimes, considering I was caught by every red light on the way. But in the end, I’d made it before the store was set to open, so no harm, no foul.

The shift flies by without incident. I do my best to keep my mind off of this morning as I help one customer after another, order special editions of new releases for a wife’s upcoming birthday, and make a to-do list for things that need to be accomplished while I’m running the store on my own for the next couple of weeks. Before I even realize it, it’s past time to close.

The bell chimes as I click ‘shut down’ on the register. Keeping the huff of annoyance to myself, I look up and am met with the most glorious sight my eyes have ever beheld.

He’s dressed in a black T-shirt and dark washed jeans, sunglasses clipped onto the front of his shirt. His skin looks as if it has been lightly kissed by the sun, not too dark but definitely an indicator that he spends some time outside. As my eyes meet his, a spark of recognition ignites in me. It is the same guy!

“I hope I’m not too late,” he says, voice deep and rough, almost like he just woke up. “I was hoping to get a recommendation today.”

“Of course not! It’s never too late to grab a good book,” I beam, praying I don’t stumble over my words as I pick my jaw up from the floor.