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I know I will. Not like it helps my one-track mind.
I need this brief one. Just a peek. Here she is, turning to me.
Yes. Fuck. Incredibly fucking gorgeous. Round, brown eyes, high cheekbones, pouty lips. Closer to me now than she was in the building.
Almost close enough to extend my hand and touch her.
The darkness she’s enveloped in doesn’t obscure her beauty. In a way, the shadows enhance her features. As though she belongs there. As if there’s a dark side to her, a hidden one that haunts her.
I start to think it’s a quality we share.
For the last thirty minutes, I haven’t been myself. I’ve transformed from a reputable doctor to a predator. A stalker. A man obsessed with something so precious he shouldn’t have ever dreamt of.
I’m this person because of her. My match.
The more I consider it, the more I start believing my own logic.
I’m exactly what she needs. Whatever burden she carries on her little shoulders, I’m strong enough to lift it. I’ll carry it for her in one arm while using the other to hug her.
Am I going nuts? Probably.
Is this savior complex an extension of what I failed to do ten years ago? I don’t doubt it contributed to it.
However, the reasons don’t matter. Because I’m going for it.
The car sputters as I move along and park at the side of the road, continuing to watch her in my rearview mirror. She waits for the parking garage’s electronic gate to lift.
While I watch her, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror too. I don’t just feel like I’ve changed. I look it, too.
My black hair’s the same, shaved on the sides and longer on the top. My thick, black eyebrows rest over my black eyes like they did yesterday. The small bump on my nose from when I broke it when I was six remains in place.
But my eyes aren’t really my eyes. They’re hungry. Feral. Exuding the soul of a man on a mission.
My cock jerks, becoming painfully hard as I watch her cute hybrid car lower to the belly of the building. My mind wonders what she’ll do next.
She might shower, discard her scrubs on the floor of her living room on her walk there. She’ll free her round breasts from the restraints of her bra. Slide her delectable ass out of her panties.
She’ll be naked. Completely fucking naked.
I bite the inside of my cheek, imagining her lathering soap on her skin, running her hands through her long hair. Between her legs. Cleaning everything up. Every inch of her. Every hidden, sweet crevice.
Will she go out later? Dress up to go on a date, join a friend for drinks?
I have no idea. And it’s making my jaw tic.
It’s making me traipse into a dangerous zone when I snatch my phone. Because I don’t hesitate for a second before searching the internet for apartments for rent in her building.
I moved into my new house from NorCal last week. True, it cost a small fortune. So fucking what? I’ve earned and saved enough to afford to rent an apartment here for as long as I see fit.
I’m not new to this obsessive behavior.
My relentlessness is what got me accepted to an Ivy League school, how I landed an internship at one of the top hospitals in the U.S.
Eventually, it’s what caused me to lose my residency there. Because I refused to let the bad guy win. And I failed.
I won’t fail now.
This woman, this new mission in my life, will be mine.
