Page 29 of Jealous Stalker

I lean in close. Take a breath. A vow.

Me:

I’ve never wanted anything more than I want to taste the spot where those pretty pink panties touched you. Did I tell you they’re my favourite?

I imagined them all night.

Thought about the heat they held. How they smelled like you. How soft they’d feel against my tongue.

But I didn’t touch you.

I could have. I was on my knees beside your bed, love.

And I was praying.

Not to God—he doesn’t know what to do with creatures like me.

I was praying to you.

Tell me when to stop. Or tell me when to take.

I’ll listen either way.

Yours.

Three dayslater

We’ve been exchangingnotes every night for a week. No surprise at all, it’s become a vital part of my existence now. I’m 100% sure I’ll die if she stops.

Tonight, her note is folded in half, the edge tucked carefully beneath the string on her wrist, like she leaves it lately.

I tug it free carefully unfold it with reverence, smoothing the creases with my palm. Then a fresh wave of fury rolls over me.

Ella:

Bad day today.

One of the doctors snapped at me in front of a patient.

Then had the audacity to corner me by the supply closet and ask me to dinner. Said he was "just under pressure" earlier and wanted to "make it up to me."

I laughed it off, but it left a sour taste.

I didn’t like how he looked at me.

Or how it made me feel. Small. Trapped.

It’s not how I feel when you look at me.

Just needed to write it out, I guess.

My jaw clenches harder.

He looked at her. Made her feel small. Trapped.

That’s all I need. I fold the note, tuck it into my pocket like scripture, and leave.

Me: