Page 80 of The Taskmaster

I had an obsessive personality. I’d been obsessed with Abigail Walters from the first moment I saw her. But what happened after that night turned into something far more powerful than obsession.

She was all I thought about.

She was all I cared about.

Every moment of the day was spent watching her from the apartment down the hall, studying her face and every smile, frown, every expression she made, and thinking of ways I could control it, change it and manipulate the world around her to make everything perfect for her.

It wasn’t an obsession, it was an unquestionable infatuation I couldn’t turn off. A craving I could never sate. Her whole existence was now linked to mine, and I’d die without her. I needed her like air, water, and food. The thought of anyone being near her, hurting her, made me want to rip the world apart with my bare hands.

I watched her in her apartment, and when she started to fret or looked worried, I sent her a text to ask how her day was or question how excited she was to play our next game. Those small gestures seemed to mean a lot to her, judging from the look on her face every time she received them. Maybe I was better at this than I thought, this being interacting with others on a normal, everyday level.

Over the next few weeks, I visited her too, choosing my moments carefully so I could show her that I was always there for her, especially at times when her vulnerability seemed more palpable.

My whole life revolved around her.

Fucking her was like a drug that kept me alive.

Holding her in my arms was medication that soothed my fucking soul.

I guarded her like a fucking dog, checking the CCTV around the building to make sure there were no suspicious dark figures or black Mercedes hanging around. And as for Q, I didn’t give a shit anymore. The guy probably wasn’t even a real person. Tolley probably made it up to fuck with me. I didn’t have time for anything else.

Everything was her.

I stared at the screen, watching her flick through the channels on her TV. I was thankful she wasn’t going out. It made watching her so much easier, but it wasn’t right. She was locking herself away. If she were going to be locked away, I’d prefer it to be with me on my terms.

So, I sent her a text.

Me

Are you ready to take the games to the next level?

She wouldn’t have a choice, but it was nice to let her think she did.

Abigail

What did you have in mind?

She replied, and I smirked at my phone as images of what was going to happen tonight filtered through my brain.

Me

I want you to come out with me tonight. I have a task for you.

On the monitor, I saw her open the message, read it, and her face dropped.

Abigail

Can’t we do it here? I’m not in the mood to go out.

Not in the mood, or wouldn’t?

I got that she might be worried about the consequences of what’d happened that night in the cottage. I could understand her being wary because of the fucker trying to break into her apartment. But I was going to be there. She knew not to be afraid when she was with me.

I stared at my phone, trying to decide how to respond, but words wouldn’t cut it this time.

I put my phone in my pocket, left the apartment and headed to her front door.

I knocked, and her quiet, apprehensive voice from the other side asked, “Who is it?”