Page 13 of Stalking My Stalker

“I’m sorry,” I sigh, slumping forward onto the table like an exhausted caterpillar. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I have a headache. And this guy…”

“We’re only trying to help,” Amy says sweetly, patting me on the back. Despite her hard edges, Amy always knows when a bit of comfort is needed.

“I know.” I nod. “I just…Ireallylike this guy. I was ready to dive in, you know? Give myself over to him. But he’s just–I can’t figure him out. And that scares me.”

Memories of last night’s events begin to bubble up from beneath the surface, and my eyes start to well up with tears. Some things are better left alone, and maybe Parker is one ofthose things. Maybe I will be better off without him. Because for the first time since he entered my life, the thrill is gone. The excitement vanished. And all that remains now is a vacant, hollow feeling, tinged with pain and despair.

6

PARKER

It’s beenfour days since I’ve seen Ali.

And those four days have been the hardest of my life.

Years ago, when I had just joined the mob and was still green, I was captured by The Black Coyotes, the New York arm of the Irish mob. I made a mistake, and it cost me. I was held and tortured for eleven days straight. They cut me with knives, broke my fingers, and put out cigarettes on my skin, but all that was nothing compared to the agony I’ve struggled to endure these last few days being away from Ali.

My instincts are howling. All I want is to stalk her every second of every day. I want to camp out across from her apartment, break in, and pound the breath out of her. I want to fuck her so hard and so deep that her pussy is never able to forget the feeling of my cock. But somehow, I’ve managed to keep myself away. Don’t ask me how. A lion must hunt its prey, and I must stalk Ali. Maybe it’s an act of God that’s given me the strength to resist.

The guilt I feel for throwing her out of my apartment continues to eat at me like a venomous snake with a stranglehold around my neck, choking me slowly, growing tighter and tighter as the seconds tick by. And I know it’s only a matter of timebefore I succumb. Before my remorse overwhelms me and I cease to exist.

I wake up in the middle of the night sweating, gasping for breath, the visage of Ali’s face haunting me like some taunting specter. The look of betrayal she gave me was like a dagger through my chest. She must despise me, and I wouldn’t blame her for wanting me dead. Even now, if I went back to her and apologized, would she accept it? Or would she throw me out like I did to her?

Somehow, I’ve managed to make it all day without opening the gallery on my phone. No pictures of Ali. No videos. That’s been my rule, and while I failed the last three days, I’ve managed to succeed today. I even told myself I would delete them all. Purge them from my phone so there would be no temptation, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. For me, that would be like setting fire to the Mona Lisa. Some things you just can’t do.

I took three breaks today and jerked off to the thoughts of the night I first claimed my angel, my treasure, but they did nothing to stave off my unbearable hunger. Ali belongs to me, and I’m pushing her out of my life.

Why am I like this? Sure, I was raised on the streets and surrounded by crime. But I could have taken another path for my life, yet I chose to join the mob. I chose to become a hitman. And as a result, I may have destroyed any chance for a life filled with love.

When I leave work, I head straight for my car and speed back to my apartment. I have to lock myself in and find a way to distract myself so I don’t rush over to Ali’s. But once I step inside, all I see is the wall where I held Ali and pressed my knife to her throat. The couch where I pinned her down and fucked her. Even holding my door open makes me cringe as I think back to the moment she walked out, stunned and trembling from my cruelty.

“What have I done?” I mutter.

I stand there like a statue, unmoving for hours. I don’t know what else to do. Making myself a meal or watching TV feels wrong. I don’t deserve to enjoy life without her. If she’s suffering, so must I. I know that if I move a muscle, I’ll end up going straight over to her apartment to stalk her like the maniac I am.

So I stand there, eyes closed, focusing on my breathing.

And then the wind stirs outside.

A breeze blows through the window and lifts her scent from the couch, funneling it into my nostrils.

Almond cherry…

That’s all it takes. It’s like a bolt of electricity that snaps my eyes wide open. I grab my car keys from the counter and rush back out the door, heart pounding like a madman. I break every speed limit and run every red light on my way to her place.

I’m not going to break in tonight. That would be wrong.

But just a little glimpse from across the street? I can handle that. Right?

I feel like an addict justifying having a single drink after a length of sobriety. Deep down, I know there are more ways this can go wrong than it can go right, but I just can’t stop myself. I’m in a nearly hypnotic state as I cross the road and enter the vacant house, my mind already swimming with visions of what I might see tonight.

Then, just as I’m closing the door behind me, I catch a tiny red flash out of the corner of my eye. Adrenaline dumps into my veins as I whirl in its direction. It’s gone. I open the door again and close it, and the light re-appears–a single blink from beneath an old stack of rotten plywood.

I hurl the boards aside and reach into the mess and pull out a Wi-Fi motion sensor. Sweat breaks out all over my body, and I instantly place a hand on my gun. Someone planted thishere. Someone who specifically knows I come here to watch Ali. So either that someone is a person from my past life who has tracked me down and is monitoring my movements…

…or that person is Ali, and my worst fears have been realized. My heart sinks.

I knew it. Ali is a Fed.

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