Page 19 of Jealous Stalker

A note on the pillow next to hers.

It’s neat, much too carefully folded to be a thing she discarded. Besides Ella might not have total control of the whole apartment but she keeps her bedroom relatively tidy. This piece of paper was placed there intentionally.

For a moment, a mountain of rage fills me.

Is it that shit bag, Carl? No, it can’t have been. He knows better. Besides, he doesn’t strike me as the type to write notes. Jules, maybe?

Again, I don’t think so.

From what I’ve observed, their sole form of contact is text and calls. Hell, I doubt Jules or Carl, with how much they’re addicted to social media, even know what a pen and paper look like.

So, unless Ella wrote herself a note or was given a note by someone at work, someone who’s slipped under my radar, then…

My heart hammers hard as I rise smoothly to my feet.

I stare down at my beauty for another pulse-destroying minute, then silently make my way around the bed.

Lines don’t exist where Ella and I are concerned so nerves aren’t the reason my hand shakes as I reach for the note.

No.

I’m terrified of what I’ll do if the note comes within a whisker of threatening my ownership of Ella.

I’m also terrified of what I’ll do if the note is meant…for me.

She murmurs in her sleep and I know it’s unlikely but it sounds a lot like…’go on’. ‘Do it’ maybe?

I snatch the scrap of paper off the smooth pillow. Clutch it tight in my fist and attempt to regulate my breathing.

I can’t risk waking her by using the penlight I have in my pocket, so I retreat to the living room. And still I hold the piece of paper tight.

What it contains will either bring delirium or agony. Would mean life and death for someone out there. It deserves a minute’s respect.

Then need claws at me, and I have no choice.

I suck in a breath and unfold the piece of paper. And I stop breathing at the sight of her neat little handwriting.

The words destined to rearrange my life.

Again.

I may be going crazy.

Or I’m not, and you may be sneaking into my apartment to watch over me.

Just like you do on the street.

Everywhere I go. I don’t know who you are.

And should be scared of you but I’m not.

I feel you and I’m a little sorry I’m not good enough to know how to connect properly with you.

But. Okay this makes me a little nervous but here goes.

If you really exist, if I’m not going crazy, reply to this note.

Please?

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