Page 39 of Chasing After You
I rustled around in the cabinets, hating myself for forgetting to stop by a grocery store on the drive over from Oliver’s. The yogurt in the fridge had expired, and besides that, I just had a few bottles of various sauces and a carton of eggs that couldn’t have still been good.
I settled on a packet of microwaveable popcorn and some chocolate chips. I’d get over to the store the next morning.
The night stretched out, slow and uneasy.
I tried watching a show—some lighthearted reality thing I used to play as background noise—but the laughter and music felt too bright in the dim room, like a party I hadn’t been invited to. I muted it after a few minutes and let it play without sound.
Eventually, I turned the TV off and dragged myself to my bedroom.
Everything smelled faintly like detergent and dust. I shucked off my shirt and changed into a pair of grey sweatpants.
My sheets were cold and slightly stiff from not being slept in.
Even as I lay in bed, Dorian’s voice from the other day lingered.
You saved my life.
You were the best thing to ever happen to me.
I want to bring you home.
I turned onto my side, facing the wall, and shut my eyes. I counted my breaths. In, out. In, out.
I didn’t want to admit it, but I was scared.
Not of Dorian exactly, but of getting to know each other again. What if I didn’t live up to his expectations? What if he had changed so much that I didn’t know any of his favorite things anymore? What if he changed his mind about me? What if he decided that I was a waste of time?
Another buzz from my phone broke the silence. I groaned softly, reaching for it with one arm and squinting at the screen in the dark.
Dori ??:
I know you said no stalking, but since it’s your first night back at your place…
I’m downstairs in the car.
Just watching. Don’t worry.
I won’t come up.
Goodnight, angel.
Ex-fucking-scuse me?
My heart leapt and plummeted at the same time.
He was outside? Right now?
I sat up slowly, tiptoed to the window, and pulled the curtain aside just enough to peer down. Sure enough, there he was, parked across the street under the dim halo of a streetlamp. Engine off. Window down. A barely visible silhouette in the driver’s seat, leaning back like he’d already been there for hours.
I should have been angry. I should’ve texted him back and told him to leave, that this wasn’t what “normal” people did.
But instead, I let the curtain fall back into place and returned to bed.
Maybe I was just too tired.
I sank into the pillow again, and this time, I finally started to drift.
Knowing Dorian was out there wasn’t exactly comforting. But it wasn’t exactly terrifying either. It was something else entirely that I didn’t have the words to explain.
