Page 77 of Shadowman
Anyway, it was getting dark, and I was just entering the park when I saw this girl. I could tell right away she’d been crying based on the way she was wiping her eyes and sniffling as she shuffled ahead of me, clutching a backpack over her shoulder.
Naturally, she didn’t see me. People rarely did, unless I was directly in their eye-line. It was just this quality I had; this uncanny ability to fall into the background. Call it a symptom of my quietness, or maybe a coping mechanism formed around my desire to be alone and not have to deal with people’s constant, nagging questions.
“What’s wrong??”
“Why are you so quiet?”
“Is everything okay?”
“Why so serious? Cheer up, kid! It’s not all bad!”
Um, yes. Actually, it is.
I swear to God, if one more person told me to smile, I was gonna go all Heath Ledger inThe Dark Knighton them.Let’s put a smile on that face… You know the line.
Because of how over it I was—the constant, nattering vocal spewage—I had somehow manifested myself into anactualshadow. A lurker who could effortlessly fade into the background and just watch.
I didn’t mind. In fact, I liked it.Most of the time…
It could get lonely, or isolating, but I told myself if and when someone came along worth stepping out of the shadows for, I’d do it. And hopefully, they wouldn’t look right through me like I was made of cellophane.
The sad girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen. She had auburn hair with this cool streak of blonde running down the front. I liked it. It made her lookunique. So I kept walking behind her, keeping my steps light, so she wouldn’t hear me, leaving just enough space between us that if shedid, she wouldn’t think I was some creeper.
And it worked. It worked so well, in fact, that once we got to the exit of the park, I wound up going right, following her, instead of left, toward my house.
There was just something I related to in her energy. She was lonely too, I could tell.Maybe that was why she’d been crying…
I felt a connection to her. Like a kinship… A need to protect. For some reason, I needed to keep following her to wherever she was going, just to make sure she was alright.
I followed her for a while, and not once did she notice me. But it was okay. I didn’t mind being her shadow, if it meant neither of us wasalone.
She eventually went into a building, which I sincerely hoped was her home, but you never know. I remember going back there a few times after that and just waiting outside. Hoping to see her again, maybe happier than last time. But I never did.
It didn’t necessarily mean anything… That was just life in New York. It’s not a small town where everyone knows each other’s business. You can’t know what’s going on with someone unless you’re directly involved in their life. And even then… we all have secrets.
After that day, I started following people who interested me; people I wanted to know, or observe, or keep an eye on. It was my secret hobby, and I loved that no one knew about it. Keeping the secret was half the fun.Maybe more.
Pair sneaking around with keeping a secret, and you’ve got a recipe for a pure, wicked thrill.
For that reason, I was blissed out beyond all rationale in the weeks leading up to my arrest. Because I’d been keeping adeliciouslysneaky secret. The kind that’s so good you want to bury it within the deepest crevices of yourself to prevent it from ever being discovered, while also fighting the desire to shout it from the rooftops.
Since that first life-obliterating night, I’d been back to Michelangelo’s place four more times. Each visit under the guise ofbreaking inandassaulting him. Of course, we both knew that wasn’t really what was happening. But we did a pretty damn good job of acting like it was.
I wasn’t sure what was wrong with Michelangelo Russo; if there had been something from his past that made him crave the rape fantasies, or if it was just his secret kink. Regardless, I was all the way on board.No shade whatsoever.His need to be tied up and degraded by a sexy stranger worked perfectly with my need tobethat character.
The only slightly confusing part was that we were bothstraight—at least as far as the rest of the world was concerned.
Due to the nature of our weird little arrangement, we didn’t talk much, outside of the pure filth that would exit my mouth sometimes when I had him zip-tied to his headboard. Other thanthis one, we weren’t exactly swapping secrets, and that meant I hadn’t the slightest clue what Michelangelo’sdealwas. But based on the way he behaved sometimes—and the quick, boring sex I’d seen him have with women—I was willing to bet he was gay.
It was none of my business. But I couldn’t stop wondering if maybe his father, Governor Russo, was the reason for him keeping his sexuality under wraps. If it were true, I hated that for him… Just like I hated it for myself.
I still wasn’t sure if I was really bisexual, or just experimenting. All I knew was that every day since Michelangelo had come into my life, I’d been feeling more and morehuman. I finally felt alive andreal.
Something was working. And thatsomethingwas sneaking into the home of our governor in the middle of the night and having dirty, sweaty, morally ambiguous sex with his son.
I was in no rush to confront my sexuality hang-ups anyway. It wasn’t like I could ever come out to my family. They wouldn’t get it, especially my father. I refused to think about his reaction, but I knew it wouldn’t be acceptance and proudly displayed rainbow garb.
I was better off keeping the secret. For now, it was just good, and I didn’t want to ruin it by overthinking.I’d much rather enjoy the best orgasms of my life, thank you very much.
