Page 39 of X Marks the Stalker

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The Harrington. Thursday. Don’t forget.

I bite my lip, staring at the message.

Don’t break into my apartment. Just ask for my number like a normal person.

Anonymous

Where’s the fun in that?

A smile spreads across my face. I stare at the message a moment longer, a thought crystallizing. I glance up at the smoke detector housing one of his cameras.

“Are you watching me right now?” I ask, crossing my arms.

Three dots appear on my screen.

Anonymous

Yes. That dress looked better on you than hanging in your closet, by the way.

Heat crawls up my neck. Half indignation, half something darker. I shift in my chair, crossing my legs as I remember his touch from the gallery. His voice in my ear, his body close to mine.

My phone buzzes again.

Anonymous

Your pupils are dilating, and your breathing pattern has changed. Are you aroused right now?

The clinical observation delivered in text somehow makes it filthier. I could lie, but what’s the point? He’s watching my body betray me in real time.

“Yes.”

Anonymous

Go to your kitchen.

I hesitate, fingers hovering over the screen. This is insane. Dangerous. The stupidest thing I’ve ever considered doing.

“Fuck it,” I whisper, standing up. My legs wobble beneath me as I move to the kitchen, aware of the camera tracking me.

Anonymous

Open the second drawer on the left.

I frown, pulling open the drawer. It’s where I keep my emergency candy stash—a collection of chocolate bars, gummies, and several large rainbow swirl lollipops I’d bought during a shopping trip last week.

Anonymous

Take out one of those big lollipops.

My breath catches. He knows what’s in my drawers? The surveillance level both disturbs and thrills me.

Anonymous

Unwrap it. Slowly.

My fingers tremble as I peel the cellophane from the colorful spiral lollipop, the crinkle of the wrapper loud in the quiet apartment.

Anonymous

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