Page 129 of Fixation
Another day.
Today, I want to see her more than anything. Then I can sneak back into her house and swap her pills without feeling that painful craving all over.
“Come to the window,” I order.
A bird chirps in one of the trees outside. The dark of the night breaks, softening.
And Harper makes me wait. She’s testing my patience.
Getting me hard as a rock.
“Why?”
“I want to talk to you.” That’s the truth. I can’t play mind games if we’re not talking. I can’t fully embed myself in her life if I stay silent.
“You-you what?” She hears the honesty in my voice, and it flusters her. Fuck me, I’d give a kidney to witness her flushed cheeks. “Just talk?”
“Just talk.” I’m done waiting, heading toward the window.
Without another word, Harper follows. Her fingers hook on the curtain, and she drags it to the side.
Staying in place, as stoic as I am, requires every bit of my restraint.
My mouth is set in a firm line. Jaw tight.
My heart is a violent beast, thrashing against my ribcage.
Her beauty destroys me from the inside. Those full parted lips. Her hitched breath. The outline of her nipples through her thin top.
Breaking the window and eating her alive is so fucking tempting.
Patience.
I stare at her in silence. The look I’m giving her should be the same one I gave the cadavers I dissected in med school. That’s what I’m aiming for, anyway. Planting fear in her heart is addictive.
And it works.
She shivers at that, hugging her body.
“You said you wanted to talk.” Her voice is clearer through the glass than it was through the thick front door. I catch the wobble in her confidence and I savor it. “So talk.”
Something changes inside me.
There will be time to chase her fear later.
Right now, with the morning so quiet it feels holy, I want something softer.
Her.
A piece of her heart. Something I could never steal just by stalking her.
I choose the first question that comes to mind. “Why did you become a jewelry designer?”
Her quick huff tells me so many things about her. An abundance of stories. I don’t ask a follow-up question, though.
I wait.
“No, no, no. You? Judging me?” She switches the placement of her arms, pressing her hands to her hips. “No. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s none of your business, and I do not?—”
