Page 62 of Run For Me
Friday can’t come quickly enough. The small bits I see of my little dove through the day in school aren’t enough. Which is why I’ve resorted to unethical means of seeing her.
She and another girl walk up and down the main street, going in and out of stores. I stay close enough to keep an eye, but not close enough that it’ll garner attention.
When I got dressed this morning, stalking wasn’t on my list of things to do. It was a last-minute decision type of thing when I crossed paths with her after class. I didn’t realize my feet would keep going. But maybe somewhere in my mind, I knew what today would bring because I dressed plainly enough that I stick in with the crowd, and thankfully this area is crowded enough, especially around this time of day. The weather is holding out, not too much rain, though it is chilly. Not enough to stop people from shopping.
When they disappear into a bakery a few blocks down on this side of the street, instead of crossing over and staying out of theway so I don’t get caught, I stop just outside the door and lean against the brick wall, smirking up at the sky.
If she passes me and I catch her attention, it’s possible she’ll think it’s me, but she won’t know for sure. And that is a fucking thrill all in itself. She is constantly wondering who I am, and if it’s me or someone else. How many people has she seen that she thought was me? How often does she think about it? I’d love to know.
So, I pull out my phone and send her a text to ask.
The urge to peek inside the window is hard to ignore. I want to know if she’s eager to speak to me or if she’ll ignore her phone for her friend. What’s more important to her? I need to know. I turn to look in the window when my phone dings, so I look down and see a text from her.
Little Dove:It’s constantly on my mind.
I grin down at my phone like an idiot, dipping my eyes back up to watch her in the bakery. Her friend is pointing at the showcase, talking to the person behind the counter. Sailor is by her side, phone in her hand, watching the exchange.
Me:Do you wish you knew who I was?
I type it out, but don’t hit send until I’m looking at her. My phone makes the sound telling me it sent, and a second later, she’s lifting her phone. So, that answers that. It’s not that I want her to be rude to her friends, but I’d like to know that she thinks of me. Wants to hear from me. Makes me a priority.
And I just said I needed to be done with her, yet I want her more than ever. Hopefully that’ll stop once I have her. This odd obsession will go away. I’m fucking stalking the girl, for Christ's sake. I broke into her house. Not once, but twice, and I plan todo it again. And I have even bigger plans for her tomorrow when she’s in class.
Little Dove:Sometimes.
Me:But…
Little Dove:I like the excitement of not knowing.
Me:Good. I wasn’t going to tell you anyway.
Little Dove:Good.
“Sailor, come on!” I glance over to see Sailor’s friend stepping out of the bakery, holding the door open. They give me their backs and walk away from me. I watch as they go, eyes on Sailor’s ass as she lifts her hoodie to stick her phone in her back jeans pocket.
Once they get about a block away, I move after them, holding up my phone to take photos. And in all the photos, I make sure it’s only her that I capture.
This is too fun to stop. Especially because I plan to send these photos to her, so she knows I was here. She may wonder about me, may look around corners to see where I am, but not well enough it seems.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sailor
I stare down at my phone, no longer seeing the words on the screen.
He was there.
He was watching me—us!
My instincts tell me to be scared, that this is crazy and not normal. But that other part of me? The part I’ve been all too familiar with lately, it’s thrilled. Impressed. I had no idea he was there, following me, watching my every move. It makes me feel special and safe in a way that it shouldn’t. For the first time, I accept it. I accept these feelings for what they are—me. This is who I am, and it feels good.
I chew on my lip as I consider what to say, then recall the text he’d sent while I was in the bakery.
Me:Is that why you asked if I wondered who you are?
JT:Yes.
I type out a text but delete it. It’s forward. More so than I have been before. Not just with him, but in general.
