Page 84 of Because I Liked A Boy
The kitchen was small, stripped back like the rest of the house—clean counters, half-empty fridge, nothing personal. But I found the coffee pot tucked in the corner and set it brewing. The scent filled the quiet, rich and warm, curling through the air until it felt like the house finally had a heartbeat.
I leaned against the counter, clutching the first mug between both hands. The steam fogged my lashes. My lips burned when I sipped too fast, and I laughed softly to myself.
Domestic. Mundane. Perfect.
For the first time in years, I let myself believe this could be mine. Mornings like this. His shirt on my skin. Coffee in his kitchen. A man upstairs who had held me through storms, kissed me like I was the only thing in the world, made me laugh until my cheeks hurt.
I padded into the living room, mug warm in my hands, the silence no longer suffocating but calm. Hopeful.
My fingers brushed the couch back, then trailed over the spines of books lined in perfect order, over the stack of neatly squared papers on the table. Everything was neat. Controlled. Hunter. My smile softened. “Figures,” I whispered to myself.
I wanted this. God help me, I wanted it.
My eyes landed on the leather-bound notebook on the coffee table, half-tucked under a neat pile of papers. I reached for it without thinking, my laugh still lingering.
The second I saw my name, Isabella Ashbourne, the laugh died in my throat.
My grip faltered. The folder slid from the pile.
I bent automatically, hands trembling as I picked it up.
At first, it looked ordinary—typed pages clipped neatly together. But when I flipped one open, the words slammed into me so hard my knees almost buckled.
My name. Stamped across the top in bold. Over and over again. And underneath—lines. Notes. Observations.
The Maple Bean – 10:04 a.m.
Subject ordered vanilla latte. Sat by the window. Spoke to Ruby.
Later joined by Theo. Me present.
My stomach lurched. I read it again. And again. My fingers tightened so hard the paper crumpled. I flipped the page.
The Ember – Friday night.
Subject accompanied by Ruby. Theo later joined. Me joined as well.
Progress noted. Interaction escalating.
I turned another. And another.
Everywhere I’d been. Everything I’d thought was mine. Coldly catalogued, stripped down to times, dates, people, drinks.
Even the lake.
Walk by the lake – late evening. Subject quiet. Spoke briefly. Trust developing.
Each detail tore a new hole in me. And always—Me.
Not “observer.” Not “contact.” Not initials. Just me. Like every move, every conversation, every private moment had been his job to witness, record, report.
My breath came faster. My chest squeezed tight. And then, halfway downthe page—
Contact deepening. Subject trusts me.
The room tilted. My knees gave out, and I staggered back onto the couch, clutching the file like it might bite me.
My vision blurred. Tears pricked hot and fast, slipping free before I could blink them back. My lungs burned, dragging in shallow breaths that barely reached my chest.
