Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
But I know everything about her. The way she takes her coffee at home (one sugar, splash of soy milk, a sprinkle of cinnamon). Her favorite song (“Psycho Killer” by Talking Heads). She dances around her room with her eyes closed with the song blasting as a way to hype herself up before she goes online. I know the exact shade of her eyes (amber flecked with gold). I know that she likes to wear fluffy socks but can never sleep with them on. Each day that passes, I’m learning more and more. It’s endless but I’m determined to discover everything I possibly can.
I watch her from afar, collecting these precious details like a fucked up psycho hoarding shiny trinkets. Each new discovery about Chloe feeds my obsession, intensifying that metallic flavor in my mouth.
Tonight it’s snowing around me as I lurk outside her bedroom window. Delicate flakes settle on my eyelashes as I peer through the frosted glass. Chloe is curled up on her bed, bathed in the soft glow of her bedside lamp. She’s reading, her brow furrowed in concentration. I imagine I can hear the whisper of pages turning.
My breath fogs the window, and I wipe it away impatiently. Can’t let anything obstruct my view. My fingers leave smudges on the glass, and I realize with a start that I’ve forgotten my gloves. Sloppy. I can’t afford to be sloppy.
Chloe shifts, stretching languidly like a cat. Her oversized T-shirt rides up, exposing a strip of pale skin above her pajama bottoms. My mouth goes dry, that familiar taste intensifying. I swallow hard.
I press closer to the window, my fingertips leaving ghostly imprints on the glass. The cold bites into my skin, but I barely notice. All of my attention is focused on Chloe as she sets her book aside and reaches for her phone.
A faint blue glow illuminates her face as she scrolls, her lips curving into a small smile. Who is she texting? A friend? A lover?
I can’t see.
I hate not being able to see.
Jealousy flares hot in my chest, and I have to force myself to take deep, calming breaths. The vapor from my exhales creates a misty veil between me and my obsession.
Suddenly, Chloe looks up, her gaze seeming to pierce right through the window. For a heart-stopping moment, I’m certain she’s seen me. I freeze, not daring to move a muscle. But her eyes slide past, unseeing, as she gets up and pads over to her computer.
Her shirt is short and my eyes lock on how the fabric barely covers the curve of her ass. She glances over her shoulder toward the window as if—
I drop to the ground, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure she must hear it. Pressed against the cold earth, I hardly dare to breathe.
That copper-penny taste floods my mouth again. It’s both thrilling and nauseating. Part of me wants to spit, to rid myself of this physical manifestation of my obsession. But another part, a darker part, savors it.
I should leave. I’ve already stayed too long, taken too many risks. But I can’t tear myself away.
Just one more minute, I tell myself. One more glimpse.
I lie there for several more minutes, snow melting beneath me, soaking through my clothes. When I’m certain it’s safe, I slowly raise my head.
Chloe sits at her desk, the glow of the computer screen casting eerie shadows across her face. Her fingers fly over the keyboard, and I strain to see what she’s typing. Is it a message to someone? An email? A diary entry?
The thought of Chloe keeping a diary sends a charge through me. What secrets might she confide to those pages? What hidden desires and fears might she reveal?
I lean closer, my nose nearly touching the glass. If I could get a better angle, maybe I could—
A chirp from her ceiling startles me, and I jerk back instinctively. It’s the smoke detector, its little light blinking in the darkness. The smoke detector’s chirp reminds me of my day job, and for a moment, I’m disoriented. Fireman Jack seems so far removed from this version of me, crouched in the snow outside Chloe’s window.
Chloe looks up at the detector, frowning slightly. She stands, stretching again, and I drink in the sight of her lithe body silhouetted against the warm light of her room. She walks to her closet, rummaging around until she emerges with a step stool.
My heart races as she sets up the stool beneath the smoke detector. Is she going to change the battery? That’s my job. I should be the one up there, keeping her safe.
She climbs up, reaching for the device, and her shirt rides up even further. I can see the edge of her panties against her creamy thighs, the delicate curve of her legs. My fingers twitch, aching to trace those lines.