Now, she sits in her room on the second floor, first window to the left. I've been watching her for so long that it’s second nature. Thumbing the envelope in my coat, I wait for the right moment. I pull a cigar from my breast pocket (Al Capone dipped in cognac),lighting it. I puff and watch as she combs her fingers through her hair. My heart aches with how I long for them to be my fingers. Sadness exudes from her striking gray eyes, reflecting in the vanity mirror. “What troubles you, darling?” I mutter beneath my breath.
As I survey my surroundings. I see a pile of rocks stacked in a perfect mound at the base of a tree. Examining her once more, I make my move, grabbing a pebble to toss, hitting the glass on the first try. She is at her window in seconds, as if she had been waiting for something to happen. She looks around, scanning for the culprit. When she lays her eyes on me, my heart flutters like the beating of a bird's wings. My cock pulsates as our eyes meet. For years, I've watched from the shadows. I only involved myself when she was in danger.
The night at the lounge, for example, when she went out with her friends on her twenty-third birthday. She looked breathtaking inthat red gown, tied around her neck like a docile snake, the front descending downward past her breasts.
A slit in the side climbed its way up to the top of her hip, barely concealing her womanhood. It was the first time I ever looked at her as more than someone I wanted to keep safe. No, I wanted her. For years, I have loved her, protected her, and vowed no harm shall ever befall her. Yet, tonight was different. I went from ’loving her’ to ’being in love with her,’ still, I knew it wasn't the right time. I looked on as she laughed and drank. At one point, she even sat beside the pianist and sang along to the fervent cries of the sixties jazz tune. The night went on without a hitch till this silver-tongued cad happened along.
He made her smile, offered to buy her a drink, and managed to smooth-talk her friends. I looked on as she went back up to sing a jazz take on a modern-day song. I was enamored with her. I almost didn't catch him slipping something into her drink. Long story short, I ended up having to strangle him over her confused, drug-induced body. That was the first night I openly killed for her.
Her personal candle snuffer, eliminating the air that feeds the flame of the lives that dare look at her wrong.
I fed on the pain and fear expelling from his eyes—eyes that should have never had the privilege to gaze upon such beauty. A moment of recognition washed over him as if he could see my smile in his death throes. His veins protruding from under his skin, in their last attempt to plead with my humanity, dick thrashing, frozen erect from the lust I denied it to satiate. His body gyrated and contorted as he clawed at his throat for air. “Die, you sick fuck. You don't have thepermission to breathe in the presence of what is mine.” I whispered snidely in his ear.
He dared to glance down at her, begging with the last breath he could muster. “Help me!” He wheezed. She was heavily fatigued, her limbs weak as she tried to get up. I hated seeing her in that state, confused and defenseless, although nothing could extinguish her beauty.
As his body grew limp, she looked up, and that was the first time our eyes met. The anger stirred in me again at that realization, making me squeeze tighter, so tight a cobra would be envious. I had hoped the first time she saw me would have been special—but no. I prayed it would be under different circumstances. Instead, fear is her first impression of me, thanks to this waste of human life.
I was able to get her far enough away from the scene of the crime so that it wouldn't be tied to her. Not long after placing her on a couch in one of the private rooms, she was found by her friends and brought home. I followed to make sure she made it back safely. Later, it came out that he died of erotic asphyxiation, alone in a very precarious way. That was five years ago, and still, I would stop at nothing to protect her. This world will burn in a blazing inferno before I ever let anyone hurt her.
The night of the accident, Ifailedher. It will never happen again.
∞∞∞
As I stalk to the mailbox, she keeps her eyes fixated on me. I open the door, my eyes never leaving hers. Her hand rises to rest against the glass, and my body quakes with the thoughts that rushthrough my mind. The depiction of her petite hands around my shaft, knowing with my size, she’d have to use both. One on top of the other—even then, there would still be an inch gap before they touched. Cuffing myself, I envision it being her. My full length is visible, so hard just from the thought of it. Thankfully, I am shrouded in the darkness of the night.
Once I awake from my daydream, I realize she is no longer at the window. I flick the cigar butt, jam the letter into the empty box, then slam the door as I turn to walk away. Moments later, I hear her sing-song voice call for me to stop, her vocals reverberate off the empty streets as she demands I turn around. “Oh, my precious dove.” I chuckle to myself.
I feel a strange urge to oblige, as the thought of taking her right here in the street arises. The illumination from the streetlamps cast a surreal glow, adding ambiance to the chilly air that almost feels electric against my skin as it slips beneath my coat. The tension between my little bird and me thickens with each passing second. Her persistence to catch me is inspiring, a mix of curiosity and something deeper, something unspoken.
The envelope in the mailbox may bring light to the darkness she has been locked away from for years—the same darkness I have become so accustomed to.
I must force these feelings to the back burner, the weight of them heavier, knowing the contents of that letter.
The words contained within it will put me on full display. No more running, no more hiding in the shadows. Now is the time to claim my little dove.
The desire for her is burning within me. I knew that surrendering to it at this moment would undermine everything I had strategically planned. My actions had to be calculated andprecise.Her safety, her happiness, even if she hasn't realized it yet, depended on my restraint.
I can hear the faint echo of my heartbeat, matching the rhythm of her approaching footsteps. “Stop!” She calls.
I resist. “This may be the first time you beg me to stop… but it won't be your last,” I whisper as I peek over my shoulder. She is jogging after me, her breasts bouncing as her feet hit the pavement. Her attention is redirected when a car comes around the corner. I take advantage of the moment and slip back into the twilight.
Chapter 3
Emory
"Sometimes,the answers we seek are hidden in theshadows of our own fears"
Asmall tap on my window pulls me from the thoughts clouding my brain. I hurry over to catch a man in a long overcoat standing beneath my window: a bright cherry, the only color against his blacked-out form. Dragging something from his pocket, he strides toward the mailbox, relieving it of the lock that holds it closed.
The door bounces slightly as he stares up at me. The bud of whatever he is smoking, gingerly shifting from red to orange, then pausing for a moment on yellow.
What is he doing?
I place my hand against the window, craning my neck, trying to get a better view.
What is he waiting for?
Does he want me to meet him?
