“I’ve crossed worse,” I say, quiet enough to sting.“Iwouldcross worse, for any one of you.”
Atlas breaks first.“Tell me exactly what you want and where.”
Adrian stares at me for a long beat, then, before I can answer Atlas, says, “You put anything in a bedroom or a bathroom and I’ll rip it out myself.We clear?”
I hold his gaze.“Crystal.”
Adrian pauses in the doorway.“You can call this protection all you want,” he says, not turning, “but there’s a part of you thatneedsit.That part isn’t a saint.Watch that.”
Caleb shakes his head as he follows Adrian out.Atlas trailing behind them.They’re done with the conversation for now but I don’t care, because I won.
Atlas installs the cameras while she’s at work.One in her kitchen, one in the hallway, one in her car.He asked me if I wanted audio and I said no.I want her words to be mine.Not stolen.I don’t want to hear her say someone else’s name.But Idowant to know if she does.
She lines her mail on the counter in four neat piles.Straightens the edges, rotates a paperclip so it faces the same way as the others.She checks the deadbolt twice, then a third time.She does that with lights too, off, on, off.She runs her thumbnail along her coffee-lid seam three times before she takes a sip.At the sink, she lines the sponge with the tile grout.That night, I watch her fold laundry and dance barefoot through her living room with a glass of wine, hair down, swaying to music I can’t hear.
People think anxiety is shakiness and tears.With her, it seems to be order.Systems.Rules that she’s built to hold the world still.
I can’t remember the last time I watched something just because it made me feel good.And it does.Even when it hurts.I can’t have her.Can never touch her.Her light wouldn’t last two minutes in my darkness.I’d kill anything good and innocent in her.
A man starts showing up at the angles of my screen.
First it’s the doorway of her office, his knuckles on the jamb like he owns the frame.Then it’s the copy room, his hip too close when she reaches for paper.He learns her timings and starts arriving seconds before she does, just enough to make “coincidence” a habit.On cam his hands are polite; his eyes aren’t.He touches everything he can touch without getting written up, the back of her chair, the edge of her desk, the tops of her shoulders.
She laughs at something he says.It doesn’t reach her eyes.He still moves closer.
My thumb finds the knife.One, two, three.
The next day at her office, he corners her by the elevator.She flinches.I call Adrian.
A sigh.“What rule are we breaking now?”
“I need her phone.I want her calendar, emails, texts.”I watch Wyatt tilt his head to see the V of her dress and my pulse spikes.“And before you say it, this isn’t about curiosity.If this fuckhead at her office is a problem, I need to know it before he hurts her.”
“You already have building cams, street cams, her garage,” he says.“You want inside her skull now?That’s not security, Cassius.You just can’t stand that she’s giving some guy attention.”
“You’re right,” I admit.“I can’t fucking stand it, so clone her phone,” I say, low.
“I cannot believe you’re jealous.”Adrian can’t help himself.
“I’m not jealous.I could drown this fuck in the water cooler jug before he even knew what was happening.”
“Not of him as a man, little brother,” Adrian might be laughing at me now.“Of the time he gets with her.”
I can’t argue with that so I stay quiet.
“Say it,” he presses, enjoying himself, for sure laughing at me now.“Say you understand this is invasive.”
“I understand this is insurance.”
“Against?”
“Men who think forced proximity is consent.”My voice goes flat.
“Eventually, you’ll have to move out of denial,” Adrian says.“You’ll have it in five.”The call ends.The elevator doors open.She steps in.Wyatt does too.
The doors close on her face and my decision.
When the alert pings that I can now remotely access her phone, I tell myself it’s another layer between her and the world.I tell myself if Wyatt puts one big toe over the line, I’ll already have my hands around his neck.
