“Yeah, figured I could take her out there on the scenic route, you know? What do you think?” I can’t contain the fiendish smile of my true plans.
Danny catches on.
He pauses for a moment, waiting for some people to pass by before resuming. “Are you going to tell her about…?”
Shit, I hadn’t even considered that. I’d warned her when we first met —I’m not good company. I know what I am and what I’m not. But from the moment I saw her, I knew she was different. Special. Unlike any other fish in the pond.
But could she still see me that way if she knew the truth? If she knew what my obsessive tendencies could lead to? What I’ve done? Even before Tanner. Before her.
I should tell her. I should be transparent. But when?
FOURTEEN
GRAYSON
I once heard a quote about addiction.It begins with the hope that something ‘out there’ can instantly fill up the emptiness inside.
The truth of that has never been truer since meeting her.
She fills that emptiness—a void I’d previously denied myself the opportunity to fill.
I’m fucking addicted to Pippa. The most delicious addiction.
Instead of just driving the fuck home, my truck had other plans—parking in my usual spot around the corner from Pip’s house. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the armchair in the corner of her bedroom, watching her sleep peacefully. Completely unaware of the lurking predator in her room.
I’m falling for her. This isn’t just a game to me or a Halloween thrill to obtain. My obsession with her isn’t hollow or cheap. It’s real.
I’d read plenty of comments on The Hunters thread of DystopiaNet to know the art of stalking someone varies from person to person. In Danny’s case, Viv is his magical numero uno, and together they play the game. It works for them. That’s their dynamic. But where it’s allabout the chase for him, I need topossessPip. I plan to ruin her for all others, hoping she sees me the same way—just as she’s ruining me.
Watching her breathe as she sleeps, the rise and fall of her chest as the moonlight dances across her skin, is nothing short of witchcraft. My eyes drift across her curves. She’s kicked the duvet off, and her legs are exposed. She hums in her sleep, and I wonder what she’s dreaming about. A few beats later, she answers that thought, a distinguishable word or two here and there, and then...
“Grayson.”
Well, fuck. I know heaven isn’t an option for me, but hearing my name exit her sweet lips feels like I’ve secured passage there in spite!
My mother, God rest her soul, always told me I’d find someone one day who’d have the ability to complement my flame.
Mom, if this divine intervention is your doing, well played—I’ve found her.
Now look the fuck away.
I pull my phone out and send a text to her phone. It illuminates on her nightstand. I pick up a book of hers from the chair—a smutty romance she’s marked with post-its, which piques my curiosity for later—and dropping it with deliberate theatrics, the thud slices through the silence in the room.
She jolts awake, sits upright, and claps a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream when she spots me.
“God dammit! Don’t you ever get tired?” she exasperates.
No, baby girl. I do not.
My obsession drives my insomnia.
I cock my head to the side, sarcastically answering her question.
“Right. ‘Cause cats are nocturnal. Got it.” She taps her head sarcastically referencing our cat and mouse chase. I suppress the urge to chuckle.
I wave my lit-up phone at her, and she reaches for hers, conveniently located next to some sex toys I retrieved from her drawer. Sitting back into the chair, Iposition myself like a king upon his throne, and she is my subject. I slowly unzip my hoodie, revealing my pecs and abs beneath. She swallows hard, her eyes widen, taking me in, and I see in the moonlight her aroused nipples cut through her T-shirt.
Me:
