The bell of the door chimes, signaling him walking out, and it feels as if there’s a sharp tug in my chest. Like a rope is connecting us, and the further he walks, the harder the tug gets. And I have no idea why. Before I have time to think too much about it, I yank off my apron and yell over my shoulder that I’m going on break. My feet carry me out the door and I head the same direction he just walked off in.
Instead of running to catch up to him, I stay at a steady pace with a few people behind him. I’m not sure where we’re going, but it feels like it’ll be fun to find out.
Shit!
Why the fuck am I following him?
What the fuck is happening to me?
I don’t do this!
I don’t even like people, so what makes him so different? My brain is so disrespectful sometimes. This shit makes me look crazier than I already thought I was.
Maybe I should start looking into finding a therapist.
Do you tell your therapist you started stalking a person because he looked at you, and you felt seen for the first time in your life? Do they report illegal activities?
Yeah, maybe I should keep this to myself.
I can picture it now: laying on a couch in a stuffy room, the judgemental lady tapping a pen on a clipboard, asking me what brought me in. As soon as I trauma dump on her and tell her that I can’t remember shit from the last six months, she will look at me like I’m crazy.
Can you imagine her face when I conveniently tell her I have somehow become a full-blown stalker. When she asks me why, I can proudly tell her it’s because someone I accidentally bumped into, had looked at me and made me feel fuzzy. Pretty sure that’ll be the exact moment she realizes I should be shipped off to a padded room and never let me go.
I swear my brain is becoming my worst enemy, lately. I can no longer tell the difference between finding my mind or losing it.
How do you know if you’re even good at stalking?
I really wish they made “Stalking for Dummies.” That’s a book I need.
What if he sees me and realizes that I’m stalking him?
Will he think I want to hurt him?
That’s kind of laughable with my five-foot-two-inch stature.
I’m tiny compared to his height. He’s definitely over six foot, maybe six-foot-three.
Will he find me charming and endearing?
Will he call the cops?
Shit. That’s definitely not what I need.
I don’t want to be handcuffed, thrown in the back of a cop car, and be treated like a criminal. I’m not a criminal, it’s just some light stalking. I just want to know everything about him before he knows anything about me.
That seems like a perfectly normal reaction to me.
If I don’t think too hard about it, I won’t overthink what I’m doing.
I follow him for the next two blocks until he enters an office building.Interesting. I wouldn’t have pegged him as the boring office type, but I’ll bite.
Once I believe he’s far enough inside that I won’t be caught red-handed, I sneak over to the plaque beside the door that lists the address for the building, as well as what businesses this building holds.
There are only three listed.
Suite A is something called Nailz. I’m assuming it’s a nail spa. Suite B is a photography studio of some sort. It’s the last Suite that piques my interest. Suite C is a place called Torres Security.
Somehow I just know that’s where the mystery man went. I quickly type that information into the notes app on my phone and rush back to work.
