If he’s not real, then the only place I’ll ever find him is in my head, and if he is real, then he’s running out of time to make a move.
Either way, the decision forming in my mind gives me more peace than anything else has in a long time. There’s only one way I can think to handle this pain and desperation once and for all.
I know what I have to do.
CHAPTER 3
AMBROSE
August
I’ve been watching her for weeks now. She hadn’t been my original target, but to her misfortune, she caught my attention nonetheless. The man I had been planning on killing is long forgotten.
She’s my only focus now.
My fascination with her started with something so small: petty theft. Shoplifting. That in itself is nothing revolutionary, but when I had witnessed her slipping a bottle of vanilla extract, of all things, into her purse, I couldn’t help but wonder why. There were much more expensive things she could have chosen.
Intrigue, not logic, guided my actions as I followed her out of the store and watched her from a distance as she loaded up her groceries into a car that gave further proof she wasn’t shoplifting due to lack of money.
I’m not ashamed to say that I followed herhome. My interest was piqued. But my hour of watching her turned to days, and slowly, she became my obsession.
She didn’t notice—at least, not at first. I watched her for days as she followed a mind-numbing routine and catered to a petulant, egotistical man, only breaking down when she thought she was alone.
I cannot pretend I am not captivated by her contradictions. She changes when she’s alone, and it’s those moments when she thinks no one is watching that fascinate me the most. Every time she goes to the grocery store, she slips a cheap item in her purse, and for the life of me, I cannot figure out why. I’ve seen her stare off into space for minutes at a time before returning to the present moment. I’ve watched her stay calm through the most infuriating of situations only to break down in tears because she knocked over a drink that spilled onto the floor. I’ve listened to her sing along to the oldies rock station when she thinks she’s home alone. I’ve also noticed her starting at the knives in the kitchen just a little too long and a little too often.
She’s beautiful but broken, and she wears the despair like a chain around her neck. It shows in the way she carries herself, hunched and crossing her arms whenever possible, like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. Purple hollows are permanent fixtures beneath her eyes, dark against her pale skin, and her waist-length brown hair is usually secured in a messy bun.
I don’t think she’ll make it much longer. I’ve been around long enough to see the signs, and it seems as though she’s hitting a breaking point.
I could be selfish and use her death to my advantage… It certainly wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something of the sort. But something tells me to wait.
My presence has only served to unsettle her and throw her more off-balance from the precarious mental state she wasalready in. After watching her for a week or so, I allowed her to see me, but only in glimpses. But instead of being afraid, she’s curious. Desperate. Somehow, she’s deluded herself into believing I’m here to help. She wants me to be her guiding light, but the only thing I can do is drag her into a different sort of darkness.
She senses I’m dangerous, but then again, she’s no stranger to fear. Like a moth to a flame, she insists on coming closer, attempting to figure out the identity of the shadow who’s been haunting her. It’s a fatal attraction, yet she seems to be unaware of the dire consequences.
Once she realizes what I am, it will be too late for her to run.
CHAPTER 4
There’s a quiet sort of grief that comes with knowing you’ll never live the life you had planned for yourself. My childhood had been filled with dreams of going somewhere far away, of making my way in this world by helping others in some capacity, though I could never decide what I wanted to be when I grew up.
All I knew was that I never wanted to be like my parents, wasting away in soul-crushing day jobs only to come home and drown their stress in vices, neglectful of anything aside from the bare necessities for both themselves and me, and resentful of the lives they’ve built while doing nothing to change their circumstances.
Joke’s on me, I guess, but at least I’ve decided to take my circumstances into my own hands, for better or for worse.
Despite the severity of the decision I’ve made, my body feels lighter, as if the crushing weight of the future has been lifted from my chest. It’s ironic, really, that the only thing cheering me up is one of the most drastic, permanent decisions I could ever make.
The weekend drags on as it always does, the crawlinghands of the clock seeming even slower than usual, until it’s almost over. It’s Sunday night, which means tomorrow, I’ll be free.
I feel like I should do something special tonight. I should go out, have a few drinks, toast to the shitty life I’ve lived before it irreversibly changes tomorrow. But I can’t do any of that, lest it ruin the temporary moments of peace I’ve found. And it would, because Joel would never approve of me going out on my own, and I can’t let his anger ruin my plan. Not this time.
After I finish cleaning up dinner, I join Joel in the living room like I’m obligated to on nights like this. For someone that seems to resent me so much, he still insists on spending “quality time” together. However, his idea of quality time is sitting across the living room from each other with something on the TV that he’s chosen. No input from me, no conversation, nothing. It’s like he’s still trying to convince himself that we’re a normal couple who relaxes in the evening together. Hell, maybe he’s deluded himself into thinking that is the case.
Tonight, as I recline on the far end of the couch, I take in my living room with fresh eyes. Our framed wedding pictures watch me from every wall, reflecting our grins frozen in time. Back then, ten years ago, I had been sure that I was leaving behind my life of neglect and had found someone who would support my dreams as much as I supported his. I had grand plans of going to college once I saved up some money, getting a degree in something—nursing, teaching, psychology, I wasn’t sure, but I knew I’d figure it out eventually—and spending years living a modest life full of love and laughter.
It didn’t feel like too much to ask at the time, but now it’san insurmountable aspiration, one that I’m certain I’ll never achieve in this lifetime.
The worst part is that Joel isn’t always terrible. There are days when we go on dates, laugh together, and act like any normal couple would. In those moments, it feels like everything might be okay. It only makes the bad days hurt more. But I’ve long since stopped believing in his potential more than his patterns.
