Page 20 of To Obsess

“You can, if you can stay out of dreamland long enough,” he replies with a touch of snark. “I was asking when the report I asked for yesterday was going to be available.”

Right. The report. “I can have it on your desk in ten minutes, sir. I just need to finalize the numbers.” A nod is the only acknowledgement I receive before he walks back to his office, closing the door behind him. It takes every ounce of self-control I have left to keep from lifting my middle finger to the closed door. Instead, I quickly pull up the spreadsheet I’d forgotten about entirely and hit print. My numbers are always right anyway. No need to double check.

I slide the report onto his desk with three minutes to spare, quickly retreating to my desk before he can spew some other hateful comment my way. Today just isn’t the day for it. I was nearly caught last night, and that fact has soured my mood. I’ve gotten reckless, but I’m not sure how to reel that back in again.

I stopped by Violet’s place late yesterday evening to check in. I saw the security company van pull into her driveway earlier this week, so I spent an ungodly amount of time figuring out exactly where all of the exterior cameras were mounted to avoid being spotted, right after I called and paid the bill in full. She’s finally taking proper precautions, so I’ll be damned if it’s an expense she’ll have to pay out of her own pocket. Considering I’m the entire reason she feels unsafe in the first place, it’s the least I could do.

Gunnar’s death has largely been forgotten by now. The police moved on rather quickly once they realized he was a piece of shit, though they put on an admirable show for the town. They even went as far as to raise a small reward if anyone could bring the perpetrator to justice. With that being said, life still moves on, new crimes and emergencies happen, shoving his homicide to the background.

“If that’s all you need for today, I’ll be clocking out in fifteen minutes,” I say around the edge of the door. I don’t dare step over the threshold. I’ve learned over the years that my best shot at getting out of here on time is to ask from the doorway, not making myself seem available for any last-minute tasks. The last time I walked into his office to ask if he needed anything further, I ended up being here until damn near midnight working on some bullshit contract for a man who decided he didn’t need our services at the last possible second.

For a moment, I think he might ignore me. He’s a little salty any time he has to remind me about a report, often leading to the silent treatment for the rest of the day. “You’re free to go when you’ve finished up for the day, Killian,” he finally says. “Thank you for everything you do around here.” The shock I feel must be written clearly across my face since he clears his throat then meets my eyes. With a nod of dismissal, I take a step back from the doorway before he has a chance to change his mind.

In no time, I’m turning the key in the lock of my apartment, kicking off my shoes, and sitting down at the table with a piece of cardstock in front of me. I leave the outside plain, scrawl a note on the inside in the typical uppercase font, fold it neatly, making sure to go over the crease twice, and then push back from the table.

I’m not sure what drives the need to deliver this card, but something is shifting. I don’t know if it’s something inside myself, with my relationship (or lack thereof) with Violet, or just a difference in the world in general, but something is compelling a deeper need for connection with her. Throughout the years, I’ve been comfortable with leaving a card on her birthday, reminding her I’m still around, but lately, the need to have more frequent contact with her is driving me insane. I need to occupy space in her brain.

I SWEAR TO PROTECT YOU, NO MATTER THE COST.

I slip the receipt for the security system inside the card once I’ve done a quick reread to ensure everything is perfect. Pulling alongside the gate, I shine a flashlight into the camera she had placed here. At the right angle, she won’t be able to see anything, giving me enough time to place the card in the mailbox without blowing my cover.

I considered simply erasing the video from the camera feed right after dropping off the card. It would have been easy since the lady at the desk of the security company is a complete idiot. All I had to do was explain that I had lost the instructions on how to access the system. She walked me through the entire thing step by step. Thankfully, there’s only an app I needed to download and put in a username and password, so graciously provided to me by the receptionist at the office when I paid the bill in full, citing the new system my wife and I had installed. Once I got into the app, I can see each of the cameras and manipulate the feed as I choose.

In the end, I decided against deleting the video. I want her to know someone was here. I want her to see when the card was dropped off. I want her to be pissed that she can’t see who dropped it off. So close to figuring out a secret nearly two decades in the making but being left in the dark yet again.

With a smirk, I flip the mailbox lid closed and slowly pull away from the gate, making sure to keep the light trained on the camera until I’m sure I’ll be out of sight. Once I’m sure I’m clear, I flick off the light, toss it into the passenger seat, and speed down the gravel road, reveling in the feeling of what’s to come for us.

The following afternoon, I make my way to the bookstore, hoping to see her there. I’ve been checking her cameras obsessively, dying to see her reaction when she opens the box and finds the card placed inside. No flowers this time, just the simple card with a hefty promise written inside.

My heart races when I think of this card, knowing there really isn’t any taking this step back. Once she reads the words I carefully printed there, sees the receipt, everything will snap into focus for her. It’ll be a defining moment for our future. She’ll either be flattered or terrified. Love the idea or loathe it. Fight or flight. I’m praying for flattered, love, and fight with every fiber of my being. I don’t know that I’ll even be capable of respecting her choice if it goes the other way. I pray to whatever being is out there watching us all that she makes the right decision.

With a steadying breath, I step inside the bookstore, smiling brightly as the little bell above the door chimes with my arrival. My eyes find her in less than a second. She’s helping a customer reach a book from a shelf well above her head. The old woman beams at her, taking the outstretched tome. Violet adjusts the hem of her shirt before placing a loving hand on the woman’s shoulder with a grin to match. The sight melts whatever morsel of a heart I have left in my chest. Gods, she’s perfect.

My feet move automatically when the bell chimes again, signaling another customer’s attempt to come inside. “Sorry,” I mutter, shooting the man a tight, apologetic smile. I make my way to the New Release section, browsing for any authors who sound even vaguely familiar. I scan the back blurbs of several books, picking up a new urban fiction novel, as well as something from the “romantasy” section, whatever that means.

“Find everything you need?” Violet asks as I place the books on the counter. Her green eyes look a bit lighter today, the shift bringing out the smattering of freckles across her button nose. For the first time, I notice the slightest bump right below the bridge. I wonder if it’s been broken once before, I think, drinking her in as long as possible.

She looks up at me through long lashes, lightly coated with mascara, and a crinkled brow. “Yes, thank you,” I respond after way too many seconds have passed. My neck heats, and I feel the blush rising toward my cheeks. “I found everything.”

After scanning each book, she gently places them in a bag before pressing a key on the register. “Great. Your total is… $56.96 today.”

“Thank you. I hope you have a great weekend,” I say once I’ve paid and have the bag in hand. This addiction to seeing her is costing me a small fortune. If this keeps up, I’ll need a new bookshelf by the end of the month. I’ve nearly filled the one I bought a year ago to house the sci-fi fantasies I had all intentions of reading.

Later, after a dinner of pizza and fries, I find myself completely entranced by the romantasy I bought earlier. I had mostly purchased it for show, hoping to glean more information about Violet and her reading habits, but it’s actually a spectacular read so far. The damsel was found in an ungodly predicament before the hero swooped in and rescued her. As she’s falling head over heels for him, the villain makes his presence known, confesses his undying love for her, threatening to burn the entire world if she doesn’t come back with him.

Ding!

I’m pulled out of the storyline when a notification comes across my screen. Motion detected, Front Gate.

My stomach flips as I open the video and see Violet pulling the card from the mailbox, confusion crinkling her forehead.

Here we go.

Chapter 20

Violet

“What the fuck?” I grumble, looking at the card on top of the pile of bills I just pulled from the mailbox. My shift had gone pretty smoothly, only encountering one hateful customer who refused my help and stormed out of the store. For whatever reason, that one interaction had colored the rest of my shift, pushing me into a bitter mood by the time I clocked out an hour after my day was supposed to end.