Page 8 of Stalked By the X-Ray Tech

Bella

My heart's still pounding, skin slick with the remnants of our passion as I slip out from under the sheets. Jacob's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm beside me—peaceful, oblivious. The need to pee is insistent, pulling me away from the warmth of the bed.

I tiptoe across the cool hardwood floor, careful not to disturb him.

But clumsy me, I knock his phone off the nightstand. It lands with a soft thud on the plush rug, screen lighting up the semi-darkness.

My breath catches. "Shit," I mutter under my breath, bending to pick it up.

"Sorry, babe," I whisper, though he doesn't stir. The blue glow from the phone illuminates my face, and that's when I see it.

I go completely still and blink, my mind not quite processing what my own eyes are telling me.

It’s my living room staring back at me on the screen. Four little squares, each a different angle of my apartment.

He’s been watching me?

I start to shake.

My privacy feels stripped away, leaving me naked in a way that has nothing to do with the lack of clothes on my body.

My stomach churns with a cocktail of shock and betrayal. How long has this been going on?

Anger prickles under my skin, hot and fierce. I swipe through the camera feeds, a voyeur in reverse, seeing the intimate corners of my life through his eyes.

"Jacob..." His name tastes like poison on my tongue. I trusted him, let him in...and all the while, he was watching me like one of his x-rays, seeing beneath the surface without my consent. Each pixel on the screen feels like an invasion, every silent, watchful moment a lie.

The cold realization settles in my gut, heavy as lead. This isn't just some meticulous observation—it's an obsession.

And suddenly, I'm not sure who’s lying next to me anymore, but it's not the man I thought I knew.

"Fuck," I say, a whisper lost to the stillness of the room. The phone feels toxic in my hand, like it's seeping into my skin. Jacob's deep, even breathing is a soundtrack to the deceit, and I can't bear to look at him.

I drop the phone back onto the rug, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over.

"Damn you, Jacob," I choke out, the words barely audible. How could he? Why would he?

I wrap my arms around myself, a feeble attempt to protect what's left of my dignity. My brain screams at me to confront him, to demand answers.

But my heart? It's shattered into a million pieces, each shard laced with the memory of his touch.

I stand there, frozen—a statue carved from hurt and confusion. The urge to flee battles the desire to wake him, to look into those piercing blue eyes and search for a hint of remorse. But would I find any?

I blink back the tears, refusing to let them fall. Bella, the competitive tennis player, doesn't break down. She doesn't show weakness.

Not on the court, not here.

I slip into my clothes with quick, shaky hands. The fabric sticks to spots of sweat and other remnants of the night, but I don't care. Not anymore.

I snatch up my sneakers, not bothering to put them on, just clutching them like some lifeline as I tiptoe around the bed.

The room is still dark, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds. Jacob's chest rises and falls in that steady rhythm of deep sleep, oblivious to the chaos he's created inside me. I can't help but glance at him, this man who's both a stranger and intimately known in the same heartbeat.

"Asshole," I whisper under my breath, the word tasting sour as I realize it's not enough. It's never going to be enough to express this...this violation. There's no undoing what he's done.

My heart hammers against my ribs, a wild thing trying to escape its cage. It's a race now—a sprint to get out before I do something stupid, like wake him up and demand answers I'm not sure I want to hear.

I reach the door, my hand hesitating for a split second on the handle. What am I doing? What's my play here? Confrontation would be satisfying, yeah, but it wouldn't change a damn thing. So I choose escape, fleeing the scene like a guilty conscience.

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