Page 26 of Texting Dr. Stalker

A flash of fear filled me at the thought of visiting a hardware store.

But that was the beauty of this day and age. I didn’t have to go out. I could order it all online and have it delivered.

Spinning on the ball of my foot, my salmon-pink dress fluttered as I headed back downstairs to where my laptop slept on the dining room table. I ignored the whispers in my mind that I was getting too comfortable with not leaving. Sooner or later, this mild case of agoraphobia would become too big to fight, but as I clicked on the local homeware store and made a list of everything I’d need, I felt a little calmer. A little more in control. And that feeling was so much better than my current spiral.

* 10 *

Zander

Overworked Equals Spying

I SAT NURSING MY FOURTH CUP OF coffee in the staffroom.

I’d completed two minor surgeries today and still had one to go. At least it was a simple keyhole on a forty-year-old man’s knee. He’d suddenly taken up football as part of his goal to get fit and popped a ligament because he’d broken the cardinal rule of not preparing his not-used-to-exercise body before thinking he was the next David Beckham.

After that, I could go home and rest.

And spy on Sailor.

I scowled at my half-empty cup. Somehow, I’d gone from catching glimpses of her in the window to actively searching for her across the fence. I couldn’t rest worrying about her over there on her own, especially seeing as she hadn’t left her house in over a week.

She had food delivered, groceries delivered, and yesterday, a huge van had turned up with two men who’d unloaded boxes and paint buckets, hauling them around to the back deck.

I recognised the supplies as tools for a renovation, which made sense seeing as Sailor hadn’t updated a single room of Melody’s place. However, the fact that she’d jumped into the project right now? It worried me.

Groaning, I yanked my glasses off and buried my face in my hands.

Not your place, Zan. How many times do I need to say this!

I’d repeated that phrase so often that it’d become a fucking mantra at this point. Yet it didn’t stop the incessant urge to check on her.

The way she ran away from me repeated in my mind. I didn’t know what caused such a reaction, but I had no intention of making matters worse by going over there unwanted.

But what if she’s spiralling?

What if no one helped her before it was too late and—

“Fuck it.” Snatching my phone from my pocket, I logged into my home security cameras. Two days ago, I’d angled the cameras to stop recording my front and back door to record hers instead. I felt disgustingly seedy for pointing a video feed at Sailor’s home, but not enough to stop myself.

I’d checked with the local police that her ex was still locked up, but I couldn’t erase the concern that he’d get out soon and finish what he started.

Inputting the password, I sucked on my bottom lip as the feed refreshed and showed me her house etched in buttery yellow, thanks to the afternoon sun.

No movement. Nothing for the sensors to narrow in on.

Dammit, what are you doing?

If anyone caught me spying on her, I’d be in just as much trouble as Milton.

The door to the staffroom swung open as a nurse I’d seen around but hadn’t spoken to shuffled in wearily. Her eyes lit up on the fresh coffee pot, and she gave me a smile that widened as she looked me up and down.

My stomach knotted. I couldn’t spy on my neighbour with someone else in the room. Giving her a half smile back, I put my glasses on and went to log off.

Only…the cameras suddenly sensed motion and zoomed in automatically as Sailor stepped onto the back deck and tipped her face to the sky. Dressed in paint-splattered jeans and a grey t-shirt, she’d wrapped a flower-printed handkerchief around her head with her sandy blonde hair in a high ponytail.

Thanks to the high resolution of the camera—that’d cost a fortune but delivered exactly the quality I’d been promised—I could almost count the bruises marking her bare arms. Her black eye looked particularly dark, and the way she took a shuddering breath and shook out her hands as if forcing herself to shed some heavy emotion hinted that all my fears were warranted.

She’s not okay.

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