Page 82 of Texting Dr. Stalker

“I mean…I’ll talk to you later. By text. I’ll message you.” Not daring to look in her direction, I yanked open her bedroom door and darted into the corridor.

“Hey, wait.” Her feet thudded on the carpet, chasing.

“Go back to bed, Lori! I have to go.” I didn’t give her a chance to stop me. I’d never run so fast from a woman’s bed before. Sprinting out of her house, I went left—toward the park and not my place—just in case she watched.

I was running short on time and hadn’t factored in a dawn jog in my stupidly heavy motorcycle boots, but that was what happened to men who chose stalking for a hobby.

Cutting through the manicured alleyway between Yasmine and Terry’s house, I raced through the familiar running track around the park and cut down another lane before doubling back and approaching my house from the opposite end of the street.

Panting hard with blisters already pinching my toes, I snuck into my own home like a criminal and slammed to a stop as a guest I’d forgotten about came barrelling from the kitchen.

The little pen I’d made up for him with random pieces of ply in the garage had been dismantled. The towel I’d left him to sleep on was destroyed. The cat litter and food bowls looked as if a level five hurricane had torn through them.

I groaned as the orange fur ball wound itself around my legs.

He meowed and meowed andmeowedas if I’d been gone for a decade.

On any other day, any other morning, I would’ve gotten on the floor and played with him. I would’ve given him cuddles and fed him some more formula regardless that—according to the vet—he was old enough to eat on his own. It would be an absolute honour to ensure the little creature was emotionally cared for as well as physically.

But I had responsibilities.

I’d already been unprofessional by letting myself run on so few hours of sleep. I’d done what I could to keep Sailor safe, but I couldn’t let taking care of her jeopardise the care I gave others.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you, little one, but you’re going to have to go.”

The kitten meowed again.

Snatching him from the floor, I cradled him in one arm while I fished my phone from my pocket with the other. While Colin’s number rang and rang, I took the stairs two at a time and marched into the bathroom.

I put the kitten in the sink and gave him a few cotton balls to play with.

“Zan? This better be an emergency. I was having the best dream,” Colin grumbled as he finally answered.

“Ah, shit. I’m sorry, Col. My bad. I’m being a terrible friend lately with all my stupid problems, but…I have a full day at the hospital today and somehow ended up with a rescue kitten that needs looking after. Can you do it?”

“You know I would, but allergies. I love the little critters, but my system sees them as weapons of mass destruction on my airways.”

“Fuck, that’s right.” I remembered when a patient had spent an hour with him discussing a new hand prosthetic after losing hers in an unfortunate crushing accident. She must’ve had a cat at home, and just its fur on her jumper was enough to send Colin into a coughing, sneezing, runny-eye mess that lasted hours.

“Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.” Hanging up on him, I went to call my sisters. But they both made a point of never having their phones on at night, and I couldn’t wait for them to finish their Sunday sleep-ins.

“Now what do I do?” Catching my stare in the bathroom mirror, I scowled at my mask.

I’d forgotten I was wearing it.

Least that meant it was comfortable.

Pulling it over my head, I yanked off my hoodie and trousers and stood starkers on the bathmat.

And honestly…I didn’t recognise myself.

My hair glossed with blue-black and my fake brown eyes soaked up all the light in the bathroom. Without my glasses or green eyes, without my red hair and clean-shaven jaw, I really struggled to see the man I’d inhabited for twenty-nine years.

Maybe Colin isn’t bullshitting, after all.

The kitten batted a cotton ball toward me. It flew from his paw and floated to the tiles. He cocked his little head, his whiskers still bent and crooked.

I couldn’t leave him alone in case my day turned into another endless shift from hell. He’d already proven he’d destroy my house if left unsupervised, and I couldn’t take him to work in my briefcase.

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