Page 2 of Deviant

Unbeknownst to Rowen, this nightly ritual of hers has lately become one of my most treasured—albeit sadistic—pastimes.

Shrouded under the veil of nightfall and beneath the sprawling branches of giant oaks, my presence remains hidden, as it always does on these nights. Not that I’ve ever seen Rowen make much of an effort to scan her surroundings to ensure that she’s all alone up here.

But then that’s to be expected, I guess.

Sweet, doe-eyed Rowen has more preoccupying things rummaging in that pretty little head of hers than waste a second of her time worrying about the distant possibility that she might have a captive audience to her madness.

That works just fine for me.

A smile plays on my lips when I see her hold in a breath as she deliberates the best way to plunge headfirst into the inky lake just ninety feet below. My grin widens further when she lets out an exaggerated exhale, all too eager to start her routine—slowly draping one leg over the safety rail first, followed by the other, leaving nothing between her and the freezing abyss below.

Ahh…

This moment right here… this is why I come every night to watch her—when certain death whispers out her name in the wind and kisses her lightly freckled cheeks pink like a long-lost lover eager to have her back in his arms.

Oh, and how I wish she’d stop being such a cock tease and just give in to the grim reaper already.

Time stands still as I absorb every minuscule movement she makes.

A dance with death that I’ve memorized by heart now.

No matter how many times I see her do this dance, my heartbeat always seems to quicken slightly when she clasps the rail behind her with both hands to look down. Determined to stare her fate in the eye, she bends her head and swallows dryly when confronted by the magnitude of the pitch-black water cascading down the mountain toward our small town.

With my back pressed against the rough bark to keep myself steady, my fixed gaze drinks in her shivering form as she stares at the bleak fate that awaits her below. I try to calm my racing heartbeat by taking a slow drag from my cigarette, exhaling a thin plume of smoke that curls into the cool evening air, mingling with the faint smell of sage and mint drifting through the night’s stillness. But to my chagrin, the toxin does very little to calm my sudden uneven breathing or the rush of blood that races to my cock.

No cigarette, booze, or drug could give me a high quite as exhilarating as watching Rowen’s life flash right before her very eyes—just as it is now.

On bated breath, I wait in grueling anticipation for her to summon up the courage to end it all—once and for good—putting an end to her agony and mine with just one little… tiny… leap.

A sardonic smirk escapes me as I muse over how the thought of Rowen killing herself brings me such enthralling joy.

Hmm.

How quickly things change when you’re not paying attention to them.

Rowen Hawthorne wasn’t even a blip on my radar a year ago.

She was absolutely nothing to me.

Just my kid sister’s best friend and my asshole of a younger brother’s girlfriend.

An annoyance at best.

But now?

She isn’t nothing.

Quite the contrary.

She’s…everything.

An obsession.

My obsession.

That is what Rowen has morphed into—a madness I can’t quit nor pretend I even want to try to.

She’s become this annoying itch I keep scratching, leaving me with little to no relief while oxygen still fills her lungs.

---