Page 85 of Stalker's Toy

I need her.

I need it all.

I stare at the phone.

Each second feels like an hour.

A year.

A lifetime.

Has she forgotten about me?

Does she know how much I need this?

Does she know how much I need her?

Does she know how much she needs me?

Minutes go by.

More.

More.

More.

The text comes back.

It says, “Okay, be there in an hour.”

Yes.

She has to be there.

It will shock my mother, and she’ll know it’s my form of rebellion, having everything she thought I couldn’t.

I go and get my mother, rushing her out the door, knowing she’ll hate everything about my gallery.

She asks what the rush is, I pretend I don’t hear her and open the door to the McLaren, shoving her inside.

And then, finally, we’re in the car and heading towards my gallery.

“Are you angry at me?” she asks, and her voice sounds almost innocent.

It makes me even angrier.

How does she do it?

How does she know what will piss me off the most?

She’s always done it.

Always, always, always.

The first time she visited me in the city, the girl I was seeing had just left my place.

She took one look, and I knew what she wasgoing to say.

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