Page 5 of Hide From Me

I don't look away. Instead, I focus on locating the camera system app I’ve programmed into my phone while the streetlamps flash through my car windows. The security system of Fae's Diner pops up. With each swipe through, my grip on the steering wheel tightens to the point where my knuckles start to burn. It’s not what you think—I’m not a stalker; I’m just a man with a specific taste for women who seem to hate me, and a strong desire to ensure they are safe.

I shake my head and scroll through the camera feeds again. Raylen doesn’t hate me, even if she pretends to. She just doesn’t understand me, and that makes her irritable. I actually like her that way. For the past year, I’ve tiptoed around her, carefully maintaining a schedule that allows me to stop by the diner rightafter I return from a mission, making it seem like I’m just randomly choosing to grab a meal. Our small talk never reveals enough for either of us to take a definitive stance, but it keeps the other intrigued. I can tell she despises it, but given how things are progressing, I won’t keep her in the dark for much longer.

I need my sunshine a little closer so she can help keep the monster inside me at bay.

Like a beacon of light, Raylen glides past the dining area camera, causing me to loosen my grip on the wheel. I prop my cell phone on the dashboard and reach into the center console to pull out my pack of cigarettes, lighting one as she picks up the dirty dishes left by the guests, all of whom are preparing to leave. It’s funny how, when I can’t breathe, I gravitate toward the things that are supposed to make it worse.

Being able to slip the cigarette between my lips and inhale the stale tobacco reminds me that I’m no longer a boy; I haven’t been for a long time. I can handle the truth. I understand his problem, even though he won’t admit it. He thinks I'll change or leave him. Whether Caspian believes me or not, I will always choose him as my family over anyone else. He just has to give me a chance.

“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’ve got this. Just one tiny setback,” I mutter, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as I take another long drag from my cigarette. Is it crazy to talk to yourself?No, I did the research.It’s proven that talking to yourself can help with emotional regulation, problem-solving, and can even increase your performance, or some shit like that.

The dull light from a single lamppost ahead flickers through the nearly empty parking lot, and the neon "OPEN" sign in a large window goes dark, causing my phone's screen to illuminate more of my car's interior. It's funny how she lights everything for me—my mind, my heart, my whole fucking world—and yet she hasn't a clue.

I had considered the idea of having a simple one-night stand after I met her, but the more we interacted, the more intrigued I became. It's fascinating how she can quiet my racing thoughts and bring out a genuine smile I don’t haveto force. I don’t want a fling; I don't want something temporary. So I’ve been taking my time, discovering the parts of myself that she seems most drawn to. My goal is to piece together those aspects and create a version of myself that I can show her.

I might sound a bit delusional. Trust me, I already struggle with my sanity, and this has only intensified those feelings. But she is the right person for me. I don’t need to know her past; I refuse to delve into it. I don’t require much knowledge about her present either; I have all the information I need. As for her future, it’s with me, so that’s not a concern.

As I pull into the parking space in front of the green, chipped paint door, I try to inhale as much of the burning ember as possible while debating whether I'm making the right decision, just like I do every time I find myself in a situation like this. Is it the right time? Am I ready to begin the rest of my life, even if it might lead me to my lowest point?

Fuck it.

Shoving my phone into my pocket, I swing open the door to my car. Within a few quick steps, I'm flicking the butt to the gravel, and my palm has the diner's bell ringing under the pressure of the door swinging open. I don't hesitate to walk inside, even though the closed sign hangs crookedly on the handle.

An upbeat song plays softly over the speakers, the bass rumbling under my feet, and I know for a fact that Raylen is alone just from the choice of song. Anytime she's left here by herself for cleanup, it's her playlist that plays through the system. I've memorized every song, artist, and genre. In fact, I have the same playlist on my phone and often play it when I'm out on missions. What can I say? The girl has taste, even if it’s slightly concerning when I’m in the middle of a knife fight and the music switches from Skillet to something like Bruno Mars. Yes, it has happened, and yes, it made me all the more thankful that most of the time I go out solo because I definitely belted Grenade while slitting that man's throat.

It's such a catchy tune.

I begin to hum it off-pitch as I approach the bar, studying the small opening in the wall that only gives a glimpse into the kitchen.

"We're closed!" a voice calls out, causing my breath to catch in my throat, and my humming stops abruptly. I don’t respond; instead, I raise my head, trying to peer further inside to catch a glimpse of her.

“I swear I’ll call the cops if you don’t—”

I smile and lean my elbows against the wooden counter as she finally appears in the window, her eyes narrowing as they lock onto mine.

“Sorry, I couldn't help myself. I have a thing for music, and I don’t think I’ve heard this song before,” I shrug.

“You can’t hear the music from outside! Now get out, Monster. You can come get your pancakes in the morning,” she snaps. There’s so much fire in her and so much unrestrained aggression that I can’t help but wonder where it comes from—what made her so comfortable showing it? I may watch her a little too closely when I can, but I don’t try to dig into her past; I’m not crazy. I’m just observant. Is “curious” a better word? Either way, I think my actions are justified.

“It makes me want to dance.” I wiggle my shoulders comically, but she throws a rag at my face before I can see her smile.

“For someone who disappears so often, you sure are a thorn in my side,” Raylen says, her voice softening as if she’s about to walk away. I push the cloth away in a panic, afraid of losing sight of her. It’s been weeks since I last saw her face in person, rather than just through a screen.

“You’re always demanding chocolate chips in your pancakes, always leaving water rings on the tables, and always coming in at the most inconvenient times,” Raylen rambles, her voice growing more frustrated. My shoulders relax as the kitchen door swings open and she stomps behind the bar in my direction, hands on her hips.

In my defense, pancakes are an abomination without chocolate chips; the rings always make her come over to talk to me, and I can’t help that my scheduleis a bit wonky. I know she doesn't understand since I've never clarified my intentions. At this point, she probably just assumes I'm some kind of jerk or creep.

I guess I'm a bit of both in the best ways, especially considering that I spent an entire mission trip in America just observing and learning. I took the time to memorize which customers are her favorites and how much she makes in tips on different days. During that time, I was also able to identify her parents, her boss, and a man working in the back who seems close to her, but he definitely doesn't give off the vibe of being "the one" for her. Thank fuck for that. I don't necessarily enjoy killing, but if it came down to it...

“Tell me, is it your life mission to annoy me, or do you just enjoy it?” she asks, placing her hands on the counter in front of my elbows, interrupting my thoughts. I can't help but smile wider at her proximity.

“I’m calling the cops,” she mutters through clenched teeth. I’m not worried about the police—they won’t do anything to me because of who I am.

“You're such a little ray of sunshine,” I say playfully, and she growls in frustration. My heart sinks as she quickly turns away, and before I know it, my hand wraps around her wrist. She's so warm and soft that my fingers instinctively flex against her plush skin. I can never get enough of this—the electric sparks that course through my body at her touch, or the concerning way my heart races because of her aggressive behavior.

She freezes, slowly turning her head to look at my grip before finally meeting my gaze.

God, that look.Thatfucking look right there has my already racing heart rate sending my blood straight to my cock fast enough that I have to physically swallow the urge not to make the wrong move right now.

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