Page 40 of Hide and Seek
Nothing looks like it’s out of place, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.
Slowly, I return my gaze to the chess set. Did the cleaners move it? Maybe one of them knocked some of the pieces over and they put the pawn in the wrong place when they put them back?
But that doesn’t make any sense. Why would someone put all the pieces back to the starting position except for one?
I go to move the piece back but stop.
The move is a legal one, and I can think of a half dozen chess combinations that start with that opening. It feels like it was moved on purpose, like there’s a message behind it.
More of that awareness prickles the back of my neck. Only the house and school staff have access to our dorm rooms, but school officials are supposed to leave a notice of access, which is just a document saying they were in our room unsupervised, out in plain sight when they do. They don’t have to tell us why, butthere are very few circumstances where they can just come and go in our private rooms without any sort of documentation or permission.
I glance around my room again. I don’t see a notice anywhere, and I’m pretty sure that if school officials were in here fucking around with my stuff, there would be more evidence than a single chess piece out of place.
Was it him? Was he in my room and he’s the one who moved the chess piece?
That thought should scare the crap out of me, but mixed in with the initial burst of fear is something I’m not so sure I want to acknowledge. Something that feels an awful lot like excitement.
Slowly, I drop my hand and step away from my dresser so I can do a more thorough look around my room to see if anything is out of place or missing.
It’s been almost two weeks since I literally invited my stalker to play hide and seek with me in the woods, and I’ve spent most of that time pretending it didn’t happen.
Not because I’m ashamed or I’ve been torturing myself about being reckless and obsessing about why it happened and what it means about me or anything like that. Nope, I’ve been ignoring it because I get hard every time I think about it, and it’s getting more and more difficult to remember all the reasons I shouldn’t do it again.
I might not have a lot of experience when it comes to sex, and none when it comes to sex with men, but that’s more of a skill issue on my part than anything else.
I’ve always been a weird loner who prefers talking to my online friends over trying to make new real-life ones, and spending most of my free time on my computer instead of going out and doing social things is just normal for me. I don’t put any effort into how I dress, and I really don’t give a crap about how Ilook or if I live up to whatever physical standards are considered desirable to the masses. I’m also the type who actively avoids anything that’s trendy for no reason other than it’s trendy. I don’t talk to people, don’t go out, and I hate crowds and small talk. I also have wicked resting bitch face, a short temper when it comes to stupidity, and I’ve been told I’m unapproachable since I was in grade school.
I’m pretty much the most undatable person out there, and I’ve done my best to stay away from everyone at this school, including not putting any effort into finding people to hook up with.
My friends like to make fun of me because both Echo and Cipher have very active dating lives. Echo is the self-proclaimed queen of situationships, and Cipher is on so many hookup and dating apps it seems like he’s always going out on dates or meeting up with a new fuck buddy every time we talk. That’s awesome for them, but it’s not what I want.
And that’s the crux of the problem. The things I want are things no one is supposed to want, and if they do, they’re never supposed to admit it. My fantasies are other people’s nightmares, and the things that get me hot are things that usually make people’s libidos dry up and their balls turtle back up into their bodies.
I’ve never been able to tell anyone what I truly want, and I never thought I’d ever get the chance to actually explore any of it.
All that changed two weeks ago, and now that I’ve had a taste of what I’ve spent so many hours thinking about and trying not to want, I’m hooked. And I don’t just want more. I want it all.
But I’m not sure my stalker feels the same, and I’ve been trying to convince myself that’s a good thing. I had no idea what to expect after that…incident in the woods, but complete radio silence wasn’t it.
I don’t even know if he was still watching me before the break, or if he moved on to someone else or whatever it is stalkers do when they get bored. I could still feel his presence, but I have no idea if that was just wishful thinking on my part because I didn’t see any evidence that he’s been around since that night.
But on the other hand, I didn’t try to contact him again. I didn’t try too hard to spot him when I looked out my window or glanced around when I was walking around campus. And I didn’t go for another run until I was back home.
I told myself that was the responsible thing to do, but the only reason I did it was that I didn’t want confirmation that he’s moved on. I’ve gotten used to always being able to sense him around me, and I feel vulnerable when I don’t.
It’s like Schrödinger’s stalker, and he’s both out there and not out there as long as I don’t “open the box” and try to contact him again. I get to keep my feelings of safety, even if they’re bogus, and I also get to pretend like I’m being responsible and not obsessing over a guy who brought me to my knees, quite literally, and got me hotter than anything ever has when he “forced” me to suck his dick.
That worked while I was finishing exams and trying to get through the last few days before the break, but not so much now that I’m back on campus and I have a week off with no real responsibilities beyond keeping myself alive.
I pause in front of the dresser where I put my 3D puzzles. The dragon looks the same, but the clock is showing the wrong time.
I stare at it for a few beats, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. I’ve had the hands in the same position since I built the thing during my first week at school. It’s silly to admit, but I set the hands at 2:17, which is the time I was born. The hands now read 4:22.
Another rush of terrified excitement tickles my chest at the discovery. There’s no logical reason the hands would be in a different place if there wasn’t a message behind it.
But what is it? Why 4:22? Is it supposed to represent a date, or maybe it’s a specific time that means something? Or is it just random, and the message is the scrambled hands, like proof he was here, and not the actual time on the clock?
Instead of changing them back, I leave the hands where they are and keep looking, going so far as to open all my dresser drawers and inspect my closet to make sure there aren’t any hidden differences or clues.
