Page 2 of Shadowing Charlotte
"What?" I asked stupidly.
"The Camaro."
"Right. Yes." I followed him through the side door and into the garage, unable to hold back an impressed whistle. Six fucking cars, and the Camaro wasn't even the nicest of them. "The Jeep is my daughter's, and the Audi is my baby. The rest though… Trying to make room for more, you know?" he asked with a chuckle. I didn't know. I had been riding the bus for and buying my friends gas for months, just to save up for something better than the old ass Acura I'd run into the ground.
The Camaro was more than I'd ever dreamed, shiny and pristine, save for the sticker on the back window. When I opened the door, it still smelled fucking new. I wonder if the prick ever even drove it.
"You said twenty?" I asked, knowing damn well I didn't even have that much in my account.
Tim seemed to sense my worry, appraising me for a moment. "I've only driven it a handful of times," he admitted. "I really don't need it taking up space. Tell you what… If you take it today, I'll give it to you for fifteen."
I stared at him, trying to gauge his motives. Why the fuck did he want to do me any favors?
Fifteen grand. It would leave me with shit until payday, but I needed the car. I looked it over again, imagining her half naked body sitting in the passenger seat, her honey eyes shining at me. I shook my head to dispel the picture in my mind. What the fuck was wrong with me, imagining a stranger's daughter in my car?
"Check alright?" I asked.
I drove back to my apartment feeling like a king, in a car I knew I didn't deserve, thinking about a girl I knew I shouldn't want. So, why couldn't I get her out of my head?
Before I knew it, I was pulling open my laptop and typing in Tim's name, searching through his friends list on Facebook. There she was. Charlotte Emmerson.
In her profile picture, she was wearing green shorts and a black tank top, pressed between two girlfriends, smiling brightly at the camera. Her freckles were prominent after what appeared to be an afternoon lakeside. In that moment, my curiosity piqued, I had no control. Before I knew it, the sun had set, blanketing my apartment in darkness, and I was still scrolling through her endless void of photos.
Slamming the laptop closed, I flicked on the kitchen light and opened the fridge. I didn't bother with a glass, ripping open the bottle of whiskey and taking a long gulp. It burned going down my throat, but it helped clear my head. Why the fuck couldn't I stop thinking about her? I felt like a fly caught in a spider's web, fighting to break free; knowing there was no escape.
It went on like that for weeks. There would be days I managed to put her sweet face out of my mind, only to wind up scrolling through her social media again. Nearly three months after I'd purchased the car, I found myself on her Facebook page for what must have been the millionth time. As I stared at her new profile picture, the feed refreshed, revealing the newest additions to an album she titled "Naughty Nineteen"
Nineteen. She was fucking nineteen years old, and I was sitting in my apartment, drinking a beer, fucking cyberstalking her. The first picture was her, surrounded by friends, a shot glass pressed to her lips. I couldn't help but wonder what it was she was drinking. Did she prefer whiskey, like I did, or was it something sweet? I found myself filled with questions I would never have answers to. I wanted more; I needed to know everything about her.
I smiled when I saw her father's comment pop up, a single frowning face. Nineteen and drinking. It wasn't much of a guess to say a gorgeous girl like her probably drove her father insane with worry.
I kept scrolling. Another photo of her in a bikini on a boat, one of her favorite places to take pictures, it seemed. In the next photo, she was wearing tiny shorts, fishnets, and some kind of corset. Charlotte wore far too much makeup, but she was standing between Rocky and Frank-N-Furter, smiling brightly. I couldn't help but smile, too. Even throughthe screen, she had magnetic energy. I kept scrolling through her album, past the photos of her and her father.
Another picture popped up on my screen, posted by her friend, Rebecca. Charlotte was asleep on a rich leather sofa. Her sundress was hiked up around her thighs, nearly exposing her underwear, her hand unconsciously reaching for the cup she'd dropped. There was marker on her face, "Eat a" written on her forehead and a dick drawn on her cheek. Rebecca had titled the photo "Can't wait to…"
I knew it was just juvenile fun, but seeing what her "friends" had done to her while she was unconscious made my blood fucking boil. I wanted to climb through the screen, pick her up, and carry her away from the little cunts. She deserved to be safe and loved, not embarrassed by the people closest to her.
Before I knew what I was doing, I had slammed the laptop closed, grabbed my keys from the counter, and climbed into my car.
The entire house was dark when I pulled up to the curb and parked two houses down from hers. I sat there, knowing I should drive home, knowing I was being a fucking idiot, but I couldn't move. Instead, I remained in the car, watching the house like my life depended on it.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been sitting there, but eventually, a car rolled past, slowing to a stop. The vehicle seemed to be waiting for something. Then, I saw Charlotte. She was wearing jeans and a jacket, ducking low as she ran across the sprawling lawn in the dark. I glanced at my phone. 12:34. Where the fuck was she going?
When she climbed into the car and it began to move, I started the Camaro. It was a bad fucking idea, but I couldn't stop myself. I followed behind them, keeping a safe distance, my heart pounding like a drum in my ears. They drove for a while, past the railroad tracks and into the side of town a girl like her shouldn't be in. The side of town where my shitty apartment was.
The quarry. I realized where they were headed only a minute before the car turned. The quarry was known for being a place that kids partied; I had done so myself, once, but I couldn't imagine a bunch of rich snobs out there, slumming it with the rejects. I parked at the end of a long line of cars, switching off the ignition and waiting. I wouldn't dare approach her. Would she even remember me if I did? Instead, I leaned the seat back and reclined in the car, pretending to be asleep.
I didn't know when I drifted off, but I woke to the sound of laughter, rubbing my eyes as teenagers poured into the street, making their way back to their respective vehicles. My eyes found her immediately, watching her lean against some guy, laughing when she stumbled and fell to her knees in the dirt.
He picked her up, lifting her in his arms. When his hands wrapped around her, squeezing her ass, I saw red. I was out of the car before I even realized what I was doing.
"Get your fucking hands off her! She's drunk!" I snarled, taking in the state of her as I loomed over them, ready to break his fingers for touching her. Her head lolled against his shoulder; her eyes half closed. She was in no state to consent to the way he was groping her. The kid released her immediately, raising his hands and feigning innocence.
"What, are you her dad or something?" he asked, his words slurring together slightly.
"Or something!" I snapped, fighting the urge to bash his teeth in. I picked her up, cradling her in my arms like a broken doll, and carried her across the road. She was so tiny, so vulnerable in my arms…
I slid her into the car. The door slammed closed, and I climbed into the driver's seat, peeling out of the spot while the tires kicked up dust. She didn't say anything for a while, resting her head back against the seat.
