Page 3 of Shadowing Charlotte
"Daddy, your car smells funny…" she groaned, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. Fuck, she was completely hammered. She thought I was her fucking father.
I drove in silence, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the wheel, shaking in anger. I could have been a complete stranger. Hell, I was a complete stranger, and she'd let me put her in my car. I could have been a rapist, a murderer.
"Daddy, I think I'm going to throw up…" she moaned. Just as I pulled to a stop, she flung the door open, leaned over, and vomited on the curb. I watched with a grimace, waiting until she settled back in the seat, letting out a soft whimper of discomfort.
"You alright, princess?" She nodded, her eyes falling closed. When we reached her street, I parked, lifted her into my arms, and carried her across the lawn, only pausing when I reached the gate that led around the side of the house. "Can you make it inside?" She nodded again, stumbling slightly when I set her on her feet. I watched her fiddle with the latch, hobble inside the yard, and close the gate behind her.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I raked my fingers through my hair in exasperation and turned away from her. Before I returned to the car, I glanced up and down the street, making sure none of her rich neighbors had been disturbed. The last thing I needed was for someone to call the cops.
Seated in the Camaro, I mulled over what had just happened. I hadn't just been stupid; I'd made a dangerous decision. What the fuck had I been thinking? Why had I come to her fucking house? Why did I follow her?
I had no answers. The only thing I knew with absolute certainty was that I would come back. And I did, over and over again…
Chapter three
Charlotte
The first thing I did when I arrived at the house was open Spotify, cranking the music up until it was blasting through the space. I told my father I didn't need an entire house to myself, but he refused to let me live in an apartment where I had to share all of my walls with strangers. Even when I had insisted that I could get something small, he insisted that he felt better knowing I was in a safe neighborhood that he was familiar with.
The house itself was small, much smaller than I was used to. It had two bedrooms, one for me and one for Daddy. For the most part, the place has been unused since my mother had died, but Daddy kept spare clothes in his bedroom in case he needed to stay during his trips to the city. The house was more than enough for me.
I danced around the kitchen, swaying my hips to the music as I put away the new dishes that Daddy had purchased just for me to use. I hummed along to rock music as I opened all the curtains, filling the living room with light. It felt freeing to have a place that was entirely my own.
My father had never truly stopped me from doing what I wanted if it made me happy, but it was nice to know I wouldn't have to sneak out at night just to go have a drink with my friends. Not that I had friends yet. For years, I'd been working hard to keep a smile pasted on my face, to fit in seamlessly.
After high school, the friendships I had began to deteriorate, mostly because I was never truly open to them. On the surface, I laughed and drank and made jokes, but I never let anyone see beneath the mask I wore. Not even Daddy.
I spent hours unpacking, thinking about everything I could do with my newfound freedom. Then I felt it again, that strange feeling that sent goosebumps up my arms.Automatically, I looked out the window, expecting to find him standing there, staring at me. I didn't even know who he was. I only knew that he watched me. I felt his eyes on me all the time—at the lake, when I went to get smoothies with Anne, even in my bedroom at night.
It was bizarre how my body always seemed to sense him, even when I couldn't see him. Had he found me so soon after leaving home?
I had never mentioned the presence to my father. How could I? How could I tell him that a stranger had saved me when I was drunk and had since taken up the hobby of stalking me? How could I tell anyone that I liked the way it made me feel, being watched? It wasn't something I could admit out loud. Hell, I didn't even have proof. I just knew.
I was still staring out the window when my phone rang, making me jump out of my skin.
"Hey babe." A smile spread across my face as I swallowed down a feeling of guilt. I tried to convince myself I wasn't getting hot thinking about the man who'd been following me for two years. Leaning back against the counter, I cranked the volume on the speaker down,
"Settling in?" my almost-boyfriend, Adam, asked.
"Well enough," I replied casually, leaning against the counter.
"When are you going to let me come over and christen your new bed?"
I rolled my eyes. That was all Adam ever wanted to do. We'd been dating for nearly a year, and yet, I wasn't even sure he knew my favorite color. He was affectionate at times, and possessive, to be sure. But he didn't know me. No one did.
"You know that my dad said I can't have any boys here."
"It's a good thing I'm not just any boy, then." he replied. I could hear the smirk in his voice. "Besides, since when do you do everything that Daddy says?"
"I'll think about it…" I finally said, the words hesitant. While I hadn't broken things off with him, I wasn't entirely sure I wanted him to come see me. Starting a new career and moving into a new house had been a crucial step in beginning a life that was all my own. I wanted to experience the world, not drag my situationship along with me.
"You better not be sleeping around out there, Lottie." Adam said sharply.
I grimaced, pulling the phone away from my ear. He was the one who'd practically begged me to give my virginity to him; suddenly, he was slut shaming me? I had never once given Adam a reason to doubt my loyalty to him.
"And you're not the boss of me!" A familiar, hot kind of anger filled me. We'd had these kinds of fights before—him trying to control me—and they always ended badly. I hung up on him before he could reply, dropping the phone on the counter. He would yell at me, given the chance, and I didn't have the time or patience for his bullshit.
Turning the music up, I carried the speaker to the bathroom, setting it on the counter and opening the box of towels I'd bought. A bath was exactly what I needed, scalding hot and filled with bubbles. I sang along to some rock song I'd heard on the radio but didn't know the name of, adding bubble bath and salts to the water.
