Page 79 of Bound to a Killer
So why isn’t she?
Fear seizes me by the throat, its claws sinking in until my breath comes heavy and ragged. What if something happened to her?
Fuck, I should’ve waited. Should’ve stayed parked across the street like I always do. Tracked her the second she stepped out of that damn school.
That’s what I’ve done the first few weeks after I dropped her off, always lurking in the shadows, memorizing her habits. Then I grew comfortable.
I’ll regret that today.
She’s never spent a night out before. Where could she be?
My mind cycles through every grim, unspoken possibility, but I rein it in. It’s probably just a spontaneous outing. The weather’s warming up, and she’s young. No reason to expect the worst.
In a second I’ll dial her number—the one I’d stolen from the backroom schedule at the coffee shop she works at. Getting in hadn’t even been a challenge. The idiot working the counter was glued to his phone, too busy sneaking out back for a cigarette to notice me slip in.
Then comes a quiet thought. It reverberates in my head, low and implacable, until my body locks up—stiff as a metal rod.
What if she’s with a boy?
Jealousy simmers in my chest, coating my insides with something thick and volatile, just waiting to spark. I refuse to imagine anybody besides me having a claim over her. The thought alone is enough to strike a nerve.
I knew it would happen at some point. She isn’t mine.
Will never be mine.
I’m not any good for her. It all circles back to why I shouldn’t be here in the first place.
That incessant thought grinds into me, but I shove it down, pulling my hoodie up as I slip around the side of the house.
I keep low as I advance toward the back fence, planting a boot on a low, splintered slat and lifting myself over, the wood giving a thin creak beneath my weight. I’m not too worried about getting caught. The few neighboring houses are spaced far enough apart, and the yard stretches wide, the grass wild and unkempt, left to slither up the siding like garden snakes drawn to the warmth glowing through her bedroom window.
There’s a maple tree near the edge of the house, its aging trunk angled toward the faded vinyl siding like it’s meant to be scaled like a ladder. I grab the lowest branch and hoist myselfup, just as I have many times before, reaching the top in seconds.
Her window is cracked slightly open, as usual. I wedge a hand past the mesh screen, fingers curling along the edges until it pops free from its frame. Once the gap is wide enough, I haul myself through it without glancing back.
It feels just as invasive as the first time.
Inside, her room is pristine. Everything’s neatly tucked away, aside from a pair of pale lavender panties hanging over the rim of a laundry basket tucked into the corner.
My eyes snag on the dainty fabric as I drift closer, the space dimly lit by a faint line of string lights wrapped around her headboard. It gives her room not just warmth, but a kind of life that the rest of the house lacks. I stop in front of the basket. The panties sit there, waiting to be plucked off the woven edge and thrown into the pile of clothes inside.
I reach for it against my better judgment, bringing it close. My eyes screw shut as I breathe it in, slow and deep. Her scent is intoxicating, heady enough to fog my thoughts and send a rush of heat into my cock. My knuckles tighten around the soft fabric. I shouldn’t be here. IknowI shouldn’t.
My other hand shoots up into my hair, fingers curling into the tufts at my scalp, tension yanking them forward.
Every day, I swear it’ll be the last time. Just to make sure she’s okay. See if the cops come back again—which, thank fuck, they haven’t—but even that isn’t enough to reassure me. The hours, days, and weeks all start to blur together, each one piling onto the next, dragging me back to the same desperate place, tethered to a sick need I don’t understand. Can’t cut off.
It sounds fucked up…but I’m all she has.
I realized it only moments after she’d gotten back. Nobody ever showed up at her doorstep; aside from those two officers, she was always alone. At home, walking to school, leaving work.
What if some creep tries to exploit that? Takes notice of her walking alone at night and follows her home? She has no one to make sure she’s safe.
Nobody to check her locks.
Nobody to sit with her when it gets dark or shut her windows before bed. She keeps them open all day, for fuck's sake.
I can’t just leave her like that. Vulnerable. Exposed. The world is too cruel. Too scary. I’d know.
