Page 34 of Caution Tape

Anyone can take a singular life. The next step of solidifying myself in routines and obsessions is very important to me. It deserves patience and attention, not a breathless, hasty murder because I am jealous of the guy with the pretty girl.

And that’s all it is, right?

Just pure, normal jealousy.

All the musings on how horrific and distant I am from normal emotional responses and here I am—the jilted lover—stalking a girl and her boyfriend like any other modern loser.

I laugh loudly in my empty car and press down on the gas, bringing Michael’s car further into view.

The thrill of stalking my prey combines with the joy of potential self-destruction. All of it for the sake of that dark-haired, gorgeous nightmare.

Cora

“What the fuck is your problem?” I snap, staring up at him with irritation as he shuts my door with a loud thud. He’s upset. This is clear.

Though that’s far from my problem.

Michael climbs into the driver’s seat and releases a sharp breath, grasping the wheel hard enough that it causes his knuckles to shine white.

“You told me you didn’t feel anything for him,” he scolds.

I glare at him through narrowed eyes. “I don’t,” I shoot back.

“I saw the way you looked at him.”

“What’s it to you, anyway?”

“I am yourtherapist—“

“Exactly,” I cut him off. “You’re my therapist, not my fucking boyfriend. Learn your goddamn place.”

I watch him closely as he starts up the engine and begins to drive recklessly through the parking lot, the car bouncing through every pothole.

“Let me out,” I order. “I’m not even finished with my shift yet.”

“We need to talk about this, Cora,” he retorts, flashing me a brief, condescending stare. “We’ve talked about how you sleeping with random men is reckless behavior. You’re simply trying to fill the void inside you.”

“Oh, so sleeping withyouis an exception, right?”

“I’m helping you,” he mutters, taking a sharp turn out onto the main road.

“I didn’t realize getting railed by my therapist who is at least fifteen years older than me is a form of therapy.”

“Age doesn’t matter.”

“You’re fucking married,” I laugh, my gaze drifting to his wedding band. “You don’t even bother trying to hide it. Does your wife know what you really do at work? That you spend your therapy sessions shoving yourmeatycock inside of your patients?”

“Only you,” he tries to clarify. “It’s only you.”

“That’s what they all say,” I murmur. “As if that somehow makes it acceptable.”

“This is all a part of your treatment, Cora. This is different.”

“How so?”

“We will discuss this further when we get to my office.”

I blink at him, waiting for him to look over at me, but he doesn’t. He continues to stare straight out the windshield with determination in his eyes. Shifting in my seat, I let out an annoyed breath, gazing out my window bleakly.

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