Brutally Beautiful

Chapter 6

Kicking my foot through the pile of clothes on the floor, I watched them fly up until I spotted my pants and pulled them on. The rest of the material belonged to the naked woman sleeping on my bed, the one that still had my reddened handprints on her ass. I’d already let her sleep fifteen minutes past the time I would let anyone stay in this room (incidentally, that’s usually fifteen minutes), and that’s only because I left her to search my house for the strongest whiskey I had. A fifth of the bottle was gone already. Do you know how many shots are in a fifth of whiskey? About twenty-drunken-five shots, so I should have been out cold.

I kicked my foot against the bed, the mattress moved about half a foot off my box springs, and I took another swig. “It’s time to go, um…” I’d completely forgotten her name. “Hello, love?”

The body stirred quietly on the bed and the woman’s eyes peeked out from under the covering of my sheets. I scooped up the clothes that belonged to her and dropped them right in front of her face. “I’ve got work to do, so you have to shove off now.”

She sat up, and the sheets fell away revealing a pair of large breasts that I didn’t even bother to look at, let alone touch, thirty minutes ago. I tossed her purse onto the bed and leaned against the far wall where I’d already opened the door for her highly anticipated (only by me it seemed) departure. Resting my body against the frame of the door, I gestured my hands for her to move along and hurry.

The whites of her eyes became bigger, but I didn’t feel remorse. I felt completely nothing. All right, I lied. I felt like throwing her body out of the window, because she wasn’t moving fast enough.

The woman dressed quickly, trying to do so seductively, but I was too busy pretending to look at my phone and the empty inbox of messages I had, to watch her. I’d already had my fun with her, well just one certain part of her, and that’s all I needed. She was the one that propositioned me, at the grocery store, no less. I was just a willing dick. The only reason I said yes was because of her dark black hair that allowed me to pretend she was someone else. Sick, yes? Yeah, and that was why I was holding said bottle of whiskey to my lips. Open. Insert liquor. Forget. Repeat until you could look in the mirror again.

“Will you call me? Maybe we could go out some time,” she smiled, walking to my front door.

“Love, I don’t even remember your name, and I don’t plan on asking you for it again.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Yes, and you’re the whore who let me stick my dick in you and spank your ass,” I said, closing the door on her surprised expression. I would say I cared, but I hated lying.

Anything other than sex is off limits. Out of bounds. Most women (read as every fucking last one of them) have wanted something from me that I couldn’t give them. It was not the typical excuse of me wanting to fuck without strings either. I would give an organ away for one fucking normal day, where I could pretend to be right in the fucking head and whole enough to be in a healthy relationship with someone. I would love to find one person I could be comfortable to be myself with, but I was lost and I couldn’t. I didn’t cherish taking someone along with me through my hell, skipping along, clueless to my madness. Even Lainey, which was why I wanted her to hate me; she would anyway if she ever got the chance to know me. I was one sick fuck.

I took another swig of the whiskey and found myself in front of my writing desk staring at my two newest manuscripts, one titled Behind Green Doors and its sequel, Accepting Darkness. I had emailed them both to my editor a few days before. Eight hundred, twenty-three pages altogether. Two hundred, eighty-two thousand, six hundred fifty-nine words. Two weeks, three days, nine hours and change. That was all the same amount of pages, words, and time since I last saw Lainey dance around with a mop, cleaning her kitchen and knocked at the door to my soul almost punching my heart right out of my chest. I didn’t want to let her in. I wanted nothing to do with her, but the words that poured from my fingers across my keyboard stated otherwise. So I locked myself in my office and wrote straight through until the entire story was told. My way of trying to purge myself of the obsessive thoughts of Lainey that ran loops in my brain.

Personally, I hated the story. It flowed from the first page to the very last and shocked the hell out of you with a terrorizing mindfuck that I’d never seen written before. I loved it. I hated it. It was everything I was. My entire being was in those words. Everything I had ever felt was there for the entire world to read. Pure insanity, horror at its finest. Just plain me.

And, let’s up the insanity here for a minute…if I believed in it, if there was a possibility of it being actually able to happen, I would have said I might have fallen in love with my character. She consumed every thought I had. I felt the need to protect her from everything and everyone. I could feel her silken skin under my fingertips when I wrote about touching her, and I could smell the spiced apples of her soap when I wrote that she was near. And, the fucking way she tasted? It wasn’t waitress flavored, but completely Lainey, and my God, did I taste her in my book. Over and over again, like a goddamn addict I slid my tongue against the unique sweetness of her body, outside and in. It wasn’t just these physical things that I obsessed with, either. This character’s mind possessed me. Her words tore through my heart like bullets. I had written the perfect woman for me; the perfect lover, the perfect friend and companion, based on a fucking waitress that I couldn’t stop thinking about.

Do you want to hear something else that has twisted my dick right the fuck around? For the first time EVER, I wrote a happy ending. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? A happily-ever-fucking after that would leave a Disney princess with tears and slit wrists from the jealousy of it. For her. And me.

I clawed at my hair as my stomach rolled. I’m…I’m…fucking…insane. I always knew I’d snap completely one day. Never thought it would be over a woman I hardly knew.

And that kiss? The kiss in that little trailer of hers… Still burned my lips. Since that kiss, there was this unloosened feeling in my limbs, as if I could float away, as if gravity had just given up on me and I could hurtle into space at anytime.

I grabbed both manuscripts and stormed onto my back deck. It was freezing outside, matching the mess of my insides, frozen, alone, and empty. Ice had lined the stones beneath my feet, causing me to slip and fall right on my ass. The pain as I hit the ground was welcomed, and I laughed into the cold dark night, emitting a thick cloud of mist from my lips. My bottle of whiskey was unhurt, and truly, that was all that mattered.

Lying there on the wet ice for a moment, looking up at the stars, I wished I had cracked my head right open and died on the spot. By the time the maid would find me, a year would probably have passed and I’d be nothing more than a skeleton with an expensive pair of designer slacks on. I’d finally be free of the hold that Lainey had on my mind.

I crawled to the fire pit I kept on my patio and threw both my manuscripts in, and from the stone shelves under it, I pulled out the igniter and set them on fire.

I watched my books go up in flames and drank the rest of my whiskey, wishing my fucked up feelings would burn along with my words.

Lainey.

Lainey.

Lainey.

I could barely see straight as I staggered into my office. I had to shake this need, this desire to know her. I felt cursed. Possessed. Her face haunted me. Her laughter echoed in my brain. Her smile plagued my thoughts. But mostly it was her calmness that affected me. Soothed me. Mollified the rage.

Who was she really?

Where did she come from?

What happened that she ended up bloody beaten at my brother’s bar?

My obsession continued; I was spinning out of control. I googled her. I read everything I could find on Lainey Nevaeh, which was about a gram of information. Facebook, blogs, MySpace, that ancestry site, and various forums stated she was either a twelve-year-old girl from Bessemer, Alabama, or a stay-at-home mom from somewhere in Colorado. I gorged myself on information, anything I could find. I tried to put together the pieces of her life from the tiny bits I found, the rush of it made me high. However, after hours of searching, I was more intrigued with the fact that no trace of any Lainey Nevaeh that matched the mysterious waitress from the bar could be found. It was as if she wasn’t real. I mean, really, you could find almost anyone on Google nowadays. Try it. Google yourself and see what happens. You’ll probably find some sorry ass picture of that one time you fell asleep drunk at a friend’s party in college and they drew a mustache on your face, and then snapped a photo of you. That’s your legacy. Google is the largest database of people and pictures that can pinpoint your exact fucking location on earth, especially when everybody in the fucking world had turned on their geo coding on their phones and tablets. Don’t people know how dangerous it is for the world to see exactly where you are at the exact moments you’re there? It’s a great resource for criminals. With Lainey though, it was as if she had no past. Like Lainey Nevaeh never existed. She didn’t even have a social security number.

A thick unsettling feeling washed over me; like some sort of darker shadow over my soul than the one that was already there. I hadn’t had one flashback since the night I met Lainey. Somehow, without me knowing, my uncontrollable compulsive thoughts of her brought a splash of color into my dark world. Like the colors of the rainbow, bleeding and seeping out of the darkened night sky. My obsessive behavior towards her filled that gaping hole that contained all my deep rage. She was like a medicine to me. She was like the fire I had just set on my books; her flames engulfed me and brought me to ashes. Charred.

Was it as simple as the way she looked, or, as simple as just wanting to unravel the mystery of Lainey? And what would I want to do with her after all my needs were fulfilled and my questions answered? What would I do to her when my darkness wanted a piece of her too?

I awoke almost a whole day later, on the floor of my kitchen with dried blood all over my hands and chest. Brilliant sunlight was filtering in through my French doors, harshly lighting my cold skin. I was shirtless. Across the palm of my hand was a deep gash that looked red, angry, and still slick with slowly clotting fluids. Thick shards of bloodied crimson stained glass lay across the floor, under me, across from me, inside of me. The strong urge to rub the blood between my fingers was maddening. To touch the life flowing out of my skin, the thick red liquid that once surged through my heart; this is how I cope now. Reliving my nightmares. Reliving my past. Touching my thumb to the rest of my fingers, I swirled the congealing mess around, pain hit me instantly as the sharp bit of glass still embedded under the skin of my palm dug itself deeper. It throbbed a fiery burn up my wrist and arm, making me clench my teeth in anger. My throat was parched, blood pounded in my ears and my body felt coiled tight; ready to spring.

I looked down enraged, wondering what the hell was happening to me. Did somebody steal my cock to sell on the black market? Leaving me a pussy. What the hell was I letting my own mind conjure up for me? I needed to get over this insanity. I pulled the piece of glass out of my palm and smeared my bloody hand against my pants, ignoring the bite of pain.

Throwing a shirt on, I stumbled blindly out of the house. Bright sunlight hit my eyes like a prizefighter and almost, almost knocked me on my ass. Lumbering to my truck, I climbed in vaguely, wondering if I might have still been drunk from the previous binge I accomplished undertaking the night before. I highly doubted it.

I had one thought in my mind.

Bagels.

Fresh bagels from a bakery, with butter and coffee. Maybe a few pots full. My stomach lurched and rumbled as I drove a good twenty-five minutes from my house to the nearest place to eat.

Like a grade-A jackoff, I parked in two spaces, not wanting anyone near my truck, and stormed into the diner, fists clenched. Sitting in the booth nearest the exit, always nearest the exit, with…3 waitresses, 11 faceless customers and 2 exits, I nodded at the waitress who in turn gave me bulging eyes and a downturned mouth. Getting a fucking bagel should be easy, but not here, not with me. These people knew of me, heard of me, and they were terrified of me. The dangerous recluse that never comes out in the daytime, isn’t he crazy? Didn’t he kill people? Didn’t he die? Didn’t he go insane? Isn’t he horribly disfigured like that Mel Gibson character in that movie? Didn’t he spend years in jail or an asylum, blah-blah-blah, just give me a fucking bagel and coffee, and no one will get hurt.

The waitress actually snorted loudly, walked over to my table, and crossed her arms.

Before she could form a simple thought in her most likely one-celled simple mind I growled out, “Coffee. Toasted Bagel. Butter.”

The twit clucked her teeth like a monkey and walked away.

My head started pounding. People walked in and out of the front door letting a cold draft breeze against my arms. My eyes attacked each and every person who walked in.

This was a fucking bad idea.

The rattle and clink of a coffee cup against its saucer brought my attention to the presence of the waitress spreading my order out on the table in front of me. “Can I get you anything else, sir?” she said with a sneer.

“Solitude,” I snapped back.

The waitress narrowed her eyes at me and snapped a piece of gum in my face. Then she walked away, leaving me to my solitude. Grabbing my knife and opening the little pat of wrapped butter, I began buttering my bagel.

“So, I’m not the only waitress you snap at, good to know,” a whispered voice said. The strong smell of apples, cinnamon, spices, and sexy hit me right in the chest. The butter knife slipped from my fingers, and clanged and clunked against the plate as Lainey slid into the seat across from me.

I had to take a deep breath before I could look at her. When I lifted my eyes to meet hers, she almost blinded me with her beauty. Ah, shit.

“Are you okay?” she asked. The brilliant green of her eyes and the kindness of her question overwhelmed me. It knotted itself in my chest and throbbed.

It took me a moment of staring at her to answer. “Yes.” She had a serene calmness about her, like the lapping waters off a tranquil Caribbean beach. I fucking wanted to dive in. “Why do you ask?”

Her smile was soft and gracious, but her brows wrinkled as she looked down at my hand. I followed the trail of her eyes, and then realized I hadn’t bandaged up my cut, or cleaned the blood off my hands and arms. At that particular moment, my throat lost the ability to remember how to swallow correctly and I ended up choking and hacking on my own saliva. Very becoming. Normally, at this point in a conversation with someone where I see blood, this would have caused me to crumple into a heap of trembling anxiety, rage and self-hatred, lashing out with whomever I was speaking. But for a few moments, I had been staring into those calm green eyes and the panic and rage didn’t come. It was as if Lainey had some sort of superhuman secret ability to help me hold the door to my skeleton-bloody-carcass filled closet closed.

“I cut myself,” I explained.

“I can see that,” she said. Her eyes scanned my face, my hair, my clothes, and then journeyed back down to my hand. Softly clearing her throat, she said, “Do you need anything? Would you like me to get some bandages or something?”

“Fuck no, why?” Did I have the word pussy written across my head?

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror this morning?” she asked.

Grabbing the aluminum napkin holder, I held it up to my face. Wide blood-shot grey eyes stared back; dried blood was caked across my cheeks and forehead. My hair, God, it looked like I had gotten into a fight and lost. I slammed down the napkin holder on the table and the clasp popped, sending napkins flying across the table. Fuck my life.

Lainey freaking giggled. I watched her, she tried not to, but the napkins and me being an idiot and everything, she couldn’t stop it, and she giggled. The sound of it was jarring, and I found myself wanting more of it, needing more of it.

“It’s too early to laugh,” I mumbled, which was probably the most unintelligent thing I could have responded with, but hey, there I was sitting in a diner with the woman I had been obsessing over for two weeks, wrote two books about, and had blood smeared all over my body. Intelligent conversation eluded me.

“Why? Do you hate morning people?” she asked, smiling.

“It has nothing to do with mornings…it’s the people part,” I retorted, smiling a bit myself. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to alleviate the mess, but then gave up. “I had a rough night. I didn’t even think to clean myself up,” I smiled wider.

HOLY CRAP. I. WAS. SMILING.

“Mr. Grayson, your charm is showing. You might want to tuck it back in,” she said, standing up. “You seem okay, so, I should go. Enjoy your breakfast.” She started to turn away. I wanted her to stay, but I knew it would be healthier for us both if she kept on walking. Leaning her hand against my table, she stopped and faced me again. “You should really clean that cut, though, Mr. Grayson. It looks deep and you could get an infection or something…”

I watched her smooth ivory fingers tremble against the dark cherry wood of the tabletop. My gaze traveled up her creamy arms across her shoulder and along her neck to her face; to her eyes. For a second, the thought of spending time with her overwhelmed me with a strange emotion. I didn’t know what it was; hope maybe? She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met before, was she? “I apologize for offending you the other day. Please, call me Kade,” I croaked.

She stopped moving away and looked curiously at me. Then a man walked up behind her and placed his hand on her arm, causing her to look away from me and into the man’s face.

Francine, the man-girl.

“Hello there, Kade.” He glossed his eyes over my state and cringed. Instantly turning his eyes back to Lainey, “I’ve paid the check. Are you ready?”

Lainey’s lips pressed together tightly and her narrowed eyes moved from him to me, and back again. She shook her head as if to say she didn’t quite understand what he was going on about, then locked eyes with me again. “You’re sure you’ll get that looked at?” she asked pointing to my hand.

“I’ll meet you in the car, sweetheart,” Francis interrupted tightly, stomping away like a child. Lainey bit her lip to stifle another laugh and shrugged her shoulders.

Sipping my coffee I looked up at her and nodded, “I’ll be fine.”

Her lips opened as if she was about to say more, then she just pinched them together, nodded a goodbye, and walked out the door.

Dropping my head in my hands, which hurt like hell, I squeezed my eyes tight. I needed to stay away from her. I needed to stay away from her.

I needed to stay away from her.

Rummaging in my pocket, I took out my wallet and threw a fifty down on the table, grabbed my bagel and walked out of the diner. Fran’s smart little car was just pulling out of the parking area and onto the main road.

Yeah, I was going to follow her. Staying away from her was not an option. I would have to staple myself to the damn seat to stop myself from running after her.

Tearing out of the lot, I trailed them for a few miles, hiding myself behind a few other cars.

Fran dropped her off at a grocery store. Psycho me followed her in.

I hid in aisle five, grabbing a box of Band-Aids and a giant box of double stuffed Oreos; she got coffee. She caught me near the cash registers when a group of local elderly jackasses nodded my way and started grunting loudly about the hermit being out of his lair.

“Oh my goodness, is that him?” One ancient fossil hissed. “Dear God, it’s the Devil himself!” To add to the disgust, she made the sign of the cross over herself. That made me laugh. Out loud.

The mother next to her, actually covered her daughter’s eyes from looking at me. “Don’t look at him, Becca. Just ignore him and he’ll go away.”

“Is he really the devil, Mom? But, he was holding a bag of cookies!”

Goddamn small town bullshit. I growled at them and bared my teeth; I mean I might as well let them believe all the shit that’s said about me, right? “The cookies are for all the monsters I keep in my basement,” I whispered and winked at the little girl.

Laughing, Lainey shoved me past the harrumphing townies. Pulling me by my coat sleeve, she dragged me to the first aid aisle and loaded my basket with peroxide, gauze and other shit I didn’t need. I stared at her as she looked thoughtfully at the items. “That should be enough to help you.” Her thick dark lashes swept up and her green gaze met mine. The beginning of a small smile played on her lips and a faint blush covered her cheeks, “Stop making these people afraid of you. You’re just fanning the flames. You’re no more the devil than I am Mickey Mouse.”

Glancing at the crowd of people still gawking at me, I blew them a kiss. “Sorry. Momentary lapse in judgment.”

Chuckling and shaking her head, she left me standing there staring after her, my eyes hungrily eating her swaying form.

Jetting after her, I walked through the group of rubberneckers and loudly greeted them all a devilish good morning. I promised myself to buy a pair of horns online for the next visit to town. Placing my basket near the cash register in the line behind Lainey, I watched as she bit back her laughter, paid for her coffee, then walked out of the store.

I threw a hundred dollar bill at the cashier and threw my shit in one of those irritating plastic bags that you could never find the freaking opening to, and have to lick your fingers and use friction and the Jaws of Life to open. Telling the cashier to keep the change, I ran out of the store as Fran was driving down the road.

I followed them back to her trailer park and waited. Exiting my car, hidden behind another trailer, I stood on the threshold of the woods that surrounded her little home. Watching, transfixed, I could barely breathe, thinking that lanky bugger might have his lips on hers. The thought tore me apart. Then Fran walked out. Sweet relief flooded my body as she stood by the door and waved to him. No kiss goodbye. When his car was out of view, she leaned the back of her head on the doorframe and dragged her hands over her face. Within seconds, she let her hands fall limply to her sides and she looked out into the shadows of the trees. She looked as lost as I did. I blew breath into my hands, trying to find warmth, and watching her slowly close the door, robbing me of my view.

Convincing myself it wouldn’t be a good idea to knock on her door, and would probably creep the hell out of her, I trailed back through the woods to the place I hid my truck and drove back to my house.

It was the first time, except for that pompous awards dinner, that I had been out in the daytime for that long in months. I drove home in a daze. Fucking bloody hell, welcome to the world of crazy. I had lost all control.

I was well aware that my behavior was stalker-like and beyond inappropriate, yet I could not demonstrate a reason to stop. I wanted to know all about her, everything she did; everything she was. I sat in my den with none of the lights on, staring into the dimness of the room, scrutinizing my thoughts. Trying desperately to find order in the jumbled chaos of my mind.

I wanted to pursue her, make her laugh again, and get to know her.

My brain was well aware that she would undoubtedly have no intention of returning any attention to me after the way I treated her.

Was her skin as soft as I wrote it to be?

Showering and cleaning my hand was a chore, as my delusional mind had me being a normal undamaged man, ready and willing for a relationship with this person I truly knew nothing about. I tried to focus on the facts. I tried to concentrate on the reality that I was not in a healthy place to offer even the remotest of friendships with her. Was I truly this sick and twisted inside? Was I really trying to talk myself into believing I could trust and offer something other than my written words and ideas to someone?

When dusk softly overshadowed the sky, my hand was neatly bandaged and I was dressed impeccably. Swallowing the hard knot in my throat, I walked out of my house and climbed into my truck. All my sick tangled thoughts of the day came to one conclusion: I just wanted to get to know Lainey. Let her make her own choices about me, because my mind would not rest until I understood the strange spell she had over me and why since the day I’d met her, I had not suffered one uncontrollable flashback.

Driving to my brother’s bar, I cringed at facing my actions. How will she view me? Let’s get my mind clear. First, I belittled and degraded her. Terrific beginning. Second, I did more of the same shit, but I added some staring and gawking at her lips over a dinner party. I was pretty close to humping her leg that night, and everybody seemed aware of that fact. Next, I was caught peeking into her window as she cleaned her house and performed a dance that I can’t even think about for fear of busting a nut where I sit. Then came the kiss that I attacked her with, which was right after I criticized her yet again, because I was in total awe of her lips. After that, I write two books, each with the main character based on her. Lastly, I followed her; stalking the shit out of her.

Fuuuck, I’m twisted.

The thoughts about my behavior were even creepy to me. By this time, my truck was idling in the parking lot of the bar and I decided just to go home. My infatuation with her was completely one-sided, unhealthy, and without a doubt, would end ugly.

Before I could pull out, Fran’s car turned into the lot.

I blinked as his red taillights flickered through the darkness, and the parking brake light reflected against the bark of the trees surrounding the lot. Slithering down in my seat, I could hear that wanker’s voice laughing loudly as he slammed the car door shut. Straining my ears, I couldn’t hear anything from Lainey. I just watched as she quickly walked toward the bar, probably trying to get out of the frigid night air. When she reached the door, she glanced questioningly towards my truck, then smiled, and slipped into the warmth of the bar.

She smiled?

For twenty-minutes, I listened to the heater fan as it warmed the air in my cab, sitting and contemplating what to do. There was no talking myself out of going in.

She smiled at my truck. So in I went. Seemed like good logic at the time.

I slowly made my way over to my back table. It was almost five, and there was a small crowd for a Thursday night, but my table was empty. My table was always empty, even when I occupied it.

Lainey was behind the bar pouring a beer, when her eyes collided with mine. They stayed on mine for so long that the beer overflowed the cup and spilled thick white foam over the edges and her fingers. It made my body pulse with arousal. Twisted, yeah?

Placing my case on the table, I slid out my laptop and opened it up. My goal was to watch her and get some research down for my next book. Keying in the Wi-Fi password, I checked my email and opened one from my editor.

Kade,

These were impressive; I wouldn’t dream of changing a thing. Just scan through my notes and make any necessary corrections.

Gary

There were only three corrections for both books? Usually Gary had more to say. I quickly typed him a short email, explaining that I wanted to keep the manuscripts out of the publishing house, and self-publish. I did this with my books every so often, especially if I wrote a book that wasn’t scheduled for publication, which these weren’t. My publisher hated me for doing it, but I told them they could find another me if they wanted to place rules on the things I did. Being somebody’s bitch was not in my nature; it went completely against my DNA makeup.

A soft clink of glass against the wood tabletop caused me to look up from my screen. Delicate fingers slid a drink closer to me and a smooth voice asked, “How’s the hand?” My lungs found trouble with the task of inhaling.

All my senses were heightened as soon as I looked up. I tried to ignore the overwhelming emotions, but it was of no use. Spiced apples and cinnamons twirled in the air around me. Five shades of green danced in her eyes as my focused gaze caught hers and my chest just surged. What the hell was that about? As I laced my fingers around the brandy, her fingers brushed gently against mine with the slightest touch of almost infinitesimal tremors. “Just a little scratch,” I answered her hoarsely.

She slid her hands away from mine and pushed them deeply into the pockets of her apron. Her cheeks started to flare with a deep blush. I tried, but couldn’t stop the slow smile it brought to my lips. “I’m surprised you still want to be friends, after such an arsehole I’ve been towards you.”

“Friends?” She asked, composed, unsmiling.

“Yes.”

“Yep. Just wait. Our friendship bracelets are in the mail,” she said sarcastically. “Please don’t mistake my being a naturally caring person for wanting to be friends. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“A smile?” I whispered.

“That’s not on the menu, is it?” Calm. Cool. Emotionless.

“Fuck.” I took a pull from my brandy, letting the flavor smoothly fill my mouth and burn its fire down my throat. It didn’t quench my thirst though. I wanted a taste of the woman standing before me. I laughed and looked down, shaking my head. I cleared my throat, “So being friends is an impossibility? You’d be missing out.”

“Yep. I guess I will just have to live with never knowing how great a friend you could be. It’ll be difficult, I’m sure. But, with years of therapy and psychoanalysis, I bet I’ll be able to overcome the heartbreak of not getting to know you.” Her eyes never left mine. Curt, yet nice and emotionless. She just completely handed me my own order of sublime indifference and I could have buried myself in it. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you,” I said, and watched her walk away, smiling at the other customers and going on with her life, with not one ounce of effect from me.

All that night, I watched her work the floor, mesmerized. She never let anyone touch her; it was as if she would melt away right before their hands went to touch her. No one touched her but Bree. Always keeping a distance from everyone like she was more comfortable with being alone than with other people. She smiled politely and answered when asked questions, but there was something missing. It was as if she was missing. Every time my glass was empty, she would bring over another one, but I never caught her looking over at me. I stayed there until closing. I stayed there while she and Bree sat with that dolt Fran, and ate dinner after the bar closed. My brother gave me strange looks, but I just flipped him the finger and ignored him.

I didn’t care how sick I looked. I couldn’t stop myself; I didn’t want to look away from her.

Lainey leaned against the back of her chair swirling a French fry around her plate drowning it in ketchup, but not eating a bite. Very prim and proper, she sat back rigid and ladylike. It made me see images of her on her knees in front of me, seeing how dirty I could get her to be.

Bree was laughing at something Fran had said, but Lainey wasn’t. She didn’t seem to be listening, not even looking at anyone around her, she just stared out across the bar. Bree touched her hand to get her attention, but she just planted a robotic smile on her face that never reached her eyes. Then she turned her attention back out across the bar again and her gaze collided with mine. She didn’t look away.

Seconds.

Minutes.

She did not look away.

Staring at me and me staring at her, our eyes locked, fixed; lost in each other.

Bree interrupted our private moment by taking her plate into the back and walking through the view we had of each other. It was as if someone cut off my oxygen. As I sat there, practically gasping for breath, Lainey pushed herself away from the table, gathered her coat and belongings, and walked out the door not glancing back at me once. Fran was hot on her trail.

“What are you bloody doing, mate?” Dylan’s voice asked next to me.

“Drinking. Writing.”

“You just eye-fucked that girl to death, Kade. You need to stop whatever is going on in that mind of yours.”

“You just made it so much more tempting, brother,” I said, laughing.

“Bloody hell, Kade. You’re laughing. You’re laughing? You’re barmy, brother. I haven’t seen you laugh in…” He looked at the table I had been staring at for the last hour and realization dawned across his expression.

Want to hear how deep my sickness runs? I did it again the next day and the next. Followed her and ended each night sitting at the same table watching her, delighted as hell a restraining order hadn’t arrived for me yet.

On the third night, the brandy slid across the top of my table and her eyes fluttered down to mine. “A sketchy black truck has been seen everywhere I’ve been for the past three days. Intense steel-grey eyes staring me down and peeking in my windows. You’re the worst stalker I’ve ever met. What are you going to do now? Ask me to help you find your lost puppy? Offer me some candy and shove me in your truck? Or will it be something subtler, like asking me if your napkin smells like chloroform as you grab me from behind? Or wait, maybe you’ll just sit here and stare at me menacingly and pet your imaginary cat while collecting strands of my hair to knit a sweater for yourself later.”

“Wow. Don’t hold yourself back. I really get under your skin, yeah? Kind of hate me, huh?”

“If I gave you any amount of thought in my head, I probably would.”

I choked down the mouthful of brandy and almost spit it out all over the front of my laptop. “Are you always this witty? Or should I be afraid? And I haven’t peeked in your window since the mop dance. My heart wouldn’t be able to handle it again, although I do find myself listening to that same damn song every night. And I can’t knit…yet.”

Then, for the first time since seeing her in the diner, she smiled at me. “You should be terrified, actually. You never know when that little stalking plan of yours will backfire and I show up everywhere you are, like a crazy woman with zero self-esteem.” She leaned over the table, hands laid out flat across the wood top, “I’d keep repeating in a high pitched voice…that we were made for each other…that I couldn’t bring myself to shower after being so near you. You’d find me stealing your clothes and wearing them just to have your scent all over my body. Maybe I’d crawl into your window at night and slip under your bed and poke you every so often so you couldn’t sleep.”

“I will definitely be leaving the alarm off tonight,” I said, chuckling.

“Why?”

“Because I like the thought of you under me in bed,” I stated.

“No, Kade. Why are you following me?” She whispered.

Fuck. I had nothing to say to that. She would probably slap me if I told her I had trouble breathing when I wasn’t near her.

“My TV is broke?” Cold harsh humor laced my tone. I really was trying to be funny and flirtatious, but I needed to work on the lack I had of this talent.

She crossed her arms, “Try again.”

“I like the view?”

“Well, that’s not creepy at all,” she said, dryly.

Laying my palms flat against the table, I just let go. “Because Lainey, you somehow soothe the chaos that’s inside me. You heal me.”