Forcing the thoughts away before they take root, I exit the car and walk across the street at a leisurely pace. It’s quiet, and if you look hard enough, you might see a few stars hanging in the night sky. When I reach the door to the apartment building, I slide my keycard into the door, waiting for the click to push it open. No one even glances my way as I walk inside. I’ve been here so many times most people probably think I live here.
In fact, I know one of Dove’s neighbors actually thinks I do. Of course, I don’t correct her. What would be the fun in that? I use the walk upstairs to clear my mind, and by the time I reach Dove’s door, I’m a little more composed. Pulling out my phone, I check the surveillance feed in her bedroom one last time. The image confirms that she’s sound asleep, tucked nicely into her bed. Unlocking her door, I enter her apartment slowly. I’ve done this so many times it’s like riding a bike to me.
Quietly, I close the door behind me. I’m welcomed by the darkness of the apartment, feeling at home in more than one way. The dark is where I thrive and the shadows my best friend. It’s the only place I can be myself. But Dove, she is light, pure, vibrant, and innocent. My darkness threatens to taint that light, to snuff it out... and that reminder alone keeps me away, but never too far.
I’ve only taken one small step inside, but Max is right there, curling his fury body around my leg, purring loud enough to wake the dead. He, too, thinks I live here. Bending down, I pat the top of his head before shushing him away.
The soles of my shoes make little noise as I move through the house like a ghost. I know where every corner, every creak, and every piece of furniture is. I know about every window and every door, and even what’s hidden in each cupboard. I know how she likes her coffee, what her favorite books are, and what time she gets up every morning.
There isn’t one thing about Dove that I don’t know about. I know her inside and out, maybe even better than I know myself.
Standing just outside her half-open door, I clench my jaw. Her sweet scent of vanilla and sugar surrounds me. The scent stirs a deep primal need within me. One that urges me to go to her and claim her completely, without mercy or care. It slams into me, gripping me by the balls and urging me forward. I don’t want her to be mine. I need her to be mine.
Swallowing thickly, I grapple for control. The beast wanting to be set free so he can mark her. Barely containing myself, I sneak into the bedroom. There’s a tightening in my stomach when I first see her. It’s like butterflies taking flight, like riding a roller coaster. She’s lying partly on her stomach, her cheek resting against the sheets.
Dark brown locks of hair shield most of her face, and I’m forced to suppress a laugh, realizing she’s kicked most of her blanket to the edge of the bed. Parts of her are still the same, while others have changed. Drinking in the view before me, I become mesmerized by her perfect legs that lead up to a plump ass. Her firm globes are covered by a pair of sleep shorts that leave very little to the imagination. Saliva fills my mouth at the thought of parting those thighs and licking her virgin pussy, feasting on it, eating until I’ve had my fill.
Fuck, I wonder what she would taste like; if she would beg me to stop or beg me to keep going? My muscles clench, and my cock presses against the zipper of my jeans painfully. It’d be so easy to take her right now, to cover her mouth and take what I want, to sink deep inside of her and let her innocence coat my cock… Taking a step toward the bed, I almost give in to the urge, but at the last second, I pause and curl my hands into fists to stop myself from touching her.
One taste would never be enough. I could never give her up, so I’ll refuse myself while I still have the strength. Letting my gaze wander, I move to her heart-shaped face. Long lashes fanning out like crescent moons against high cheeks. Soft, pink lips that are slightly parted, and an adorable button nose. My angel.
I don’t know how long I stand staring at her, watching as her forehead wrinkles, and she rolls over, tossing her leg over a pillow.
Every inch of me is being pulled toward her, and when I can’t withstand the burn any longer, when the pain in my chest becomes too much, I pick up the blanket and cover her back up. She murmurs something inaudible in her sleep, and I force myself to walk away even when everything inside me is screaming to go back there.
This is something I put myself through almost every night. Loving Dove is my greatest weakness, but I won’t give it up… I can’t. No matter what I do, no matter how many people I kill, she will always be mine. The devil already owns too much of my soul for me to allow myself to let her go.
The love I have for her is the only good thing left in my life, the only thing pure, and that’s why I won’t ever take from her. I won’t ever hurt her because if I ever do, then there would be no light left in me, and the darkness would swallow me whole.
Without a sound, I leave her apartment and walk back out to my car. Each step is heavier than the last. When will I stop putting us both through this pain? Never.
Maybe I would have an easier life if she wasn’t in it. If I would just let her go and stop watching her. But I will never stop because Dove deserves a happy life. She needs to be safe, and someone needs to protect her from the monster who lurks in the dark.
And who is better to protect her from them than one of them?
3
No matter what I do. I can’t shake the strange feeling that I’m being watched, it’s been like this for years. Going to the grocery store, on the drive to work, even in my apartment. It always feels like there are eyes on me, but every time I look up, there’s nothing there. No one is watching, at least not that I can see. I do my best to brush off the feelings, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think.
I’m pretty sure no one is actually watching me. I mean, why would someone do that? I’m no one. It makes more sense that I’ve imagined all of this, especially after the incident with the creeper the other night.
This is my body’s way of staying guarded after having a shitty childhood. At least that’s what the therapist tells me. I keep thinking about stopping seeing her because I’m tired of being reminded of the past. I don’t care to remember my time in foster care, and I honestly don’t understand why I keep finding myself going to the appointments.
Stopping by my favorite coffee place on the corner, I order an iced coffee hoping the caffeine will make me feel better. By the time I get to the shelter, I’ve downed the large cup and feel no better. Except now, my bladder is screaming at me. I rush inside, heading straight for the bathroom.
Stupid coffee.
“Good morning,” Sasha greets me as I rush past her.
“Morning,” I call as I slip into the bathroom. Sighing, I empty my bladder and vow never to drink that much coffee that fast again. When I’m done, I wash my hands and walk back out into the receptionist area.
“Too much coffee?” Sasha giggles.
“You know it,” I admit. “I don’t know when I will ever learn.” I shake my head.
“We got two new surrenders this morning. One of them is a puppy,” Sasha tells me. “They only had the dog for three weeks, then realized they would have to actually spend time training the dog not to pee and poop in the house.”