“My brothers and I are having a little party.”
“I don’t really do parties,” I answer him and nearly turn back around in my seat, but his smile doesn’t falter and that in itself keeps my attention.
Shrugging, he says, “We can do something else.”
“I don’t really do much,” I tell him honestly. I don’t really feel like doing anything. Each day is only a date on a calendar. That’s all they’ve been for a long time now.
“What about the assignment for art class? We could take some pictures for the photography project?” It takes me a moment to place him, but now that he’s mentioned it, I think I did see him in the back row yesterday in art class.
“It’s not my day for the camera.” The budget for the art department is small, so we have to take turns checking out the equipment.
“I’ve got one we can use—well, it’s my brother’s.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah, his name’s Daniel.” It all clicks when he says his brother’s name. I’ve seen him. It must be him. I’ve watched as this boy I’m talking to waits outside at the entrance to the school and another boy picks him up. Except he’s not a boy. There’s no question about that. Daniel is a man and it only took one glimpse of him to cause me to search him out each and every time the bell rings and I’m waiting in line for the bus.
“Now I know your brother’s name, but I don’t know yours.”
“It’s Tyler.” I repeat his name softly and when I look at him, I see traces of his older brother. But where Daniel has an edge to him, Tyler is warm and inviting.
“I’m Addison.”
“So what do you think, Addison?”
“I think that sounds like fun. I wasn’t doing anything anyway.”
Maybe fate knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep Tyler. It was going to take him from me. So it gave me Daniel to keep me from loving Tyler too much.
I don’t know for sure and there’s no point in speculating.
All I know for certain is that Daniel will consume me, chew me up and spit me back out.
I need to end this before I get hurt … well, before it gets worse than it already is.
Chapter Sixteen
Daniel
I’m losing it.
I can feel myself slipping backward into a dark abyss.
Addison and I are alike in more ways than she knows. In ways I’d never dare to whisper out loud. She’s lying to herself when she says she needs space.
She doesn’t.
She needs me, just like I need her. She’s the only thing that takes the pain away and I do that for her too. I know I do. I can feel it. I can see it in her.
The light from the computer screen is the only thing that saves the living room from being in complete darkness. I’ve been staring at it, waiting for him to see I’ve been logged in for hours.
I’m trying to stay away from Addison. I’m trying to do what’s best.
It’s been a long time, Marcus finally responds. It’s not his name or his alias in this chat. But I know it’s him.
Three years now, I answer, leaning back into my seat with my laptop on my thighs and trying to ignore the shame that rings in my blood. It’s been three years since I’ve logged into this black market chat and sought him out. Three years since I’ve felt the urge to watch over Addison every second of every day. Three years since I’ve had a hit of my sweet addiction.
What brings you back? he asks me and I swallow thickly.
She came back into my life. But you already know that.
She, as in Addison? he asks me to keep up this charade.
The keys beneath my fingertips click faintly as I type. It’s odd how I find it comforting, the soft sounds tempting me to confess my sins.
I wasn’t stalking her or trying to find her. The first time was a coincidence.
How many times have there been? he asks me.
A lot, I admit but then add, but she’s been with me this time. It’s not me hiding in the shadows. She sought me out.
Do you think that makes it healthier? The text stares back at me on the brightly lit screen and I want to answer yes. Of course it is. This time isn’t anything like what happened years ago. He doesn’t wait for me to answer before he poses another question.
If she knows, does that make it okay to allow your interest to grow to obsession?
Obsession may be the wrong word. I think possessive is better. She’s mine. My reason to move on from what happened before. My desire for more. My only way to cope.
It’s different this time. This time she wanted me there.
Wanted? he presses, and the shame of why I’m even here in this anonymous chat makes my chest feel tight. As in past tense?
She asked me for time apart and I’m having difficulties. I’m slipping back into old habits.
It’s called stalking, Daniel.
I’m aware of that, Marcus.
I use his name, just like he uses mine. No one else knows it’s him, but I do. Because years ago, when I watched Addison finally sleep without crying, when she could say Tyler’s name with a sad smile instead of barely restrained agony, he was there for me. All those years ago when she moved on and I was still struggling to cope with the guilt of Tyler’s death, Marcus is the one who stopped me from pulling the trigger with a gun pressed to my head.
It took nearly two years before it came to that point. A year and a half of following her, of watching her and living out my pain vicariously through hers. And months of slowly losing myself and any reason not to end it.
She kept me sane in a way she’ll never know as I watched her grieve with the same pain I had.
But as the months went by, she started to smile again.
It made me feel worse than the day Tyler took his last breath.
She got better, when I didn’t. Every laugh, every bit of happiness made zero sense to me.
I could only cope through her sadness. I understood it; I needed it.
Does she know about the past? he asks me.
She’ll never understand, I type into the chat box, but I don’t send it.
I shake my head, remembering how I followed her everywhere after Tyler’s death. How I watched her run and that alone was enough to take my pain away. She loved him after all and felt responsible like I did. And if she could move on, so could I. But I could never move on from Addison.
FIVE YEARS AGO
I tell myself the only reason I’m on this train is to speak to her.
To tell her it’s not her fault and I’m the one to blame.
That’s the reason I’ve followed her, stalking her in the shadows and silently watching her as she struggles with what to do.
I tell myself that, but I don’t move. I’m struggling too.
The train comes to another stop and my grip tightens on the rail as I wait to see what she does. Where she goes, I’ll go.
I need to make sure she’s okay, that she doesn’t have the same thoughts I do. I’ll protect her.
Her hoodie is up, hiding her face as she leans against the wall of the train. Unmoving.
My body tightens, wanting to go to her. To hold her, to check on her and make sure she’s still breathing. She saw him die like I did. That changes you. There’s no way to deny it or to recover.