Chapter 3. The Next Target
1300 Words
#Explicit content (18+)
Theo's POV:-
She kept the curtains open as if she knew that I was watching her. As if she wanted me to watch her go about her day.
I had stopped bothering to hide behind the bushes across the street from her house after a few days, and instead, I leaned against a tree and openly peered up through the bedroom window. She never cared to look outside. Sometimes she would glance toward the window, but with the way she stared or fixed a strand of her hair, it seemed she was only examining her reflection. Was she teasing me?
Now she was sitting in bed with her back leaned against the headboard. A bowl of popcorn rested at her side as it had the previous twelve nights I had watched her. Not that I needed to.
Her routine never changed. Not once.
She didn’t leave the house nor did she step outside. Ever. It had made setting up the camera by the door rather difficult, but I had managed as she slept. But of course, since she never left, the camera did me no good. I didn’t need to track her because she was always there, typing away at her computer, reading, and sometimes at night she would dance. She was good at it too, graceful. I wondered if maybe she had taken ballet classes as a girl, she would have been good. She would spin and twirl in her living room to what I assumed was soft, elegant music, and only when her strawberry blonde hair was matted with sweat would she stop.
Her nighttime routine was what intrigued me the most, and was the reason why I kept coming here. I would buzz with excitement as the sun went down, and I was able to drive out to this rich neighborhood in the burbs of Florida and watch Rose. I wasn’t sure what that meant.
Learning their routines was a large part of my process, and I always found myself eager to watch them, but this time was different. With her monotonous lifestyle, it should have killed the excitement, but instead, it fueled it, like oxygen to a fire.
I wished I could have seen what was played on the television. It rested along a wall by the window and cast a blue hue over Mary that flickered each time the scene changed. Whatever it was, it began and ended around the same time every night.
I checked my watch and shifted on my feet. It was getting close to that time. I could have left and called it a night. Maybe get a good night’s rest so that Teresa wouldn’t look at me with that worried expression when I arrived at the office. But I found myself glued to the same spot across the street.
Waiting.
My view was damn near perfect when Rose’s eyes closed and her hand lowered. What I imagined were soft fingertips started from the swell of her breasts and made a trail to the waistband of polka-dotted pajama pants. There was a sheen to them that hinted at silk. I imagined what the material must have felt like as she tucked her hand underneath, and I found myself pinching my silk tie and rubbing the pads of my fingers along it. To address the feel of it.
I had seen my targets masturbate before, usually on camera. It was fascinating to watch them in their most vulnerable state. Their truest selves. I found myself engrossed in the images of their faces flushing and mouths panting in ecstasy.
But… Watching Rose was different. Her routine made her predictable, but I still couldn’t read her. I knew what she would do, but I didn’t know how she would do it. I was stuck trying to figure it out, read her facial cues, and make sense of her. I was so focused on her every move, and imagining every sensation, it was almost like I was there with her. I didn’t feel like the man behind the camera or in this case the man behind the window. It was more as if I were an active participant.
Rose’s back arched and her lips parted as her hand moved. How did she do it? Did she rub circles around her cl*t with her middle finger? Rub up and down with her whole palm? Maybe she inserted a finger, coating her hand with honey before using it to slicken her cl*t.
My face warmed as blood rushed to the surface. It wasn’t the only place blood surged. My c**k strained against my slacks, and the sensation came over me again. I was in there, with her.
Those pink pajamas were on the floor and she was spread eagle on the side of the bed facing me. I could smell her arousal. Taste it on my tongue. And I wanted more.
I wanted it for real.
Her eyes opened, and her lips parted in what I imagined to be a moan with the way her chest lifted and mouth formed a perfect O.
“Fu*k,” I whispered, undoing my belt with shaky hands. I shoved one down the front of my slacks and gripped my shaft. I mimicked her rhythm, stroking each time her arm moved. She appeared to be the top-to-bottom type, but fu*k, I wanted to know for sure.
Rose’s face flushed, causing the porcelain hue of her skin to turn a lovely shade of pink as she came. Her hand stopped moving and eventually, she pulled it from the pajamas. Her chest rose and fell with deep, ragged breaths.
She stayed like that for a few minutes, as if waiting for me to get my release. She would allow me to watch her a little longer before turning off the lights. Did she know? Was she some kind of witch? At that point, I couldn’t be sure, nor did I care.
My mouth opened in a grunt as semen coated my boxers.
I couldn’t have her.
The realization hit me before I could come down from my relieved state, and it left a bitterness mixing in with satisfaction. She was a target, another subject and I didn’t fu*k targets. I didn’t really fu*k anyone.
Sexual gratification didn’t control me like it did weaker men and most women I had found it to be a waste of my time. I spent all day hiding my true self from the world. I didn’t have the energy to do it at night.
I pulled my sticky hand from my pants and glared at it before wiping the remnants on my slacks. The lamp went off in Rose’s bedroom, and my gaze darted to it. The movie still played, and Rose was visible in the glimmer of the screen for a few moments longer before she shut the TV off.
Enough of this.
She was guilty of killing her husband. Everything pointed to it. I had even talked to the maid who had been there at the time, and she would not stop trembling when I had casually brought up her old employers. She had referred to the woman as Rose and was convinced she held some kind of demon inside of her. With the reactions Rose elicited from me, I wasn’t sure the maid was wrong.
She had no friends, no family, no job. As far as I could tell, she had no life. The only person who would notice her disappearance was the delivery man for the food she ordered, who, by the way, she was fu*king. There was no reason to wait any longer.
I buckled my belt and began the trek back to my car. Tomorrow I will need to park it closer.
I wouldn’t be going home alone.
---------------------------***--------------------------
- Writer
