Dear Obsession

Iris’s POV. Someone was watching us f**k. Thunder shook the windows, and the lightning lit the room for half a second. In that flash I could swear I saw him, the shape of a man, watching me. My heart skipped. It didn't matter how many times it happened. It was always the same: excitement first, then fear. It wasn't normal. Liquid heat, adrenaline, my skin tingling. Ryan was over me on the couch, my blouse half worn, my breath going shallow, my hands turning clammy. His mouth was at my throat, his hands impatient. I was trying, always trying, to lose myself in this. I wonder if he can see me right now. Half naked, under another man. Does he like the view? The truth was I was terrified. I couldn't bear it. But there was a part of me that couldn't stay away from the thrill. "Chill," I whispered as Ryan's knee pushed between mine. "Hold on." He groaned against my collarbone and kept going. I turned my head and saw the window. Rain blurred the glass. Beyond it was fully dark, except for the shape of a man standing on the fire escape. I froze. "Ryan." I pushed at his chest. "Stop." He sat back, annoyed, dragging a hand through his hair. "Come on, babe. We're just getting started." "There's someone out there." He laughed against my neck. "It's raining. It's a shadow." "I'm sure of it." "You saw rain." He sat back fully now, the warmth gone. "You're doing that thing again. Paranoid Iris. Your dad dies and suddenly everyone's watching you." The words stuck in my throat. I sat up and buttoned my blouse with shaking fingers. "f**k you." His face changed-just for a second, something almost like regret. "Iris, I didn't mean-" A sound from outside. Metal on concrete. Something dropped. I was on my feet before I thought, crossing to the window, palm flat against the cold glass. The street below was empty. The shape was gone. My skin crawled. "See?" Ryan was already behind me, reaching for his shirt. "Nothing. Can we get back to-" "What if someone was out there?" I turned on him, my voice shaking. "What if there was a f*****g weirdo at my door and you just told me to ignore it?" "Because you're being crazy." His laugh died when he saw my face. "Iris, come on. It's late. You're stressed. Let's just-" "Get out." "What?" "I said get out." I grabbed his jacket and threw it at him. "Leave." He stared at me, shirt hanging open, hair wild. "You serious right now?" "Do I look like I'm joking?" For a moment he looked ready to argue. Then his jaw tightened. "Fine. You want to be alone with your ghosts? Be my f*****g guest." He shoved past me hard enough to bruise and yanked the door open. He didn't look back. I stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around myself, listening to his footsteps fade. The apartment felt huge. Hollow. Full of corners. Sometimes I heard footsteps at night. Sometimes I could feel someone watching. Always watching. I almost called him back. Derek’s POV He was never going to make it to the stairwell. I waited in the dark by the fire extinguisher and listened to him come. He was still fumbling with his belt, and he smelled like her, like her vanilla soap and her skin. Damn, so nice. I made myself stay still. Patience was the one thing I could never lose. I stepped out of the shadows. He pulled up. "What the-" "Ryan Marsh." I kept my voice low, deep. "Do I know you?" He took a half step back. "This is a private building. You lost?" I didn't answer. I just looked at him until the hallway felt smaller, until I could see him start to wonder. A minute ago he'd been warm from her couch. Now his pulse was jumping in his throat. Fascinating, I thought. How fast they change. "I asked you something," he said, louder. "Who the hell are you?" "Someone who knows Iris." I tilted my head. "What I want to know is how well you do." He let out a sharp, defensive laugh. "She's my girlfriend. What's it to you?" "Girlfriend." I let the word sit on my tongue. It tasted like nothing. Like a lie he'd told himself so long he'd started to believe it. "For how long?" "Six months." He squared his shoulders, then his eyes narrowed. "Wait. Are you a cop or something?" "Do I look like a cop?" "You look like trouble." He swallowed, but kept going. "And if you're some ex, she never mentioned you. Which should tell you something." "She never mentioned me," I repeated. "Nope. So whatever fantasy you've got going," he said, "let it go. She's not interested." "Is that what she told you?" "She didn't have to. I know her." He stepped forward, chest out. "And I know guys like you. Pathetic. Lurking outside windows, creeping around hallways. You think that's how you get a woman? You think she wants some stalker freak-" I hit him. My fist caught him square in the jaw and his head snapped back into the wall. His shoulder hit hard. He slid down it, dazed, and spat blood onto the carpet. "What the f**k-" The words came out slurred. I stood over him, perfectly still, like I'd only paused mid-motion. "You don't know her," I said quietly. "Not the way I do. Not the way she's going to know me." He tried to push himself up. I set my boot on his chest and pinned him there with almost no effort. "You're insane," he gasped. "I'm calling the cops-" "Stay away from her." I pressed down, just enough to make each breath hard. "Don't call her. Don't text her. Don't show up at her door with your excuses and your filthy hands." "Okay. Okay, I get it-" "No. You don't." I crouched, close enough to see the fear finally in his eyes, in his pupils. That was what unnerved people, I'd learned. Not the violence. The dangerous calm. "You're going to forget her. By tomorrow you won't remember why you ever thought she was yours. Because she wasn't. She was never yours. She is mine. She just doesn't know it yet." He opened his mouth to scream. I drove my fist into his stomach before he could, and he doubled over, curling around the pain, gagging. I stood and took my boot off his chest. I didn't look back. My footsteps went toward the stairwell and faded quietly.