The Outlier

TWENTY-THREE

It's true. I was made for you. 

- Brandi Carlile

My eyes slowly fluttered open, trying to get used to the bright light beside me. My vision cleared slowly and I yanked on the dangly lamp switch, turning it off and burying my face deep into my pillow. I heard a quiet click, only muffled by the cotton in my ears. 

I turned back over, intending to turn my lamp back off, letting out a gasp after seeing a silhouette perched up on my bed. 

"Is this your boyfriend?" Edward casually asked, holding up a polaroid. 

"What the fuck!" I whisper-shouted. 

"So not a boyfriend?" 

I snatched the picture out of his hand, "what are you doing here?" 

"Well, I brought you home after you fainted and I decided to stay," he explained, his tone exuding nonchalance. 

I inspected my surroundings. I was, in fact, at home. 

"How'd you get in?" I demanded, running my fingers through my hair. 

"A key." 

"I left my keys at home," I told him, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

"Not the one you carry around," he informed me, "the one under your doormat." 

"And how often do you use the key under my doormat?"

"Almost every night," he shrugged. I ground my teeth at his indifference. 

"How often would you say you come in a week?" I interrogated further, trying to soften the anger slowly weaving itself in my voice.

"Six times a week," he sheepishly admitted. 

"Oh?" I said, trying my best to sound flattered. "Why?" 

He leaned in closer, a small smile on his face. 

"I like watching you sleep." 

my room— and my house by extension— was no longer my own safe space because he took that way; the countless nights I spent crying, panicking, dancing and singing in my room, I wasn't alone because he was watching.

Suddenly my heart began to feel heavy, every movement and action of mine felt watched. As he sat, inspecting the picture in his hands, he wasn't staring intently at me as he often but instead gave me a few glances sparingly.

 His lack of staring didn't help me feel any less observed. I knew he heard every little heartbeat of mine, every raggedy inhale I took, and every time I blinked. I could no longer keep up any façade. I grabbed a book off my nightstand, and thankfully, it was a hardcover. 

"You. Complete. Arse. Edward Cullen," I scolded between wacks. The grinding of my teeth was loud— I could hear it in my own ears. 

He looked completely unfazed, only perturbed at my reaction. "What?"

I raised my eyebrow, incapable of formulating words. 

"It's fascinating to me," he innocently reveals. 

I abruptly got up, speedwalking downstairs. I jogged away from him, muttering under my breath in aggravation. 

"What a fucking twat," I seethed, "no respect whatsoever for boundaries. A complete invasion of privacy." 

"Voyeuristic wanker," I hissed between gritted teeth as I pulled out a mug from my kitchen cupboard. I heard a familiar whir as my floorboards creaked announcing the presence of another.