Covet

Chapter 1: Mistake

　　He's around twenty-five years old, likes to wear T-shirts and jeans, and often sits on the windowsill with one leg curled up. He smokes the cheapest low-quality cigarettes, usually wears gray socks, and his eyes appear somewhat nearsighted but he doesn't wear glasses.

Moreover, his well-defined fingers, neatly trimmed and smooth nails, an Adam's apple, the red tip of his tongue when he slightly open mouth after being scalded, sturdy calves, a sunburn on the back of his neck, and a seemingly alienated and polite smile when turning his face to the side –

To me, it all signifies a beauty that can make one tremble.

I often sit on the stone bench at the entrance of the neighborhood, waiting for him to carry things home back. Even a faded paint spot on him can make me stare for a long time. Not to mention the rest of him. I want to possess him completely, to smell the lingering scent on his fingers, hear him say my name, the three words, my full name. I hope that one day, he'll appear in my photos, his eyes fixed onto the camera lens, silently allowing me to capture him. He occupies all my fantasies, all of them.

The binoculars seems to bring me closer to him, making his face within reach, yet his words never reach my ears. Thanks to the curtains that he never pulls apart in his bedroom, and the balcony and TV in the living room that allow him to stay for a while.

　　Otherwise, my morbidity might transform my body into a black arthropod, allowing my gaze to roam freely through every taboo. Let me conquer, plunder, penetrate with a tail needle into his body, or hand him a knife to let him dominate my life.

I don't want to die yet; I still want to see the curve of his lips and the depth of his dark eyes. I'm addicted to this game that only involves me.

As long as he gets a girlfriend, I'll stop. I swear, with my perverse thoughts and my heart decaying into water, if he already belongs to someone, I'll give up.

I didn't expect I would drive him to report to the police. He sensed someone was spying on his life.

That day, after work, I swiped my card to enter the residential area as usual. The security guards in the guardroom were gathered, chatting loudly in a mix of dialects and vulgar language, resembling a quarrel. I greeted them, and Captain Liu handed me a cigarette, "Did you hear about it? Recently, a resident in Building A reported that he was being peeped at and stalked."

　　I immediately connected this incident to myself, feeling restless and unable to respond calmly. When I got home, I realized that the cigarette Liu gave me was twisted beyond recognition by me. I raised the binoculars and saw him crying in pain. After some time, he suddenly stood up, rushed to the window, and pulled the brown curtain tight.

My eyes were half-closed, and I violently threw the binoculars to the ground. I tortured him into nervous breakdown, all in the name of love. Who will come and shoot me with a gun, shattering my beast-like brain.

I'm sorry.

I discarded the broken binoculars, packed my bags, and prepared to move, sparing him from this undeserving hurt. But before leaving, I wanted to see him one last time.

He opened the door, glanced at my suitcase, and gestured for me to come in. His living room was in chaos, with two suitcases opened and sprawled on the floor, filled to the brim. It seemed he was also preparing to move. Besides the mess, the overall tone of the room was also a bit too dark.

My palms were sweaty, and I couldn't utter a word. When I lowered my head, I glimpsed numerous deep marks on the glass of the coffee table, which said, "I miss you, I'm looking at you all the time."

　　"You've heard about it too," his eyes were filled with pain and emptiness. "It must have spread all over the neighborhood. Someone has been breaking into my home for several days, leaving these strange words. They didn't take anything valuable, but they stole some of my… very personal things."

I haven't stolen anything from him, it's not me.

But if it's not me, then who could it be? Who could silently invade his home and unabashedly carve these almost obscene thoughts here? And what did he get stolen from, intimate clothing?

That person must also want his scent lingering in his nose, all the time.

But these kinds of words of love that are no different than coercion shouldn't appear here. People like us, our life is like the person behind the camera lens and mask. Who allowed him to draw back the curtain between the audience and the actor, step onto the stage, and start shooting the protagonist with a real gun?

I clenched my fists, then turned to look at him again, softly uttering his name in my heart: Zhang Shuxian.

　　My name... my name doesn't matter. In front of others, I have a decent job, appear friendly, and know most of the residents in this neighborhood. So, he let me in without any vigilance, how could he not remember me? Our "chance encounters" are countless, and our casual conversations are meticulously recorded word by word by me, hanging by my bedside. From the first line to the last sentence, it's been half a year.

"You're moving?" he asked.

"Aren't you also?"

"I call it escaping," he sighed. "This house is rented, and the landlord will rip me off. I'm just a decoration worker, unlike you, working in a company..."

I said, "Have you found a new place?"

He shook his head. Even his look of helplessness was so attractive.

"I'll cover the compensation for you. If you're willing, you can be my roommate. I rented a two-bedroom apartment, far away from here." I moved closer to him, catching a whiff of the damp scent in his wet hair. Sunlight rolled with dust particles, blurring his features a bit. I was somewhat intoxicated, even tempted to reach out and touch his face.

But I restrained myself, a result of countless practiced attempts, without any mistake.

"No need, thanks," he smiled, shaking his head, still looking a bit weary. "Did you specifically come here just to say goodbye to me?"

It seems I still overestimated the familiarity between us; he was suspicious.

　　　I exhaled heavily, my gaze lingering on his lips for a long time. I wanted to do something for him, whether it was out of anger or compensation. I wanted to help him find that person. As for his suspicion of me, I'm afraid my expression of being ready to risk everything has probably betrayed me completely. How could someone like me, who interacted with everyone but kept a distance, come alone to bid farewell to someone?

I could only roll up the affectionate words into a compressed form, leaving behind ordinary concern. "Hearing what they said, I'm a bit worried about your situation."

"If I find him, I'll smash his head and fill it with cement." He squinted, and a strange smile appeared on his face, as if he had understood everything and wouldn't easily let that pervert off. Good, that was what I also wanted to do.

A chubby guy appeared at the door, holding a phone, panting heavily. His voice didn't match his physique. It was loud and thin. "Thinking of running away? Let me tell you, if you try to leave without renovating this place, you'll end up in the police station."

Zhang Shuxian kicked the suitcase and stood still.

I said to him, "I'll handle it for you."

"I will ask a friend from the renovation team to help me. No worries." He shook his head, urging me to leave soon, or else I'd miss my ride.

"Most of my stuff is still in the house. I'll come back from time to time during this period. If you need any help, just give me a call." I walked out reluctantly. Before leaving, I noticed the cement marks on his wall, revealing three letters: SJY.

SJY — Shen Junyang. The reason I could effortlessly spell out these letters was that this was my name.