ROGUE

The Forbidden Game

The next morning, I watch as Emily arrives, her laugh floating across the parking lot as she greets a coworker. My jaw clenches. That should be my name on her lips, not his. I make a mental note, another mark against someone who doesn't realize they're playing a game rigged against them.

"Morning, Dex," she says cautiously as she passes me on her way to clock in.

"Morning, you," I return, the words a soft growl of possession. She doesn't notice the undercurrent, the dark promise that threads through my greeting.

As she disappears into the back, I turn to my work, to the careful orchestration of her world. She'll thank me one day, I'm sure of it. When all the pieces fall into place, when everyone else fades away, she'll see that it was always meant to be just her and me.

I'm restocking shelves when the tremor hits, a shiver in my hands that I can't control. The cans of paint clatter, drawing curious glances. I shove them back into place with a force that's more about frustration than tidiness. My thoughts are on a loop, spinning out of control. Emily. Her smile. Her rejection.

"Everything alright, Dex?" Roger asks, and there's genuine concern in his voice. Too bad he's just another obstacle.

"Fine," I snap, sharper than I intend. The word splinters between us, and I see the withdrawal in his eyes. Good, keep your distance.

I duck away, finding a vantage point where I can watch her without being seen. She's at the register, her fingers flying over the keys, and every customer gets a slice of her attention—a commodity I'm starved for.

She laughs at something a customer says, and it's like a punch to the gut. Why won't she laugh like that with me? The question haunts me, feeding the monster inside that craves her company, her approval.

"Can you help me find...?" A voice breaks through my fixation, but I barely register the words. It's not her voice. I mumble a response, pointing them in the right direction without taking my eyes off Emily.

I should be working. Instead, I'm spiraling, caught between wanting to protect her and wanting to possess her. It's an itch under my skin that I can't scratch away.

"Hey, why don't you take a break?" It's Emily. She's closer than I thought, her concern etched clear as day.

"Break," I echo, and there's a hollowness to the word. I don't want a break from her; I need more.

"Seriously, you look a little..." She trails off, and I see it—the flicker of fear in her eyes. She knows. She has to know.

"Uh, yeah. Maybe I will." My voice is stilted, forced. I watch her retreat, and it's like she's pulling the air from my lungs with her.

The moment she's gone, I catch my reflection in a window. Who is that guy? His eyes are too bright, too hungry. It scares even me because I know what's behind them—an obsession that's swallowing me whole.

"Are you okay, Dex?" Emily's voice again, later, near the bathroom doors. I spin around, startled to find her so close. How long was I standing here, lost in my thoughts?

"Fine," I say again, but it comes out as a question. Am I fine? I feel like I'm two steps away from shattering into pieces.

"Because, I mean, if you ever want to talk..." There's an offer in her words, a lifeline thrown with a trembling hand.

"Talk," I repeat, and it's almost a scoff. What would I even say? That I think about her constantly? That I can't accept her rejection? No, that'd scare her away for good. It's better to stay silent.

"Never mind," she says quickly, backing away. "Just... forget I said anything."

I watch her go, and this time it's not just her presence that's suffocating—it's the absence of it too. The irony isn't lost on me. I'm pushing her away with the very thing that's supposed to pull her closer.