I've never really been a forgive and forget kind of person.
Forgiveness, to me, was a weak concept-something the vulnerable clung to when they can't face the truth. Weakness wasn't in my nature. If someone wronged me, I had to make sure they pay for it.
Right?
That's why I was here, like every day for the past week, crouched behind a row of hedges, watching Miles through the gloom of the evening.
The guy next door, once my best friend, who threw it all away the moment he thought he could force a kiss on me just because he was "nice" to me.
The so-called good guy.
The boy who helped old ladies with their groceries and smiled at everyone in the neighborhood. But I knew better. I knew what lurked beneath that polite, charming exterior.
Nice guys are the worst. They think they're entitled to anything just because they're not blatant assholes. But Miles was worse. He thought his niceness gave him some kind of special pass to cross boundaries, to get what he wanted without consequences.
He clearly miscalculated.
I watched him as he walked across his lawn, watering can in hand, doing his usual evening routine. To anyone else, he looked like the perfect neighbor-clean-cut, responsible, and polite.
But I wasn't here for the show.
I was here to see what lay behind the mask, to find something, anything, that would help me gain a leverage over him.
My fingers itched as I adjusted the small camera hidden in my jacket pocket. It wasn't just about watching tonight-it was about capturing proof. I wasn't going to let him squirm out of this. I needed something solid, something that would make everyone see him for who he really was.
He finished with the flowers and stood up, glancing around as if making sure no one was watching. My heart quickened, a sharp thrill of anticipation.
Maybe this was it-the moment he'd let his mask slip.
I crouched lower, holding my breath as I watched him head toward his garage. He paused at the door, fishing out his keys, and then disappeared inside.
I waited a few moments before slowly creeping closer. The garage door was slightly ajar, just enough for me to peek inside. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him sit down at a desk, turning on an old laptop. What was he up to?
From my vantage point, I couldn't see the screen clearly, but I could see his face illuminated by the glow of the monitor. His expression was intense, focused, almost obsessive. I leaned in a little closer, careful not to make a sound.
Then I caught a glimpse of what was on the screen-a series of images flickering by too fast for me to make out clearly. But the few that I did see were enough to make my stomach turn.
Lewd photos, some of them of girls in our grade, some from the neighborhood who couldn't have been much older than I was.
My blood ran cold.
What the hell was this?
Why was Miles hoarding pictures of girls he knew on his laptop? But as the moments passed, it became clear that this was more than just a hidden stash of porn. He was organizing the files, naming them, cataloging them.
My stomach churned with a mix of disgust and rage.
This was what he really was-a predator, hiding behind the guise of a decent human being. He wasn't just indulging in some secret shame; he was part of something bigger, something twisted. The fact that he was so meticulous about it made my skin crawl.
