Unwritten Obsession - Joe Goldberg

Chapter Seven: The Cracks Begin to Show

Joe

The air between us is thick, charged with something I can't quite name. Juliet's hesitation, her uncertainty—it's like watching a door slowly creak open, revealing what's hidden inside. She's thinking, analyzing, deciding. And I know I'm winning.

We continue our walk, the crunch of leaves underfoot filling the silence. It's beautiful, really—how the world seems to fade when it's just the two of us. But her guardedness is still there, like a thread I need to unravel. I want her trust, her complete surrender. I'll have it.

"So," I say after a while, breaking the silence, "have you ever felt like you're carrying something too heavy to share? Like, no matter how much you want to talk about it, the words just won't come out?"

Juliet glances at me, startled by the question. Her steps slow, and she hugs her notebook closer to her chest. "I—" she starts, then stops, looking away.

Perfect.

I don't press her, just keep walking at her pace, letting the question hang in the air. She needs to think it's her choice to open up, her decision to let me in.

Finally, she speaks. "Yeah. I guess everyone feels like that sometimes."

Her voice is soft, almost unsure. She's testing the waters, trying to decide if I'm safe.

"I know I have," I reply, my tone gentle. "It's hard, isn't it? Feeling like no one would understand, even if you tried to explain."

She nods, her gaze still fixed on the path ahead. I can see her weighing her words, deciding how much to reveal.

"Sometimes," she says quietly, "it feels easier to just keep it all inside. To not bother anyone else with it."

I stop walking, turning to face her. "Juliet, you're not a bother. And you don't have to carry it alone. You know that, right?"

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I think I see something crack. But then she looks away, her walls sliding back into place. "Thanks, Joe," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "That means a lot."

It's not much, but it's enough.

Juliet

Joe's words linger in my mind long after we part ways. "You don't have to carry it alone."

Why does he always seem to know exactly what to say?

As I sit at my desk that night, staring at a blank page in my notebook, I can't shake the feeling that he's right. I am carrying something, something I've buried for so long it feels like it's a part of me now. But even if I wanted to talk about it, where would I start?

Joe makes it seem so easy, like I could just spill everything, and he'd catch it without breaking a sweat. But that's the problem, isn't it? No one's that perfect.

My phone buzzes, pulling me out of my thoughts. It's him.

Joe: Hope you're okay. Just wanted to say I'm here if you need anything.

I stare at the message, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I want to respond, to say something meaningful. But what?

Instead, I type a quick, "Thanks, Joe. I'm good. Hope you are too."

Short, safe, distant.

But as I set my phone down, a pang of guilt twists in my chest. He's been nothing but kind, and I keep second-guessing him. Why?

Joe

Her message is short, careful. But I know better than to be discouraged. Juliet's walls are high, but they're not impenetrable. She's already starting to lean on me, even if she doesn't realize it yet.

I glance at the folder on my computer, the one labeled "J.H." It's growing, slowly but surely. Her favorite poems, the books she's mentioned, the routes she takes when she needs to clear her head.

It's not about control. It's about understanding.

Because when you understand someone—truly understand them—you can give them what they need, even if they don't know how to ask for it.

And Juliet needs me. She just doesn't know it yet.

Juliet

Sleep doesn't come easily that night. I keep replaying my conversation with Joe, the way his words seemed to dig under my skin.

He's so attentive, so there. It's like he's always waiting for me to let my guard down, to give him something more.

But the truth is, I don't know if I can.

As I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling, a thought flickers through my mind—a thought I can't quite shake.

What if I'm wrong about Joe?

What if there's more to him than what he shows me?

And what if I'm not ready to find out?