Unwritten Obsession - Joe Goldberg

Chapter Nine: Cracks in the Mirror

Juliet

I try to go about my day as usual, pushing away the lingering unease from the night before. It's just paranoia, I tell myself—an overactive imagination fueled by too much coffee and too little sleep.

But even as I sit at my desk, staring at the blank page in my notebook, I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. The words won't come, my thoughts scattered and disjointed. My mind keeps drifting back to Joe.

It's not just him, though. It's the way he's always... there. His texts, his perfectly timed appearances, his uncanny understanding of me—it's starting to feel like more than coincidence.

I glance at my phone, hesitating before opening our messages. His last text is still unread:

"Good luck writing today. You've got this."

It's sweet, thoughtful—something I should appreciate. But instead, it feels like a weight pressing down on my chest. How does he always know when I'm struggling?

I shake my head, trying to clear the thought. Joe's just a friend, someone who's been kind to me when I needed it most. I have no reason to doubt his intentions.

But that doesn't explain the prickling sensation at the back of my neck every time I think about him.

Joe

Juliet hasn't replied to my text yet. It's been hours, and though I know she's busy, the silence feels deliberate.

I tell myself not to overthink it. She's probably lost in her writing, the way she gets sometimes, completely absorbed in her own little world. But still, there's a nagging voice in the back of my mind, whispering that something's changed.

When I see her leave her apartment that afternoon, her steps hurried and her gaze darting around nervously, I know I'm right. She's pulling away.

I follow at a safe distance, keeping to the shadows as she weaves through the busy streets. She doesn't notice me, her head down, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looks... fragile. Like she's unraveling.

Part of me wants to step in, to reassure her, to remind her that she doesn't have to face the world alone. But I know it's not the right time. Not yet.

Instead, I watch as she ducks into a café, her movements sharp and purposeful. I hesitate for a moment before slipping inside after her, choosing a seat in the corner where I can keep an eye on her without being seen.

She orders a coffee and sits by the window, her notebook open but untouched. Her fingers tap restlessly against the table, her gaze flickering toward the door every few minutes.

She's waiting for something—or someone.

My stomach twists at the thought, jealousy coiling tight in my chest. I scan the room, searching for any sign of another man, but there's no one. Just Juliet, alone and agitated.

Good. That's how it should be.

Juliet

I don't know why I came here.

The café is crowded, noisy, and the chaos only makes my thoughts louder. I glance at the door again, half-expecting to see Joe walk in. He always seems to know where I'll be, always shows up just when I need him.

But today, I don't want to see him.

I want space. Distance. Clarity.

I stare down at my notebook, willing the words to come, but my mind is blank. All I can think about is Joe—his smile, his voice, the way he looks at me like he knows exactly what I'm feeling.

It's flattering, in a way. Comforting. But it's also... suffocating.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment. Maybe I'm overthinking this. Maybe Joe's just being kind, and I'm reading too much into it.

But then I think about the way he always seems to know where I'll be. The way his texts feel less like casual messages and more like a lifeline he's trying to throw me, pulling me closer and closer to him.

And I can't shake the feeling that I'm not imagining it.

Joe

I watch as Juliet finally picks up her pen, her brow furrowing in concentration. She writes for a few minutes, her hand moving quickly across the page, before stopping abruptly.

Her shoulders sag, and she lets out a frustrated sigh, tearing the page from her notebook and crumpling it into a ball.

I want to go to her, to tell her it's okay, that she's brilliant and doesn't need to doubt herself. But I know she wouldn't welcome it—not now.

Instead, I stay where I am, my gaze never leaving her.

She's slipping through my fingers, I can feel it. The bond we've been building is fraying, unraveling thread by thread.

But I won't let it break.

Not yet.

Not ever.

Juliet

I leave the café feeling more restless than ever, my thoughts tangled in knots I can't undo.

The air outside is crisp, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. I pull my coat tighter around me, my steps quick and purposeful as I head home.

But the unease lingers, wrapping around me like a second skin.

I can't shake the feeling that I'm being followed.