Unwritten Obsession - Joe Goldberg

Chapter Eleven: Fractures

Juliet

The reply sits in my sent messages, but the unease in my chest hasn't lessened. Instead, it feels heavier, like I've opened a door I wasn't sure I wanted to unlock.

Joe means well. He's kind, considerate—someone most people would be grateful to have in their life. But that's the problem, isn't it? Most people.

I used to think I was one of them. That a friend like Joe was exactly what I needed: steady, supportive, willing to listen to the mess in my head. But lately, his kindness has started to feel more like weight than relief. Like the way his name always seems to pop up in my notifications, or how he seems to know when I'm having a bad day before I even realize it myself.

It's too much.

I pull the blanket tighter around me, my gaze flickering toward the window. The curtains are drawn, but that creeping sensation hasn't left me—the one that tells me I'm not alone.

I need to get out of here. Clear my head.

I grab my keys and phone, shoving them into my bag before stepping into the hallway. The air feels cooler than it should, the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead grating against my nerves.

Joe

She's leaving.

I watch as Juliet steps out into the street, her bag slung over her shoulder. She doesn't look around, doesn't pause to take in her surroundings, but her movements are hurried, her shoulders tense.

I let her get a little distance before I follow.

It's not stalking. It's protection.

The city is unpredictable at night. People can be reckless, careless, dangerous. Juliet is too kind, too trusting to navigate it alone.

Her path is familiar—her steps taking her toward the park a few blocks away. She always comes here when she needs to think, her favorite bench tucked beneath the wide canopy of a willow tree.

I stay back, keeping to the shadows, my own pulse calm as I match her pace. She doesn't know I'm here, doesn't understand that I've always been here, watching over her when no one else would.

Juliet

The park is quiet, the usual chatter of late-night dog walkers and joggers strangely absent. It should comfort me, but it doesn't.

I head for the willow tree anyway, its long branches swaying gently in the breeze. It's always been my safe place, a spot where I could sit and let the noise in my head settle into something manageable.

But tonight, it feels different.

I sit down, gripping the edge of the bench, my fingers twisting in the strap of my bag. The streetlamp nearby flickers, casting uneven light across the path.

The silence presses in.

For a moment, I swear I hear something—a soft rustle, the faint sound of footsteps—but when I glance over my shoulder, there's nothing there.

Nothing but shadows.

I shake my head, trying to push away the unease.

"You're being ridiculous," I mutter to myself, louder this time, as if hearing my own voice will ground me.

Joe

She's beautiful when she's like this—vulnerable, uncertain, lost in her own thoughts.

I stay just out of her line of sight, leaning against the trunk of a tree. I've seen her here so many times before, but tonight feels... different.

The air between us is taut, like a string pulled too tight. I can almost feel her anxiety, her doubt radiating across the distance.

I want to reach out, to step forward and tell her that she doesn't have to face this alone. But she's not ready for that yet.

Instead, I pull out my phone, typing a message.

"Couldn't sleep. Just wanted to say I hope you're doing okay."

I send it, my gaze never leaving her as the faint buzz of her phone breaks the quiet.

Juliet

The sound of my phone jolts me, my heart jumping into my throat.

I grab it quickly, unlocking the screen to see Joe's name again.

"Couldn't sleep. Just wanted to say I hope you're doing okay."

My breath catches, the unease twisting tighter. He couldn't have known I was out here, could he? It's just a coincidence. It has to be.

But I can't shake the feeling that he knows exactly where I am.

I don't respond. I can't.

Instead, I stand, my legs shaky as I clutch my bag. The shadows feel closer now, the empty park suffocating.

I need to leave.

Joe

She's scared.

I watch as she stands abruptly, her movements jerky and frantic. Her eyes dart around, searching the darkness for something—someone.

She feels me.

She knows I'm here, even if she doesn't understand it yet.

I don't move, don't follow as she hurries back toward the street. She needs space, and I'm willing to give her that. For now.

But she can't run from me forever.

I'm part of her story now. And she'll see that soon enough.