Unwritten Obsession - Joe Goldberg

Chapter Sixteen: A Gap Slowly Closing

Joe

Her smile is small, fleeting, like the sun peeking out from behind a storm cloud. But it's enough to light something inside me. It's proof that I'm not wrong about her—that behind all the fear, all the scars, there's a version of Juliet that's still fighting to believe in something more.

I don't move, don't even breathe too deeply. The last thing I want to do is shatter this delicate moment.

"See?" I say, my voice quiet but sure. "One step at a time. That's all."

She glances down again, like she's hiding from her own courage, but I can see it. It's there, simmering beneath the surface.

"I can't promise anything," she murmurs, fingers brushing against her sleeve again.

"I'm not asking for promises," I reply. "Just... moments. Start with one, and we'll go from there."

Juliet exhales sharply, and I can feel the tension rolling off her. She's wrestling with something—something heavy and tangled, a web of doubt and self-preservation that's kept her trapped for too long.

I don't need to know all of it, not right now. I just need to be here.

Her voice breaks the silence again, softer this time, almost shy. "You make it sound easy, Joe. Like you're so sure about all of this."

"I'm not," I admit. "I'm just sure about you."

The words hang between us, raw and unpolished. It's the truth, and I won't take it back, even if it scares her. Especially if it scares her.

Juliet looks up at me, and for a moment, I see it again—that flicker of something unguarded. But just as quickly, she pulls away, retreating behind her walls.

"Don't say things like that," she whispers, her voice trembling. "It makes it harder to keep my head on straight."

I lean forward slightly, careful not to close the distance too quickly. "Maybe that's the point."

She blinks, startled, and I catch a glimpse of a smile she doesn't quite let form. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Only when it matters," I counter, a hint of playfulness slipping into my tone.

The silence that follows isn't heavy this time. It's lighter, almost comfortable, like the space between us has shifted somehow.

She doesn't leave. She doesn't tell me to go. And for now, that's enough.

"Juliet," I say, my voice soft but firm. "Whatever this is, whatever it becomes—you don't have to do it perfectly. You just have to do it. However it looks, however it feels. That's all."

Her lips press into a thin line, and I can tell she's holding something back. But then, to my surprise, she nods.

"One step at a time," she echoes, the words more for herself than for me.

I lean back, finally allowing myself a breath of relief. "Exactly."

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm getting closer to something real. Something that matters.

Juliet

His patience is infuriating. His persistence, maddening. And yet, there's a part of me that's starting to believe him, starting to think that maybe, just maybe, this doesn't have to end the way everything else has.

I glance at him again, and the weight in his gaze steadies me, even as it unnerves me. He doesn't look away, doesn't waver, and it's like he's daring me to trust him.

I'm not ready to say it out loud, but for the first time, I think I want to try.

Joe

Her nod is everything. A fragile agreement, a step forward, even if it's small. It's more than I could've hoped for when this conversation started. But now, the air between us feels heavier with possibility, charged in a way I can't ignore.

Juliet looks at me again, her eyes softer this time, no longer darting away. Her lips part slightly, and I can see her hesitate, as though caught between wanting to stay in this moment and the urge to retreat to safety.

"Joe..." she starts, but the words falter.

"Yes?" I ask, leaning forward just slightly, enough to let her know she has my full attention.

She doesn't answer, not with words. Instead, she shifts closer, the space between us shrinking by inches. Her hand brushes the edge of the table, and I can't help but notice the way her fingers tremble. She's trying so hard to be brave.

"Tell me to stop," I murmur, my voice low but steady. "If this isn't what you want, tell me now."

Her eyes meet mine, and in them, I see a kaleidoscope of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also something deeper. Something unspoken but undeniable.

She doesn't tell me to stop.

I close the remaining distance, slow and deliberate, giving her every chance to pull away. But she doesn't. When our lips finally meet, it's hesitant at first, like neither of us is quite sure what to do with the weight of this moment.

But then she leans in just a little more, and it changes everything.

Her kiss is soft but insistent, a mix of vulnerability and something I can only describe as need. My hand finds hers, gently curling around her fingers, and she doesn't pull away. Instead, she presses closer, like she's finally letting herself believe this is real.

Time slows, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. Her warmth, her breath, the way her hand fits so perfectly in mine—it's all I can feel, all I want to feel.

When we finally break apart, her cheeks are flushed, and her breathing is uneven. She blinks up at me, as if surprised by her own bravery.

"I—" she starts, but I stop her with a small smile.

"You don't have to say anything," I whisper, brushing my thumb gently across her hand. "Not right now."

Her lips curve into the faintest smile, and she nods, her fingers tightening around mine.

For the first time, I think she believes me.

Juliet

The kiss leaves me breathless, my heart pounding in a way that feels both terrifying and exhilarating. I can still feel the warmth of his lips, the steady comfort of his hand in mine.

For a moment, I want to retreat, to build the walls back up before it's too late. But when I look at him, there's something in his expression that holds me in place.

He's not rushing me, not asking for more than I can give. He's just here, waiting, patient as ever.

And for the first time, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—I don't have to face this alone.

"One step at a time," I whisper, more to myself than to him.

Joe smiles, his gaze steady and warm. "That's all it takes."

I don't know what comes next, but for the first time, I'm not afraid to find out.