Watched (Short Story)

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I jangled the keys into the lock of my front-door. Odd. I didn't feel his eyes on me. The prickling sensation on the back of my neck absent - its disappearance foreign and unsettling. 

Perhaps stockholm syndrome is true. A girl gets accustomed to her admirer, so, when he is not near, there's a noticeable loneliness that stirs anxiety in the belly and paranoia in the brain.

I walked through my house, my bag and coat strewn across the floor, and my door firmly locked after the customary checks and re-checks, as well as the regimented peeping from behind the curtains.

Flicking on lights, and aimlessly sliding from room to room, I smelt it. Cologne. 

Musky and deep, hints of oak and a delicate swirl of ambrosia.

It was as if I slipped from one reality into another; into a lifeless dream. I wondered how long he had been here.

"Hey, Carl".

I wasn't frightened, I wasn't even the tiniest bit nervous. You see, I'd been waiting for a long time for this. Waiting for him to corner me; ensnaring me in a sickly sweet web, whereby he could suck me dry and leave behind my withered body to rot.

"Hey".

He stood there, in the corner of my room, pale and dressed in his usual business-suit. He was handsome, and he almost looked harmless – it's a shame very few knew his true nature.

"Been here long?" I glanced at him, correcting the sheets on my bed which had been defiled by my unwelcome visitor.

"No, not long. An hour at the most" A small, although treacherous grin, picked at the corners of his lips – a glint of white beaming out at me from the dark.

Silence dragged, but I saw no use in destroying it. It wasn't mine to destroy, after all.

"Aren't you going to ask why I'm here, Annabelle?" He twirled a finger through his black gelled locks, his feet shuffling over my carpet.

"No," My eyes bored into him, and I suppose they jerked some form of guilt stowed away deep in his flesh, because he was unable to hold my stare.

"Well, I'm here because, well, isn't it time we spoke? I'm tired of having to watch you from a distance, I'm tired of you being so close yet so out of reach, I'm tired of this emptiness between us. The least you can do is give up this charade and let us be whole again".

"I'm not. I'm not tired of it at all" I folded my arms across my chest, my white blouse crinkling underneath the weight of my forearms.

"Why?" It was almost like a whine, his voice. It reminded me of the howling of an abused mutt, locked in a cage and standing on its last leg.

He fell onto the bed, leaning towards me – his eyes full of a yearning and an obsessive desire I could never fulfill or quench no matter how much I'd tried. And I had. I'd tried.

"Because Carl, things have gone too far. You had your chance to set things right a long time ago. Yet, you never did. Instead, you chose to make me uncomfortable. Y-you only ever chose to attain me in the way you saw fit. And I know the truth now. All you've ever wanted when it comes to us was for me to be a helpless mess. A mess that only you could own and only you could hate".

"But, that's not true! I want you. No, I need you, Annabelle! Before, I messed things up, I know I did. But all I've ever wanted is to make things right between us. You're my soul mate" He crooned, his eyes wild and manic. The words - though sweet and romantic perhaps to any eavesdropper - corrosive and vile to me.

"This has never been about you wanting me, you know that" I gritted my teeth, attempting half-heartedly to squash the vomit surging up into my throat. The fear was just beginning to lick its petrifying flames along the base of my abdomen. I wouldn't let him see it. I wouldn't let him find me.

Carl flicked his eyes away for only a moment, but it was proof enough that I bore truth and he carried a lie.

"Why do you say things like that to me? Why do you want to hurt me?".

"I don't want to do anything to you, you know that Carl. You can blame me, accuse me, redirect every heartache and ounce of pain, but that won't change what you've done. That won't change anything," Still, even as I metaphorically stared down the barrel of a gun, I felt sorry for him – this broken wretch of a man, "I wanted us to work. I- I loved you. But you can't lie to me any longer and pretend you love anything more about me than what I can do for you. It was never about me, but what you could take from me".

I knew in my heart that his past had marred him. That nobody expects to grow up into this... to make these kinds of mistakes. 

I knew him, yet, he did not know me. 

I whipped my head towards his sobs. I watched as he began to tremble, his body quaking; Carl's chest heaving up and down with each chortled cry.  I'd expected violence. I'd expected pain. But instead, I was gifted a tortured man with an open, ulcerated, wound. I took a step back, swallowing. 

"I just-... please... I don't want to be lonely anymore, Annabelle!" He screamed, his words muddled by tears that pooled around his stubbled chin, "No one loves me, no one! I'm all alone... People expect me to be perfect. They expect me to never fail! They expect me to be.. To be what I'm not," Carl hunched forward, collapsing into my bed, his face buried into his arms, "You are the only one who can save me. Love me. If I can't have you I can't have anyone."

Moving forward, tentatively, painstakingly slow and, against my better judgement, I sat down beside him, caressing the base of his suited back.

His muffled sobs crawled to a halt, and silence found its mark once more. The time trickled by as he waited. As we both waited.

I breathed. I shut my eyes. And I prepared myself to drown.

"I forgive you".