The Whispers of Silence

|11.|

X

I was addicted to her, and there was no point in denying it anymore.

That morning, I called a man who I worked with on occasion. Stan Cullivan used to be a journalist, but now he spent his days finding out shit for rich people. Mostly women trying to find out whether their husband was having an affair. But I used him for background checks on the girls I fucked, and now, I had a new task for him.

"Good morning," he answered his phone cheerily. "Another background check?"

"Not this time," I replied, running a hand through my hair.

I risked a look through the window towards Lenora's apartment, but she was nowhere in sight. Probably still asleep from the late night she'd had. 

"I want you to follow someone around," I said, letting the words hang out there in the open. "It's a woman. She lives across the street from me. Her name is Lenora Dutch..."

"Got it," Cullivan said simply. "What should I watch out for? Anything specific you need info on?"

"No," I said curtly. "I just want to know what she does. Everything. And bring me some shit to look at. Photos—plenty of photos, and anything discarded, like receipts she left behind, that kind of thing."

"You've got a deal." I could see Cullivan smiling in my head.

All he saw was the hefty sum of money I'd let him have for helping me, but all I saw was the opportunity to get more of her. Technically all this was my work, but there was something about Lenora I just couldn't pinpoint and now that she knew how I looked like, following her was definitely out of question. 

More of Lenora. I needed so much more.

"I'll see you tonight," I said, ending the call.

I got off the sofa I was sitting on, pacing the room. The way Stan worked, he usually came to meet me in the evening to give me a roundup of everything he'd found. But he also sent me updates throughout the day, so I decided to keep my phone close, so I could see exactly what my Sleeping Beauty was up to.

But now, the day stretched out in front of me with nothing to do. I felt jittery and nervous in a way I wasn't used to, and it worried me.

I just wanted information, I wanted to know what she was doing, what filled her days. I needed it like a fucking addict needed their drug, and I resented myself for not being able to track her myself. 

I wanted to focus on Lenora.

What she ate for breakfast.

What kind of outfit she wore when she left her house.

Whether her hair was up, exposing that slender neck I wanted to bite into, or down, falling down her back.

How she held herself when she walked; how her tits bounced.

How she smiled at others.

What she ate for lunch. How often she pissed.

I wanted to know every fucking thing about her.

I paced the room restlessly, finally deciding I might as well do some work while I waited for Cullivan's 

Leaving the living room, I walked into the all-white room I used as a studio. There was a hidden door in the wall behind the bed, and it led into the room no one knew about. 

The one space in the whole apartment I couldn't let anyone see because they would finally know just how badly fucked up I really was.

I opened the hidden door, stared into the fucking mess, papers thrown around, clothes of the deceased hung up.