Curious Obsession

by Elora Ramirez

  “I will never be yours.”

  I turn around then, walking back to my car without looking back. Only when I get into my car and put the keys into the ignition to I let myself fall apart.

  The fissure is complete. I run my hands over the places he touched, convinced I need to take a shower to get the feeling off of me. I brush anyway, rubbing away the feeling of his fingers and notice a red mark where he grabbed my arm.

  I catch my breath and wipe the tears from my eyes. Collecting myself, I make my way from the parking lot and onto the highway toward the hospital, noticing briefly in my mirror Silas watching me from the edge of the road.

  31

  I get to the hospital and Simon is waiting. We check him out, getting the clearance from the doctors.

  “If you have any headaches, any soreness at all, come back so we can look at you,” they instruct. “Sometimes it takes a while for our body to fully process the adrenaline from the wreck.”

  We listen, and promise to pay special care to any symptoms that might come up over the next few days.

  When we’re finally able to break away and are on our way home, Simon carries the conversation, talking about everything from the police officers who stopped to help after the wreck to the meeting they had to reschedule at work to what he’s craving for dinner. I speak maybe a few words over the course of 20 minutes before he keys into my silence.

  “Juniper. I promise I’m okay.”

  I smile, the thought of him thinking my silence rests in the stress of the day because he’s not wrong. It’s just, not the whole truth. I look at him from across the passenger seat and reach for his hand.

  “I know. I’m just a little shaken and I have a headache. I’m also trying to focus on driving. I’d be lying if what happened this morning didn’t freak me out a little bit.”

  He makes a grunt of agreement and then keeps watching me.

  “Is that all?”

  I sigh.

  “Outside of everything that happened today, it was a difficult day at school. Tracey was at it again.”

  He frowns.

  “Does she ever quit?”

  That makes me laugh, because I wish.

  “I wish she would quit.” I catch a smile before continuing. “But to answer your question, no. No, she doesn’t ever quit. She’s like a dog with a bone and once she gets caught on something, it’s like she can’t rest until she proves herself right.”

  I twist my lips.

  “We had a pretty severe disagreement after school today and I’m probably going to have to apologize if I want to keep the peace but I’m debating if that’s even something that interests me at this point.”

  I look at him.

  “It was bad, Simon. I yelled.”

  He lifts my hand to kiss the knuckles, trying to hide the smirk at me yelling at someone. He knows how rare that is and how upset I had to be to actually do it with Tracey. I stare at him, considering just how different he is from Silas. How unassuming, caring, cautious. Despite him all but begging me to come work with him, even that is wrapped up in this notion of him wanting to take care of me.

  When we get to the house, the first thing I notice is the door wide open. We pull into the driveway and stare at the door for a moment, both of us trying to make sense of what we were seeing. I decide to venture into the obvious.

  “Did you….did you lock the door this morning?”

  I know he did. Simon is notorious for being the one who remembers the locks and lights and everything else I’ve left unattended before leaving for school.

  I put the car in park and turn the ignition, looking at him for what to do next. He’s still staring at the door, completely quiet.

  “Simon?”

  “Juniper, I have to be honest. I’m beginning to think today wasn’t just a really bad day.”

  I choke back a response, letting him connect what he needs to connect and trying to figure out exactly what he means by this.

  “Okay….”

  He motions to the door.

  “My tires get slashed. My car gets keyed. I’m literally run off the road by some asshole who keeps driving. And now your door is wide open.”

  “It’s a lot,” I say, not wanting to focus on what really caught my attention — him calling the door my door. Not our door. He’s probably just stressed. But still. My brain captures the information and files it away for later.

  “Maybe it’s just all a coincidence. When it rains it pours! It’s been windy today. The foundation needs to be looked at, and you know how many times the door just pops open when we’re home. Maybe that’s what happened.” I know it sounds ridiculous. I also know I sound as if I absolutely don’t believe the words coming out of my own mouth.

  He looks at me dubiously and then looks back at the open door, considering. I place my hands in my lap, the keys jangling together and clattering against the silence. I can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s not stupid. He has to know something is wrong.

  “I mean, if it’s not a coincidence, if someone really did do all of this, do you have an idea of someone who could have done it?” I manage in between trying to remind myself to breathe. I’m hoping for suspicion. I’m hoping for an I don’t know — it would probably take a lot for someone to think of all this….

  “I didn’t want to stress you out even more.” He goes quiet and sighs, rubbing his face with his hands.

  My heart crashes against my chest and I know that he knows. I know it like I know how much I love him.

  He looks at me, leaning against the window.

  “We’ve been getting notes at work. Random calls. The other day some guy showed up and threatened our secretary if he couldn’t see me. They’re all connected. I know it. For the past few weeks it’s just been getting worse.” I balk.

  “You didn’t tell me any of this.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Simon.”

  “I thought it was just some guy trying to put pressure on us — someone in the security field who was using tactics hackers use to secure jobs from government agencies? Like, oh he found some weakness in our security infrastructure so we need him on our team to boost the capability.”

  I’m so confused. I literally had no idea this was happening and the entire time I was trying to keep things from him.

  “Have you gone to the authorities about this?”

  He shakes his head.

  “No — and I won’t. I know this type of person, Juniper. They’re dangerous. Volatile. One wrong move can provoke them.”

  I stare at him, my own thoughts careening.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  He rubs his lips with his fingers.

  “I’m going to go check the house. Stay here. Once I know it’s clear, I’ll come and get you.”

  “But what about the guy—“

  “I don’t know, Juniper. I don’t. I’ve been trying to figure it out for weeks. Give me a minute, and I’ll come and get you when it’s safe.”

  He looks at me.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He moves to get out of the car and then stops himself.

  “Since I told you everything — can you actually tell me what’s been going on with you? I know you’ve been dealing with more than what you’ve told me. If I’m connecting the dots, it all fits.”

  My mouth moves but no sound comes out.

  How does he…

  He reaches for my hand.

  “I know you, Juniper. I knew you were hiding something, but it just makes sense. You’ve been getting notes too, haven’t you? And texts?”

  The relief I feel that pushes through my veins is surprising.

  He knows. He finally knows.

  “I have,” I whisper.

  He nods and looks down, wincing a little bit as he unbuckles himself and gets out of the car. The soreness is kicking in and he rubs at a spot on his neck.

  “Give me five minutes,” he says, turning back to the house an
d pausing at the doorframe before stepping into the darkness.

  .::.

  He didn’t find anything. He comes and gets me, and we call for Thai delivery while he showers and I change into sweats, throwing my hair into a high bun after brushing out the residual sand from earlier. I hear the water turn off and collapse into the couch, waiting for him.

  Butterflies jut up against my ribcage and I worry about his reaction. Even though he knows and even though he hasn’t run yet, will he believe me?

  Like really?

  He walks into the room and I inhale the scent of his body wash — citrus and sandalwood. He sits next to me, reaching for my hand.

  It’s my cue.

  “I’ve been receiving notes from one of my students — Silas — since shortly after the school year started. At first, I thought it was just infatuation. A lack of social skills or boundaries, whatever. I just didn’t think it was that serious and so I would throw the notes away. But then they started coming more frequently. And being left in more places — even outside of school. Like on our windshield while we were on a date.”

  His eyes widen in recognition.

  “That one night—”

  “Yeah. I grabbed it before you could even know what it was….but it was definitely from him.”

  I tell him everything. He sits there, next to me on the couch, holding my hand the entire time. Nothing surprises him, and he even interjects at certain points, filling in holes for himself or letting me know why he acted a specific way.

  Like the night of the storm when he came over with pho.

  “I had a feeling someone had been in your house,” he told me. His face was matter of fact. “It’s part of why I wanted to move in with you. I mean I wanted to move in — want to move in — outside of that, but knowing I could be here and help protect you? I wanted to catch the bastard.”

  “You knew?”

  “Not for sure, no. I just had a feeling. You were super jumpy and things in the house looked…everything was clean but a few things had been moved? It was weird, but I couldn’t prove anything and I definitely didn’t want to freak you out. He used that window,” he points behind me and I look at him with wide eyes. “How?”

  “It was cracked open, and there was snow on the sill. That lamp was moved juuuuuust enough that I noticed the shift.”

  I smile at the slight nod to my own specificity of where things are located. I probably would have noticed myself had I not been beside myself with terror.

  “And you didn’t say anything?”

  “Would it have helped you?” His eyebrows are raised now, a questioning look on his face. “I had nothing to go off of outside of my gut.”

  “No. No it wouldn’t have — I was — am — terrified that people won’t believe me or think something else was going on….”

  He squeezes my hand.

  “I believe you.”

  I take a breath then, knowing there’s more he needs to know.

  “He started threatening you recently. Telling me he could make you disappear. That’s part of why I wanted to meet with Stahl this morning, but he wasn’t there. But then he left me the Death card from my mom’s tarot deck in my planner….”

  “He did what?”

  “Yeah. It was definitely supposed to be a nod at what he was capable of even though the card might not have been the best one for his symbolism.” I shrug. “Death doesn’t necessarily mean death in tarot.”

  “Oh.”

  “It still scared the hell out of me though.”

  “Well, of course.”

  “So I called the police.”

  His eyebrows skyrocketed then and he leans closer. “You called the police?”

  “Well, I called the station. I didn’t really want to call 911 since it wasn’t an emergency, and I just needed to know what to do next, so I called to see if they could give me any guidance.”

  “And?”

  “They laughed about it. Said I was obviously doing something to make him think there is a chance between us.”

  His neck turns red and he shakes his head, pinching his lower lip with his fingers. He’s pissed. “Of course they did nothing. Of course they did.”

  I nod. “And then you called about your tires and then the wreck and so — I seriously thought I was losing my mind, Simon. It’s why I hung up on you when we were talking earlier. I couldn’t take any more.”

  I stare at him a beat before continuing.

  “So I texted him.”

  He blinks and I know he’s trying to determine if he heard me correctly.

  “You did what?”

  “I texted him. I told him to meet me at the beach. That was the errand I had to run before picking you up. I met him at the beach and told him to leave me alone.”

  He stares at me for a beat, still unsure of what he just heard.

  “You went to meet him. By yourself.” His questions come out as statements and I know by the storminess in his eyes he’s trying to control his emotions.

  I nod.

  “Juniper…”

  I squeeze his hand.

  “I was fine. He was upset but maybe it worked? I haven’t gotten a text in hours and —“

  He starts shaking his head.

  “It didn’t work. I know it feels that way because he hasn’t tried to talk to you in a few hours but…not for this guy. He’s only planning his next layer of attack. We need to be smart about this.” He takes a deep breath.

  “You can’t be alone. Ever.”

  “What about work? I get there early —“

  “Not anymore.”

  I know there’s no use in arguing. I’m just going to have to rework my schedule.

  “Maybe I can talk to Jasper about meeting in the morning about the gala?”

  He nods.

  “I’m okay with that. I just don’t want you to be alone.”

  I take a bite of my food and wait, knowing he’s thinking about something because I see him open his mouth as if he’s about to say something and stop himself.

  “What is it, Simon?”

  He shuts his eyes and places his hand on his forehead, thinking.

  “There’s another thing. It’s crazy. But. I have an idea. I need you to trust me.”

  I look at him, curious.

  “Of course I trust you. What is it?”

  At first he doesn’t respond. He simply sits there, thinking.

  “Simon?”

  He gets up then, and walking to the television, turns it on with the volume all the way up.

  “Simon!” I put my hands over my ears and look at him in confusion. “I can’t hear you — what are you doing?”

  He holds one finger up and walks over to me, kneeling in front of where I’m sitting on the couch. He grabs my hands and returns my gaze, and I see every ounce of love I’ve ever received from him in one look. I smile, wondering what he could be doing, and then he leans forward and whispers in my ear, dropping a weight I wasn’t expecting.

  “Don’t react. I turned on the TV because I know he’s probably watching, listening, or both. But, I need you to break up with me.”

  32

  The next day, I call out from work. After yesterday, it feels as if it’s the only option. I wake up before dawn, like always, but I can’t find it within me to get out of bed. I blindly feel for my phone on the nightstand and with one eye cracked open, call the sick line. It’s an automated system, and for this I am grateful. There’s no talking with Tracey or another human — no explaining exactly what’s wrong with me and why I can’t come in to teach. All I have to do is select the substitute for my class and I’m good to go. I’ll do that later, though. I still have a few hours before the cut off when they’ll default to whomever is available.

  I glance next to me at the empty space where Simon would normally still be sleeping. I frown and run my hand along his indention in the sheets from a few nights ago. Leaning over, I cradle the pillow he uses and inhale his scent.

  He went back to
his condo in Providence last night in order to make the fake breakup appear more real whenever it happens. I bite my lip, already nervous about his plan to temporarily and totally unofficially break us up in order to get Silas’ attention.

  I still don’t fully understand it, but I know one thing is for sure: Silas will know. He probably already knows Simon didn’t stay the night. I glance around my room with a snarl on my face. I throw up my other hand and point it above my head.

  Fuck you, Silas. I know you’re watching me. Somehow.

  It’s dark outside — a new storm system is blowing in from the south. It makes this entire plan that much more nerve-racking because I know the next few days are going to be rainy. I’ve seen the movies. How many times does the bad guy capture the heroine when it’s bright and sunny outside?

  Yeah, zero.

  How many times does the weather depict the mood? It was a dark and stormy night.

  Yeah. I know. The limit does not exist.

  I groan. I’m not looking forward to this at all. And yet, I know Simon has a point.

  Us breaking up will push Silas into action.

  We’re not going to actually break up. Not really. I mean, we’ll put on a good show and everyone will think we officially ended things, but we’ll still be together.

  Just no talking or seeing each other — not even a phone call.

  “He’s probably tapped your phone somehow,” Simon told me last night.

  “Are you sure we don’t need to just call the police? Again?”

  He shook his head and grabbed my hips to pull me closer. He was still leaning in front of me. I placed my hands on either cheek.

  “They told you to bring evidence, right?”

  I nodded.

  “This will be our evidence.”

  I throw my phone across the bed in disgust, frustrated. I’m so ready for this to be over. Imagine a world where a woman is just…believed.

  No proof necessary.

  No good boys’ club protecting their own.

  Instead, we’re going out of our way to play detective in order to catch a stalker who’s turned dangerous. Makes zero sense.