I’d been awake all night, too shaken up by the events of the day to let myself have some rest. But another thing distracting me was her cardigan, the sweet scent of Bebe permeating my nostrils every time I raised it to my nose. I couldn’t fucking sleep with that thing in the house. All I wanted to do was have the girl who owned it in my arms, and not having her made me more fucking anxious than ever.
I kept my eyes on her apartment that whole night, but nothing happened. I needed her to come home. I needed to talk to her.
No text messages all evening, no calls, no nothing. She was out somewhere meeting people who were so much better than me, much less broken, much less fucked-up. And I was jealous as hell, the green-eyed monster rearing its head and threatening to eat me up whole. God, I fucking wanted her to come home. I wanted to see her strip and climb into bed, even if it was with some guy she didn’t even know. I just needed her to be alright, to make sure she made her way home okay, to know she was in one piece.
It was eating me up, and I kept pacing the apartment trying to clear my head unsuccessfully. Her cardigan felt soft in my hands, but not as soft as her skin would feel when I bit into it.
It was almost five a.m. when I got a horrible feeling of dread, raced to the window and stared down at the street below me.
I lived in a good neighborhood where apartments were stupidly expensive and vandalism was unheard of. The residents of my apartment building were private and didn’t give a shit about what I was doing in my own home. I liked it that way.
So, hearing the commotion below me was something rare, something that made my skin crawl with worry.
I looked down at the scene unfolding before my eyes. There were two girls, one dragging the other along. I watched her dig in the stumbling girl’s purse for keys, and I watched them walk into the building with my shoulders tense and my knuckles white. I waited for the light to come on in Bebe’s apartment, and I watched her friend drag her to the bed. Bebe collapsed on the mattress, asleep or unconscious within moments.
I watched the other girl—Arden—slam her back against the door and slowly slide down, her face etched with worry, tears falling down her cheeks. She cried like a girl who was completely lost in the whirlwind of her life, and watching her felt so fucking wrong I almost turned my back to the scene in front of me.
Almost.
I couldn’t. I was too addicted to it, to watching Bebe’s life unfold right in front of me. God, I wanted to be there. I wanted to be part of the mess, part of the people she knew, the ones who could touch her, feel her, see her laugh. I’d never wanted anything more.
I watched Arden come apart in front of my eyes, and I watched her gather herself, stroke Bebe’s cheek, and slowly let herself out of her friend’s apartment.
But when she was leaving, I noticed she forgot to lock the door, and worry filled my body, making me dig my nails into my palms. She forgot to lock the fucking door. What if some maniac, some fucking lunatic, went into Bebe’s apartment and took advantage of her while she was sleeping? I couldn’t let that happen, I fucking couldn’t. I needed to lock the door for her.
But how? I’d have to take her keys and lock the door from the outside, and she’d panic in the morning.
But I couldn’t just leave it like that, with the door open for anyone to walk in and take advantage of her.
I needed to go over there. Make sure she was alright. Make sure she was breathing, that she wasn’t fucking unconscious, wasn’t choking on her own fucking puke—SHIT! I needed to go there, and I couldn’t even step foot outside my apartment. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I walked to the other side of my living room, grabbed a decorative vase and smashed it against the wall. I breathed in deeply, trying to calm myself down, but I couldn’t fucking do it. I was too anxious, too nervous, too fucking desperate to do something, help my girl, make sure she was alright. I needed to go over there, there was no way around it. Needed to make sure my Bebe was alright, even if it fucking killed me.
I stared at my own reflection in the mirror on the wall, breathing slowly, looking at the shards of the vase around my feet. I needed to get the fuck over there.
It was cold outside, and I was only wearing a tank top and sweatpants, but I couldn’t muster up the energy to change. I knew as soon as I stepped foot out of my apartment, I’d have to fight battles bigger than the need for warmth.
I made myself walk briskly to the front door. I opened it wide and stared at the hallway in front of me. It had never seemed huge—so menacing.
I closed the door carefully. Made myself step on the doormat. Breathed in, breathed out. Tried to survive, tried to fight my demons for her.
I walked down the hallway and the demons made way for me, clawing, laughing, biting at my skin.
I couldn’t face the elevator. I took the stairs instead, practically running down them until I reached the lobby.
The doorman was asleep in his chair, snoring loudly as I fought another mental battle right in front of his eyes. Slowly walking towards the revolving doors, I let my panic take the front seat because I knew adrenaline would come rushing right after it.
I slipped inside the revolving glass panel, walked with it until I was suddenly, mind-bogglingly, outside.
The air was cold. The sounds were almost too much. The smell of the fresh night air was oppressive. I wanted to fucking strangle the woman laughing a few feet away, walking home with her boyfriend.
I felt like an animal let out of its cage. Like a fucking monster, finally freed to do what I wanted, but blinded by the night, by the possibilities of everything I could do now that I was unleashed.
My steps made me stumble, stumble in the street like a fucking drunk. I made myself walk, reminding myself to do what Dr. Halen had told me—focus on something else, not something that makes you panic.
Not the fact that I was outside.
Not the oppressive voices.
Not the demons snapping at my heels.
Just putting one foot in front of the other. Moving slowly towards my destination. Just across the street. Just a few more steps. So fucking close, almost there… almost. I kept walking, stumbling, almost falling, forcing myself to keep going, keep going towards her.
Towards Bebe, my Bebe, my pretty little girl, passed out on her bed, fucking left to fend for herself when she couldn’t even move.
I forced myself to keep going until I reached the door. I grabbed it like a fucking life jacket and practically dragged myself into the lobby.
“Can I help you?”
I looked down at the voice, a small man with glasses, looking more scared than inquisitive. He wore the uniform of a doorman, and I did my best to push my demons back to speak to him.
“My friend,” I rasped. “Bebe Hall. Floor three. I need to help her, she just c-called me.”
“Bebe?” he asked, licking his lips. “I know Bebe.”
I wanted to fucking smack him. Fucking choke him. Fucking kill him, if I had to.
“She’s passed out,” I went on. “L-let me go up there.”
“Do you need help?” he asked with a hunger to his voice.
“NO,” I practically growled at him, making him take a step back. “No. Let me g-go.”
“Alright,” he said sceptically. “Floor three. Elevator’s there.”
“S-stairs?” I stuttered. “Can I take the stairs?”
“Sure.” He gave me a strange look. “To your left.”
I stumbled towards them, trying my best to keep walking upright, to not freak out like my body was telling me to. I reached the stairs and started going up, feeling a little better because at least I was inside. But still, it was unknown territory, a building I wasn’t familiar with, crawling with germs and disgusting shit I didn’t want to touch. But I fought against it and climbed the stairs until I reached her floor. I stared at her door that Arden had left ajar. Was I really going to do this? It felt so fucking wrong to go into her apartment, but I knew I had no choice.
Slowly, I approached the door, pushed it open and entered Bebe’s home.
Her scent assaulted my nostrils the second I stepped inside. The smell of her cardigan back at my place, amplified a thousand times until it was all over me. All over my skin, in my pores, in my nose, in my fucking mouth. And fuck, did she smell good. I couldn’t understand how someone could smell so sweet. Sugary enough for me to sink my teeth into her skin, sweet enough to wonder how many licks it would take to get to her molten center.
I found her bedroom, the scent of sugar stronger here than anywhere else.
My Bebe lay on the bed, on her stomach. She wasn’t moving, just lying there, either asleep or unconscious.
My hands formed fists at my sides. Was I going to be able to touch her? Would I be able to touch her unmoving body to make sure she was alright? I had to try. I had to see if she was okay, at least.
I approached her with slow, unsure steps, the hardwood creaking under my feet. I gazed down at her.
She was beautiful, painfully beautiful, just like I’d told her she was. But up close, she was so much more, her face a map of freckles and tanned skin, each lash a stark contrast to the cheeks they lay upon. Her pouty mouth was smeared with red lipstick and she looked so vulnerable as she slept, the perfect victim for me to do anything I wanted to. I reached out for her, unable to stop my hands from touching her, something that didn’t come easily to me.
I brushed a hand against her cheek, her beautiful, soft skin tight under my fingertips. Her skin was cold, but I could feel her breathing against my palm. Thank fucking God for that.
“Bebe,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
I wanted to kiss her so badly it shocked me. Physical contact wasn’t easy, and kissing was something I was really cautious with. But with her lying there, her hair fanned out on the bed and her breathing barely there, I wanted nothing more than to touch my lips to hers, to feel her breath on mine.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay for long. Already, my skin was itching, itching horribly and demanding I go back to a safe place. But I couldn’t make myself leave just yet.
I managed to get my hands under her lithe body, and I lifted her up gently to get her in a better position. She sighed when I moved her, the sweetest little sound, just letting me know she was still there, not gone completely, not yet. I placed a fluffy pillow behind her head, making sure she was sitting semi-upright just in case she puked. Her body was limp and powerless compared to mine. I could have done anything in the world to her in that position, and my skin crawled with the possibilities.
I let my fingers wander down her skin gently, teasing her arms into goosebumps, making her sigh and fidget restlessly as she slept. It was like a fucking miracle, like a dream, finally having her in front of me. She was perfectly vulnerable, but she was still my sweet, headstrong, bitchy girl. I’d never wanted her more.
My head was pounding though. Fucking hurting with everything in her apartment, everything new around me, fucking me up because I needed to get back to my place where at least I didn’t feel like I was dying every second. I looked around Bebe’s bedroom and found a thick faux fur throw, grabbing it off her recliner and gently covering her with the fabric. She stirred in her sleep and I tucked her in, pretending just for a minute that she was my girl, that I’d get to do this every night. That I owned her, that she was all. Fucking. Mine.
I moved away from her, taking two steps back and watching her breathe more easily now, fast asleep. Why was she so perfect? Why couldn’t I have her? Just for one night. Just maybe, one night would be enough to make me better. Maybe one night with her would make me a better man, a good man, a normal man. Maybe one night with Bebe would cure me.
My bottom lip trembled at the little fantasy I’d built for myself. Of course it wouldn’t be okay. I was a mess, and Bebe would never want me. But it was okay. I could exist without her. Not live, but exist at the very least.
I walked out to the front door and put all the bolts and locks in place, making sure she was locked inside safely. One last look at my sleeping beauty, and I climbed out of the window onto the fire escape.
The cold night air hit me straight to the core, chilling me and reawakening my instincts. I figured the faster I moved, the faster all of this would be over, and I could get back inside, pretend nothing had happened. Maybe after a few baths, I really would be okay.
I took the stairs two at a time, practically jumping down them in an effort to get away from her apartment. I raced all my fears and insecurities to the bottom of the stairs and jumped off onto the ground. My legs were shaking, barely able to carry me the distance to the other side of the street.
I staggered into my apartment like a fucking drunk.
And then I sat on the floor, and cried for the first time in twenty-five years.
Daredevil, noun
A reckless person who enjoys doing dangerous things.
I woke up with a pounding headache, rolled off the bed and vomited all over the floor.
With a groan, I picked myself up and dragged myself to the kitchen to get some cleaning supplies. I managed to get the floor clean before tumbling into my bathroom and showering the remains of last night off my body. The cold shower woke me up a little but did nothing to help my head that was begging for painkillers.
I had just gotten out of the shower and wrapped my hair up in a towel turban when the doorbell rang.
“Coming!” I yelled, grabbing a fluffy robe and wrapping it around my still wet body.
Running towards the door, I nearly tripped on the piece of fabric that held my robe in place. I cursed out loud and opened the door totally out of breath.
A huge bouquet stood in front of me, red roses, so many of them it blocked the whole entryway and my view of the delivery man.
“What the f—” I started, but the person behind the flowers cut me off.
“A delivery for Bebe Hall?”
The man handed me the enormous bouquet and I nearly fell over with the weight of it.
“Let me just put this inside,” I mumbled, carrying the flowers into the apartment and putting them down on my dining table.
They dominated the room, the scent so heady it made me smile. I returned to the delivery man and signed for my flowers, then closed the front door and went to search for a card to go with the flowers.
There was a thick envelope between the roses, and I took it out, slowly opening it and taking out the contents. I loved prolonging the moment of mystery, hope filling my whole body. Maybe it was Miles. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted me to have something this beautiful. Maybe he did something traditional just to make my day…
A Polaroid photo fell out of the envelope, and I bent down to pick it up. It was face down, and I held it in my hand as I read the note attached to the flowers.
They smell like you.
My skin erupted in goosebumps and I bit my bottom lip nervously as I set the card down and turned the photo around in my hand. The photo was taken from his apartment, but my bedroom window was open. I was lying on the bed, propped up with a pillow and covered with a blanket I never used.
I ran back into my room. The blanket was on the bed, and the window was open, a breeze billowing the curtains. I felt a shiver go down my spine.
He’d been in my room.
No… he’d been in my room while I was there. Last night, when I was passed out, too messed up to remember him being there, taking care of me.
I felt my pussy leak all over my thigh. He’d really been here, with me, touching me, smelling me. The mere thought made me whimper out loud. Why hadn’t he woke me up? How had he gotten in? The door was locked from the inside when I greeted the deliveryman, and Arden couldn’t have done that. Miles must have and left on the fire escape—that was why the window had been open.
I swallowed thickly, my heart pounding in my chest. Should I be scared? I thought to myself, but even though every basic instinct in my body was telling me to run, I couldn’t. I wanted more, so muc
h more. I wanted him in my room every night, holding me, putting the blanket over me. I shook my head to get the thoughts out. But I couldn’t—the thought of Miles in my apartment was firmly planted inside my mind now, and I wanted it so badly, it made my fingers curl up with need.
He was a stalker.
A fucking stalker that came into my room while I slept and touched me.
And I was horny as hell for him.
I walked away from the roses, the scent too overwhelming and making me forget about what I was supposed to be doing. I went into the bedroom and sat down in front of my vanity, undoing the towel on my hair and letting the wet strands fall down my shoulders. I couldn’t even bring myself to close the window or look across the street to see if he was watching. Instead, I just started doing my makeup. It was already half past one, and I had a day to get ready for.
Staying in the apartment didn’t seem like an option. Instead, I called Arden, wanting to meet up for a drink. But she didn’t answer.
“Thanks for picking up,” I said bitterly into her voicemail. “I’m glad you checked to see if I was okay.”
Worry and guilt swept through my body in a second, and I sighed heavily.
“I’m sorry, Arden,” I went on. “Okay? I’m really sorry. I know I’m a mess. I’m a train wreck—”
I let out a little whimper. It was one thing to know I was fucked up, but a whole different one to admit it out loud like that.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I just want things to go back to how—”
The voicemail clicked off and I glared at my phone before throwing it on the couch. Fuck that, then.
I turned on the TV, sulking as I watched show after mindless show, not even remembering what the storylines were. The hours passed, and the room grew dimmer and dimmer around me as the clock started moving towards evening.
My phone remained silent. Not a call, not a single text—neither from Arden nor Miles. When it vibrated, I jumped at it, fumbling with the screen to see the message waiting for me.
Bored. Want to hit a club?
I didn’t have the number saved, but my fingers were already busy texting back whoever it was.
Peep Show Page 9
