Chapter 1
The curtains were parted enough so that I could see most of his body. He was laying in bed, stuffing popcorn into his mouth while probably watching a movie. His eyes were sunken in and his hair was all in his face, but he looked content just sitting there by himself. It took every ounce of my willpower and my finger nails digging into my thighs to keep me in my car. All I wanted to do was march on over to his front door and knock. Making up an excuse so that he'd invite me in like the kind person he was. Maybe, if I were really desperate, I'd climb in through his window while his attention was elsewhere and-
I winced. My nails had gone through the sweatpants I was wearing. A small red spot formed in the bleak grey. I took that as a sign to leave. I couldn't do anything to him, not like this. I'd have to be smart about it. Reintroduce myself. Get him to trust me. Get him to see that I wasn't some deranged freak. I couldn't ruin it like I did with-
No. I wasn't going to think about her anymore. It ended. I was over her. What use was there in mourning when you had something in front of you that could change everything all over again? As I watched him sit up, laughing at something he probably saw on-screen, I remembered why I needed him to guide me. To show me how to live. Unfortunately, that would take time. I wasn't about to let anything prematurely ruin that, so I begrudgingly started my car back up.
🎯
And just like that, I was staring up at the ceiling. Tonight, I was listening to one of my childhood sessions. Dr. Mercer was trying to help me understand masking my emotions realistically. It was one of the more challenging lessons for me at the time. Just one small change in schedule or one sideways glance and I'd unravel. Even today, the way that the rest of the bureau looks at me makes my heart stop sometimes. I can't help but wonder if they've figured me out. If they all just secretly conspire in the break rooms, criticizing my every move and decision. It usually takes Ray's hand on my shoulder to tether me back to reality.
Even as I listen, I know the only reason I'll get out of bed tomorrow is because I'll be seeing my Northstar after work. The sight of him and being in his mere presence makes something in me feel safe and almost complete. I've seen the way he treated his coworkers at the hotline. I've felt the warmth of his guidance firsthand as well, and I'd do anything to feel it again.
By this point, I'd slipped the headphones off. In a minute or two, my belt had been unbuckled and my pants had hit the floor. I was palming myself through that thin layer of fabric left.
There were reasons I liked him that were far more sinister. Admittedly, the way he seemed weak was one of them. I remember all of the times I'd lean in too close for comfort or I'd say something that crossed a line. He'd never protest or tell me off. He'd only sheepishly shrug it off. Still, the way his voice would crack when excusing it would give me a lot to fantasize about. Like how quickly he would probably accept any humiliating or sexual situation I could push him into. I wondered if his voice would also crack when begging to let go of him while I-
At this point, my boxers had joined the growing piles of clothes on the floor. Precum stained my hands and I leaned forward. Although I'd usually fuss about the mess, those thoughts were gone when I was thinking of him. Of the stupid look on his face that he'll have when he eventually realizes what I am. Of how much he'll beg and plead with me, attempting to appeal to my humanity. I let out a breathy laugh, thinking about how pathetic of a person he'd become if he ever got to meet the true me. What a pity. Id ruin something so innately good and true, just because I am the complete opposite of that. I'd enter his system like an infection, and yet I would be the only thing keeping him alive.
"Fuck," I groaned. I already came into my hand. Just from the thought of ruining him. God, I was as sick as they come. I took a moment to breathe, staring up at my ceiling once more before standing up. I walked to the bathroom, letting burning hot water wash my hands of what I had just done. I left it running for a while after, my skin becoming redder and redder. The sting of the burn was more of an afterthought to me. My mind was still preoccupied with images of him in situations no good-hearted person should think of another person in.