Page 17 of To Have and to Stalk
Chapter 11.
It was probably the hottest dubious consent scene I’d ever read.
A distant part of me screamed I was playing with fire. But I’d always had to be sogood. I had to eat the right food or I’d get sick. I never partied, because it would make me sicker. I was always on my best fucking behavior. And what did I get?
A chronic illness and an ex-fiancé.
Maybe I wanted to be bad for a minute. Or, at least, not worry about beinggood.
It took Void uncharacteristically long to respond.
What do you like about it? Be specific, Maniac.
I chewed my lip. It wasn’t just that he chased her through a graveyard, it was that he knew exactly the right buttons to push to make her submit. I like that he knew hermorethan she knew herself.
I started typing it out, then stopped.
I was feeling weird. Wired. The only time I’d ever felt like this was when I’d had my worst insomnia streak and I was awake for three days in a row. My limbs buzzed. My gut in a knot. Heart racing.
So instead of responding, I sent a different question.
Do you plan on asking me out, or are you just going to keep stalking me?
Three dots lit up my screen, and then he responded.
Keep stalking.
I should shut the app. Delete it. Vote with Eames on why choose—because, really, Lithie and Olly were the worst with love triangles. Instead, I responded.
So you’ll stalk my stories but you won’t date me?
Yep. Stalker, remember.
I was hoping you might be the kind of stalker who likes to climb through windows.
I moved my mouth around, trying to suppress a smile—something was seriously wrong with me—when Void sent another message.
What is so out of control in your life that you need someone to take it from you?
I blinked. My heartbeat pounded. The room blurred. That was not some teasing, flirty response. It was surgical. Cutting right to the marrow of me.
Who said anything is out of control?
I lied.
Lying is not the game, Maniac. You answer my questions, and I’ll decide when you’re ready. When you stop answering, I’ll know you’re not.
The room narrowed into a pinprick. Suddenly I was back in my high school bedroom, missing school for the tenth day in a row, and being forced to quit the debate team because I couldn’t reliably commit.
Nothing in my life was in my control, but if I wasn’t in control of every little thing, I got sick. And even when I was in control, I still got sick.
This suddenly feltwaytoo real.
I just want you to know I don’t plan on meeting you either.
Three dots, then,
Okay.
