Page 42 of To Have and to Stalk
thirteen
CALDER
Have we met?
“Fuck.” I dragged a hand through my hair, eyes across the street at the pink-and-green coloring of Shay’s favorite tea shop.
She was even more beautiful in daylight. Her wild, curly hair shoved up in a messy bun so her wide, honey eyes were clear and visible. Had I been staring? It was hard to look at her without remembering how her cheeks flushed.
I ran a hand down my face.
This was bad. I was breaking all my rules.
Shay was innocent.
And she wasnormal.
And I was very much not that. A normal person didn’t stalk the girl they’d just met. Didn’t lurk behind the bookshelves at her favorite local bookstore, noting what she likes.
A normal person didn’t hack into every corner of her life.
Shay’s passwordwasshit, and it was also the same password she used for fucking everything. I’d told myself I was doing it for her. That I was only sneaking into her life to make it impossible for anyone else to follow.
I turned on two-factor.
I installed a VPN.
I enabled location sharing on my device so I could see where she was, learn her routine.
But…I had access to her photos—the ones she didn’t share. Cute, scrunched-up nose selfies with her and a black cat. Random pictures of things like trees or a dead butterfly. Photos I had no right to look at, and which had nothing to do with keeping her safe, but I drank them like dark liquor.
Everything I learned about her dug my grave deeper.
There was one event marked every week on her calendar:family dinneron Sunday.Book clubappeared on random days, sometimeseveryday.
She left little notes to herself all the time, ranging from things like a random list of vegetables to a list of favorite words (oubliette, metanoia, selcouth) to the lyrics of a Taylor Swift song.
I paused on an old list, last updated years ago. What appeared to be an import of a patient chart.
I can’t control when I get sick. I can’t control getting better.
Her words fluttered back to my mind.
Shay seemed healthy—but then, that didn’t really mean anything. People hid all kinds of pain under a smile, especially women.
Before I could stop myself, I opened it. I scanned the note, what appeared to be a doctor’s diagnosis: chronic fatigue syndrome.
I quickly googled it.
A chronic, life-altering illness marked by profound fatigue, pain, and severe worsening of symptoms after even small amounts of physical effort.
I focused on the last part. Severe worsening of pain after physical effort?
And I chased her through a goddamn graveyard?
I was a prick?—
Where the fuck are you?
