I put back the bottle exactly where I found it, like a perfect creep, but then I place it on its side. I don’t give a fuck if she knows I went through her things. In fact, I want her to.
Let her be on the edge as payment for all the annoyance she’s brought into my life by merely existing.
I tilt my head in her direction. “Why the fuck did you come to that initiation, Cecily?”
If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be acting completely out of character by inserting myself into her life and learning things about her I’m not supposed to.
Once I’m done going through the small space, I sit at her desk.
Psychology, philosophy, and nonfiction books line her small library.
And mangas.
Slice of life. Shounen, and… I grab one and my brows lift.
Boys’ love.
Well, well. Would you look at that?
I slide that manga back in place and open her laptop. I already hacked it once, so I know it’s as boring and meticulous as the image she projects onto the outer world.
All filled with school projects and pictures from family holidays.
Still, I open her browser and look at her history.
Considering that seeing sex made her physically ill the other day, I doubt she watches any. Or she could be using a private browser.
I find no trace of porn. However, I land on an interesting burst of similar searches, usually conducted late at night.
The psychology of rape fantasy.
Why do many women have rape fantasies?
The sociology of judging women who seek out or enjoy sex rougher than most men.
The sociology of rewarding men and punishing women for enjoying sex.
Is there an underlying mental disorder associated with rape fantasies?
Paraphilias listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.
Is primal kink a sexual deviation?
Serial killers’ kinks.
That one puts a smile on my face.
Jesus.
I can almost imagine the deer-in-the-headlights expression she had while reading all of this stuff.
My gaze slides to her sleeping form. “You need to stop forcing labels on yourself.”
I skim through the articles written by some hotshot psychologists who try not to be judgy but sometimes let their true colors show.
Cecily must’ve been in a position where she had to see her preferences through a professional lens and wondered if something was wrong with her.
She’s shackled in some way.
And something tells me it’s not only due to her rigid codes of honor, stiff personality, or altruistic little heart.
Something deeper lurks beneath the surface, and I’ll find it if it’s the last thing I do.
My plans to only watch from afar just to catch Landon through her lie are forgotten as I dig, probe, and search.
Words and websites start to blur together, but I don’t stop.
People like Cecily carry their wounds so deep that even those in their closest circle have no clue about them.
I’m positive she’s kept it a secret from her parents and grandparents, with whom she’s close to, so as not to burden them. Ava, too.
But no matter how much she hides it, I’ll figure out her secret and drag it out of her kicking and screaming.
The commotion starts to die down outside her door, and that’s my cue to leave.
I quietly close her laptop and make a mental note to hack into it again later to dig deeper into her search history.
Then I take a few pictures of the books and mangas she reads. I’m about to leave from the balcony when her phone vibrates on the bedside table.
I stalk to her side and pause when I see the name on the text.
The motherfucking non-prince.
I unlock it using her passcode. She uses the same one for everything—her parents’ marriage date.
Landon: Hi, stranger.
My fingers tighten on the phone, but I type back.
Cecily: Hi :）
I tut at the smiley face. But if I want to make him believe it’s her, I have to mimic her style.
Landon: Everything okay? Is Jeremy still bothering you?
Bothering.
That’s what she told him? That I was bothering her?
Granted, stalking could be called bothering in certain circumstances.
But I wouldn’t have resorted to that method if I’d known what this motherfucker told her to do.
Cecily: Everything’s great. He’s not following me anymore.
Or that’s what she believes, anyway.
Landon: For how long?
Cecily: About two weeks.
Landon: That’s not long enough. He’s a dog who doesn’t give up on the bone he found, so he could and would come back at any time.
This fucker is too smart for his own good. I’ve always plotted his demise, but right now? I’m downright scheming for his murder and the best burial site to erase his existence from life.