Her lungs burned, but she could not risk him hearing her heavy breathing. He could hear too well for a human, in her opinion. She balanced herself on the tree’s branch that she hoped would hold her 132-pound, long-legged frame and then peered through his window. As one might expect at 3:45 AM, his room was dark.
She took in a deep breath, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness. At last, her sight rested on his still form in the middle of his double bed. A smile spread slowly across her face at the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. Usually, she was the victim of peeping toms, stalkers, and the like. Now, she was the creep.
He was her patient, she was his psychologist. She had never fallen for a client before. In fact, it was difficult for her to develop feelings for any man, but he was so special. He was kind and musical and smart. Terribly handsome, as well. She knew more about him than she did about her own siblings and close friends. The world was so full of shallow, selfish souls that he stood out like a shiny new knife within a basket of ugly brown yarn. But he was beginning to drive her crazy. She started taking anti-stress pills so that she would be able to appear as professional and focused as possible during their sessions. She would not allow her jaded new mind to ruin his much needed therapy.
How long would it take before he realized that she was stalking him? That she had become obsessed with him?
She felt like a terrible person as she leaned against the glass that separated her from his bedroom. She was spying on a young man who trusted her with the darkest of secrets and the most disturbing stories of his past. Of course she would never hurt him. No, never.
She traced a single finger along the window, imagining how it might feel to touch his warm skin, to hold him, to hear him breathe as he dreamed.
“I always was a disturbed girl, wasn’t I?” she whispered to herself.
Half laughing, half sobbing, her gaze fell to the lawn below and she started her descent down the tree.