Take Me With You(3)

It's blazing, and the cool, soapy water is a refuge for my hot arms as I dip my sponge into the bucket. I turn on my little radio and catch a Donna Summer song that's already halfway through.

That's when I feel it. I'm being watched.

The feeling is instant and it's certain. I stand up and turn to the street. It's a typical Friday afternoon. Kids are playing down the street, a few people are mowing the lawn, but it's the dark car that catches my attention. It drives by slowly, the driver's side facing me. The window is tinted and open just enough so that I can only see his eyes. And while he's far away, they are vivid. In fact, they are some of the clearest turquoise eyes I have ever seen. This is not the first time I have had this feeling. And this deja vu tells me maybe it's not the first time I have seen those eyes. I don't look away. Instead, I meet his gaze, trying to focus on those eyes. My stomach rolls with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Eyes like that can only be part of something beautiful. And yet, that should be irrelevant. I should scoff at anyone showing interest in me, particularly in this manner. I'm already taken. And I am above random gawkers.

There's something else though, something familiar, but he's too far away for me to be sure. A few days ago, I was at the library studying for a test, and the same feeling struck me as I looked through the quiet basement level for nursing books. I had pulled out a book from a shelf and gasped when I saw a pair of eyes on the other side. They were just as clear as these staring back at me, with a distinct marker: in his left eye, there was a fleck of golden brown. In eyes that clear— like when the water at the beach is so pristine I can see my feet—golden-brown flashed like gold leaf. Just as fast as I caught sight of those eyes peering through endless rows of books, they were gone. A chill came over me and I quietly walked over to peek on his side of the shelves, but there was no one. I didn't even hear his footsteps. He was so quiet, I even wondered if I had imagined him due to the sleepless nights of studying that preceded the encounter.

Are those the same eyes? They can't be. Before I can assess any further, the window is rolled closed and the dark car turns in the distance.

I stare at the vehicle as it rolls away, wrestling with this new sense of paranoia. I'm stressed. I've got nursing school, work, a busy boyfriend, and taking care of Johnny. This is simply stress manifesting itself in other ways. I think about telling my mother or my boyfriend, Carter, but what can I say? I made contact with a mesmerizing pair of eyes at the library? That some guy drove by and gawked at me washing my car in a bikini and cut-off shorts? Sounds like the life of any remotely attractive female.

But there was something more to the paranoia. Something I wouldn't even fully acknowledge myself, yet alone tell Carter or my mother. This feeling of worry intermingled with something deeper—an intense feeling of being coveted. Not the disgusted feeling I get from a guy catcalling or trying to sweet talk me, but a quiet longing. I have been with Carter so long, I have forgotten what it is like to play the game. To enjoy those stares from men that lasted a little longer than they should have. I have made myself impervious to them, turned off my sexuality for anyone but my long-faithful boyfriend.

Except this time. This time, I couldn't turn off the curiosity. Wondering if the man I had seen or thought I saw at the library had come around to my side of the bookcase, would the rest of him been just as stunning as those eyes? Without a word, would he have pushed me against the books so hard they would have rained off the shelves around me? Would he have pinned me, and fucked me fiercely until I came, pulling me out of the routine and obligations I had found myself bound to? I fantasized a couple of times about those eyes when I slept with Carter, just to help get me over the edge. I liked dirty thoughts, forbidden thoughts. The more forbidden, the more aroused I became, but I could never tell Carter that. I didn't want him to feel inadequate. Besides, fantasies are private. They live in your head, not to be made real.

There's a tug on my shorts. Johnny can't call my name, so I'm used to his touch. “Mmmhmm,” I answer, my mind still off in the far-away thoughts. I decide Johnny is more important than a couple of meaningless encounters, and give him my full attention. “You hungry?” I ask.

He nods.

“Grilled cheese?”

He shakes his head.

“Cereal?”

He nods.

“Okay. I'll finish this up later. Let's get you inside.” I lead Johnny to the door, but before entering, I cast one last look behind me to the now empty street. Just like at the library, I am left again with a hollow suspicion.





I'm itching for the feeling again. It's been a week since the last house and already I need more. It's gotten worse this past month, ever since I first spotted Vesper. But I'm not ready for her yet. There's still more planning to be done. The last home I hit, on the same day I snatched Vesper’s necklace, quelled the urge, but it's back faster and fiercer than ever. I've never wanted anyone so badly.

For now, I'll have to settle for the Hoeksmas. I've been watching them for a few weeks. She's an ER nurse, he's a teacher. They have a pretty ranch in Rancho Sol. I know tonight she's not on call and they'll likely fuck. They're usually like ships passing in the night because of her schedule. So when she's off, they make sure to get it in. I'll wait until they're asleep and naked. She'll be tired from her three weeks of non-stop work, and he will be in a deep sleep from fucking.