The ties that bind us

The marble elevator was a tight space, all brass fixtures and polished wood panels. My heels sank into the thick burgundy carpet as I stepped inside, grateful for a moment alone. That's when a hand caught the closing doors.

A rush of panic - then fantasy took over. His deep forest-green eyes found mine in the reflection as he reached past me to push the button, his arm brushing mine. In the mirrored walls, his presence multiplied, surrounding me. His breath on my neck, the imagined kiss that would never happen...

Then the sharp ding of the elevator cut through my daydream. The governor stood there in his pressed suit, portfolio in hand, looking at me with concern.

"Tessa, are you ok? Hello... are you ready for this morning's meeting?"

I blinked, feeling the cool air from the elevator vent on my flushed face, realizing I'd been lost in a fantasy between floors, my imagination turning the confined space into something dangerous and thrilling.

Just days earlier, I'd caught myself staring at him and left in a rush, like Cinderella at midnight. I got into my Jag and took off. I was still new, still scared of my shadow, and in the rearview I saw nothing except leaves blowing in the wind like paper flying off a desk. I looked up, focused on the road, slamming my brakes on and to my shock it was him. How did he cut me off in the intersection? How did he know where I was going?

I felt weird, almost dirty, his smile was sinister. My obsession with him was silent like a grave. I felt gross, mourning emotions not yet born but died. I drove away taking a deep breath, watching his car fade into DC traffic. I decided to go home to my second-story apartment on a quiet street.

The house was broken up into eight units. Small but the walls were thin - every neighbor's footstep, every door closing echoed through the space. New floors were put down and new paint had been added. I had just gotten done moving. My nice open concept kitchen and living room felt like a fresh start, with its black and white checkered tablecloth and retro blue microwave adding touches of home.

The echoing of the floor made every sound piercing. In my bedroom, the black dresser loomed against the wall, its white candles casting flickering shadows across stark walls. The white bedding that usually felt crisp and clean now seemed too exposed, too visible from my second-story window. My sanctuary felt different in the growing darkness, every corner holding potential secrets.

The night wrapped around my apartment like a shroud. Through the thin walls, I could track my neighbors' movements - footsteps above, murmured conversations next door, the creak of doors down the hall. Each sound took on new significance in my heightened state of awareness. Even the familiar hum of my retro blue microwave seemed to pulse with warning.

That night, I could hear laughter in the hall, creaking up the stairs... then silence. I turned on the fan in my room, put my ear plugs in. The realization hit like ice water: I forgot to lock the dead bolt and door lock.

As I walked through the dark house, the little hall light became a friend... saying "it's OK, I'm here." I laughed to myself, realizing I had been overreacting, chalking it up to stress and an overactive imagination. I went and locked the doors, trying to shake off the paranoia. Moving to my kitchen where my balcony was located, I glanced through the navy curtains, lights off so I could hide in plain sight. But in the flickering streetlight, a shadow moved - and there he was.

I gasped. How did he know where I lived? We didn't work in the same location... I was a secretary for the governor and was only in the congress hall on business, having run into him multiple times. Then it hit me - he couldn't know where I lived. Looking again through the navy curtains, the shadow was gone, leaving only empty streetlight and dancing tree branches.

I shook it off and went back to bed. "One too many buzz bombs," I said to myself. Saturday morning brought blessed normalcy - no office, just quiet laundry day. Fresh Thyme Market for groceries, the gym for clarity, tanning for a boost of vitamin D. Each errand another step away from Friday night's paranoia.

Sunday came with rain, and I decided to stay in and binge watch serial killer true crime stories - because apparently, I hadn't scared myself enough already. I fell asleep to the sound of rain against my navy curtains, documentary voices droning in the background.

Monday morning came early. I got in my Jag and parked the car, took a deep sigh, said a quick prayer to God, and headed inside. That's when my elevator fantasy took over, only to be interrupted by the governor's concerned voice.

"Y-yes sir," I managed to stutter, still shaking off the remnants of my daydream. As we proceeded down the marble hallway, my professional mask slipping back into place, there he was... the man with the green eyes.

He stood next to me. "Tess... don't you remember me? It's Jacob White."

After two hours of droning policy discussions, I caught him during the break. "Jacob? Oh my gosh, it is you!"

"Yeah," he smiled. "I lost a ton of weight and dyed my hair. I was in an accident some years ago... went through therapy and got in shape. Your dad - Governor Anderson - told me where you lived. I tried to get up the nerve Friday night to stop by but I was too scared."

My mind raced, remembering my paranoid weekend, the shadow outside my apartment, the imagined stalker. All this time, it was Jacob - someone from my past transformed into the man who'd been haunting my thoughts.

"You have no idea the story I have for you," I said, shaking my head.

"Well, let's go to lunch then and grab that date," Jacob smiled.

"Better late than never," I replied, finally understanding why those green eyes had seemed so hauntingly familiar.