Cold To The Touch

TRIGGER WARNING: Stalker

We both drove up the coast last night, walked barefoot on the beach as the sun set. You let Jasper chase a stick in the sea foam, then run along the sand as the sky streaked orange. Strictly speaking, dogs are not allowed on the beach, but you always bend the rules. I’m not the only person who knows this. Your Insta followers are well aware of what you let your Doberman get up to. But then you have him well trained from what I see.

I checked your likes at dawn, a little lower than usual. And they’ll miss the details I picked up. They’ll never know you dropped your brand-new shades on the rocks and squinted in the dying light to examine them for scratches. They don’t know that you were the last customer before the ice cream stand shut for the night, or that you went with the unmistakable green of mint choc chip. I loved the way you swept your golden hair from your emerald eyes as the wind picked up, and the joy on your face as you did so. I got my own picture of that – my latest telephoto lens was a great investment.

This morning you blogged a new poem. You were eleven minutes later than usual. My heart aches for the beauty of your words all week. Those minutes matter to me – don’t you see it? This one rhymes, they don’t always. I prefer the ones that rhyme – you should write those more. This one has a defensive feel. I wonder if you are being bothered by someone. Someone I don’t know about. I wonder how I can find out and if I should intervene. I might have to up my game. I’ll think about that.

You still stopped at Beryl's Bakes on the way to work. You love that place so much you go out of your way to visit it. It suits me well, I can watch you go in from the comfort of my living room. Maybe I should tell you I moved to my new flat on Ryland Street last month? Maybe not. I can’t wait to see what breakfast you will buy each day. Pain au chocolat. Again. You should try to get more variety in your diet. I worry about your health. I went in after you and bought one too. Third one this week. My health is less important.

We had dinner at your favourite restaurant tonight. I sat at the back but still heard your workmates laughing at your stories. You told them so well, though a few were not strictly true. I was tempted to step in, correct your version of things, put the record straight. But then I suppose I’d have blown my cover. I paid for us both and left before you could argue. It’s easy to pick up your bill when I watch what you order. You always get the profiteroles, you adore them, but you order a different main every time. Are you trying them all? Looking for a favourite? I’ve found my favourite in you.

I waited outside in the phone box until you left, and I walked you home, from a distance. I know your route and wish you wouldn’t cut through the carpark of the King’s Head. It’s not well lit. I don’t get to see your expression as you turn to glance through the bar room window. Are you happy you don’t work there anymore? I miss watching your bicep tense as you pulled a pint, but I don’t miss you flirting with other men – back then we were only separated by a mahogany bar, not by a legal requirement.

After your key turned in your lock, with you safely in the hall, I waited in the alleyway until Jasper stopped barking and your kitchen light came on, then I slunk across the street for a better view of your bedroom window. Those net curtains don’t hide as much as you think they do. I’ve always loved your curvy figure. I may not post my pictures online, but believe me, you are just as beautiful in them as you are in the ones you share with your followers.

You let your dog out later than usual for a last run around the back lawn. I've made it, just in time, to the park your house overlooks. The gates are locked, of course, but I don’t mind another climb over the spiky fence. Even if I do rip my t-shirt. It’s worth it to catch a glimpse of you in your favourite checked PJs at the kitchen door. The light from behind you means I can only see a silhouette but that’s fine.

I wait until you go back inside with Jasper. You head upstairs, switching lights off as you go and I take a few minutes, swaying myself on a park swing, to imagine you warm between luxurious satin sheets, while I sit here in the park, getting cold to the touch.

***

We both drove up the coast last night, walked barefoot on the beach as the sun set. I feel better going out now that Jasper is trained well enough to guard me. I've always found Rottweilers comforting. You think I didn’t see your blue Audi parking up a few bays away. You think that longer hair and a baseball cap are enough to disguise you, and you think that I don’t know it’s you who comments first on my Insta posts every morning.

I stayed at the beach as late as I could. It made me feel free, even with you watching. I dropped my new sunglasses as a ploy to stop and look behind me, to see how far away you were as I feigned concern for my lenses. You had a new lens too, the one on your camera, it glinted as the sun sank. I do like to be caught on camera, even if the images don't make it onto the socials. I bought a pistachio ice cream and chatted to the vendor, he was closing for the night. It was time I went home too.

This morning I tried to stick with my usual timings, so as not to arouse your suspicion, but I had a little extra setting up to do, and the poem I wrote last night was about 10 mins late hitting the blog. I should have set it up to autopost, but I didn’t think of that in time. Never mind. Perhaps the tone of the stanzas will be another clue I didn’t intend to give, but it was the only one I managed to write, and if I'd posted nothing at all, it would certainly have looked unusual.

I fed Jasper and took my usual detour to that bakery near your new place on the way to work, what's it called? Barbara's'? something like that. Ryland Street. It's not great but it serves a purpose. Running late, I had no time to think about breakfast so picked up a pain au chocolat, again. They're getting a bit boring and they're not very good for me. I should take better care of my health. The survival classes are good and are improving my focus as well as my muscle tone, but they won’t make up for a sloppy diet.

It's Thursday, so after work I made a quick trip back to see to Jasper, then headed out to Italian Heaven. I used to love the place, but the menu is tired now. Still, it was good to see my colleagues out of work, and good to keep up my regular routine so that you would keep up yours. I told a few stories about you, and deliberately embellished the details. I wasn’t sure if you could hear me, from your regular table at the back, but I’m feeling mischievous tonight. And if you had been tempted out of your hiding place, I might have had a more convincing case for myself.

Given that I hate coffee-flavoured food, and the dessert menu only offers tiramisu, affogato or profiteroles, I went for the only option I really had – the only option I ever have at this place. Never mind. I was amused to find that my meal had been taken care of before the bill came for the table. You haven’t done that for a while. Things are getting out of hand again. So my timing is about perfect.

I left the restaurant quickly so that you wouldn’t get bored hanging about in the disused phone box outside. I cut through the King’s Head carpark, as always, and shot a look into the bar. I do it to try to imply that I miss working there, it’s one way to make you think we still have a connection.

Jasper barked a bit when I opened the front door, it’s lovely having him greet me when I get back, and it reassures me that the house is safe. You took up your usual position in the alleyway and I teased you from behind my net curtains as I got changed. I'll replace them with proper blinds tomorrow if all goes well tonight.

It took a while to get things just right. You can’t see into my bathroom if I drop the roller blind, especially with the lights out. Not even if you perch on a swing in the park at the back, as you have taken to doing. But there’s a perfectly positioned street light on the other side of the fence behind you, and I can see you. I let Jasper out one last time, then he settled in his bed in the kitchen. I wondered if he would kick up a fuss when it finally happened, so I closed the kitchen door behind me as I headed upstairs, switching off the lights in the usual order as if slinking into bed.

Now the house is dark and quiet I crawl from my bedroom to the bathroom, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Are you still there? Have you waited long enough? I grab my binoculars from the floor of the shower and peek out just beneath the bathroom blind. Through the open window. There you are, swinging gently in the night. You’re not looking at my house, you think I’m in bed. I put the binoculars down and reach stealthily into the bath. Smuggled into my house in a rolled-up rug some weeks ago, but loaded and left ready this morning, my father’s hunting rifle is cold to the touch.