Ill Be Watching You 1

"I'll be watching you", I say. I listen, to the silence. You finally respond.

"What does that mean?"

"I'm going to watch over you, maybe for days."

"Why?"

"So I don't talk to you. So I don't obsess." I speak my mind, my fear.

"Oh." You hesitate. "I still don't know what that means."

"No. But I'll teach you." I hang up the phone.

You go to the window of your apartment and look out. You can feel me but I'm not there.

The next day, you walk out to your car, to make the commute to work and you see a figure, a glimpse but then its gone. Who was it, was it me? The thought lingers with you until lunch, you reject offers and walk out alone. This time you do see me, clearly. I'm standing at the end of a block near your office. People walk by me, glancing at the odd man standing still, staring down the way at you. You start towards me but I turn and cross the street and vanish. Your phone rings.

"I'm watching you." I say, my flat American accent tingles in your ear.

You smile and touch two fingers to your lips, remembering the kiss, the last time we met, when I had you, making love, taking you to bed...and now this, this oddity, this strangeness. "I'll be watching you." I say and then I'm gone. You don't even speak, don't have words and the silence in your mind makes you shiver.

You look for me the next morning, at lunch, but then, driving home, you see me standing on the curb as you ease past, sealed in the clutches of traffic but you see me...watching you as you sit waiting for the light to change to release you into the torrent of the evening rush hour. The light changes and you leave me behind.

Your phone rings.

"I'm watching you." I say. "Don't talk on the phone and drive." I'm gone again.

The next day, no contact but now, now you're glancing at every shadow, studying every face, checking every reflected glint of light. I'm in your head. Another day passes and the sharp attention dulls until you are at lunch and your number is called for pickup and before you can rise from your seat, I'm there handing you your tray. You take it, looking up at me. I don't speak. I smile slightly and after a pause when neither of us moves, I leave, walking through the crush, out the door and away. Your phone rings.

"I'm watching you." I say.

"Wait." You say.

"Yes, my Rachel?" I respond.

You can't speak. You don't speak. It's like there's something in your throat and you can't get around it to make the words but that's wrong too...you have no words, so twice silent.

"I thought so." I say and I'm gone.

The next day, you're in the market, preoccupied with food and you look up from the half filled cart and there I am at the end of an aisle. You stop, staring at me staring at you. You don't know what to do. I move out of sight. Everywhere you go, I'm there, at the end of an aisle but you seem never able to draw closer and each time you see me, you feel the draw, the need, growing up in you, welling up like a spring, flowing. You're wet and you know it.

When the groceries are sacked you start to lift them but there I am, at your side, picking up the sacks from the cart and holding them. I jerk my head and you walk, I follow you to your car. You open the back door and I put them on the seat, arrange them and then walk away. You close the door. The thunk stops me and I turn back. I take out my phone and yours rings.

"I'm watching you." I say from a dozen meters away. I lower my phone before you can speak, turn and saunter away. Then I turn back. "I am in your head." I say into the phone, which you hear because yours is pressed too tightly against your ear. "Every breath you take."

"Every move you make", the words hum in you mind but Sting is singing them, not me. I turn a corner and I'm gone.

The next night, out for a meeting, you walk to your car, alone in the car park and you see a shadow, some movement, flitting and then gone, flitting and then gone. Tension touches you then returns. Is it me? Or are you being foolish? Tempting fate?

You are at your car when the hand clasps your mouth and you feel your body pulled back against a man, you know because there is a cock, hard against you. You struggle but my hand covers your mouth. I hold you tight before speaking.

"Can't you see? You belong to me." My voice is in your ear, my breath is hot on your skin. The touch of my hand on your face excites you. You're wet, aroused, needy, and then I'm gone. You see me walking through a splash of light and then I turn into a shadow, the suggestion of motion and then nothing, like a lost thought, I vanish.

You drive home, aroused, puzzled, panting for more...contact, more of my skin on yours. You prepare for bed, lay down to sleep and do, a dream rouses you. But not a dream. You see movement against the drapes in your bedroom and your body goes cold, a shiver runs through you.

"Rachel, its me." I whisper in the darkness, a disembodied voice that touches you like a caress. "Every smile you fake, every vow you break, I'll be watching you." My voice is there, real, rough in the night air. Then only silence. You press a hand between your legs, waiting for me, wanting me. The silence stretches.

"Hello? Jeff?" You whisper. Nothing. The stillness answers you as it can, so with nothing and not at all. You heard no sound at all. The next day you are exhausted. Every move you make feels like scrutiny, my eyes on you, me with you.

Days pass. Your patience is at an end. You call me. Your call goes to voice mail. You come round to my flat. If I am home I don't answer your knock or the bell. You even try to peek in the window but you see nothing.

"Rachel?" The voice from behind you startles you. You turn to face me. "Kneel for me." I say, my voice flat, empty.

You kneel, settling to your knees without a thought. It's like you've emerged from a deep dive in the ocean and just as your lungs are about to burst, you gain the surface and the air there. But when you lift your head, I'm gone, evaporated like the need you'd felt that brought you to my door. On your knees, you are calm, but when you rise, the twist in your gut returns. You belong to me...that's how it feels.

You go back to work, embarrassed, uneasy, unsettled. You work late, you go home, you open the door to your apartment and you slip inside.

"Not the light." I say. I'm sitting in the square chair you hate because the back is too low but you keep it because it is just right for bending over to be mounted. I've had you there, in your apartment, bent over that chair and you remember that feeling when you look at the homely chair, so you keep it, unable to part with it or replace it with something better because there is nothing better.

"Sir?" Your voice is thick but soft. The tingle on your skin soaks into you.

"You belong to me." I say.

You hiss through your teeth, sucking at the air.

"Take off your clothes. Be naked for me."

You strip. You don't feel hurried, but you are methodical and in moments you stand naked in your apartment. You can see me, sitting in that chair, a leg crossed over the other knee.

"Come." I say.

You're confused, not sure of my meaning, of my intent.

"I mean, come here." My voice holds amusement. "Sit by me. You're mine." I whisper. Naked, you sink down beside me. I move my leg so my knees are available to you. You put a hand on my knee and then lean into me, your left breast brushes the stiff khaki and a jolt runs through your body. You hug my knee, pressing your torso against it.

"I'm wet, Sir." You whisper. You feel my hand stroke your hair, petting you, scratching your scalp.

"You're mine." I whisper. "You belong to me."