Like Gravity(82)

Then, finally, things I’d never even spent a second thought on began to pop into my head, as if my brain were making quantum leaps from one seemingly random occurrence to another, too fast for me to keep up or consciously seek out the next part of the puzzle.

Snap, snap, snap, the pieces flew together, and a picture began to form…

The time I’d come home from class about a month ago to find the books on my desk slightly askew, as if someone had bumped into the furniture and accidentally knocked them out of place.

The way my appointment book, where I’d meticulously scribed all of my academic assignments, social invitations, and random thoughts, had disappeared right out of my backpack while I was in the student center killing time between classes a few weeks ago.

And, lastly, a man standing in the dark, leaning against his motorcycle and smoking a cigarette. Watching me as I sat on my rooftop in the pre-dawn hours of a chilly August night.

Could it all be connected?

Alone, none of these instances seemed like a big deal, but together? If I looked at the whole picture, if I considered them as one linked series of events, rather than single, isolated incidents…

The puzzle, though still missing some vital sections, was beginning to come together as a single, clear image: Someone was stalking me. Watching me. Trying to hurt me.

Was I crazy and overreacting? Was I paranoid?

Probably.

But once I’d opened my eyes to the possibility that this was all the work of one individual, one person who might want to hurt or scare me, I couldn’t unsee the connections my mind had forged. I couldn’t escape the ever-building, unshakeable belief that I was in danger. I could feel it in my bones, like a sixth sense or some innate defense mechanism; every atom in my body was screaming at me to run, hide, take shelter somewhere far away.

I didn’t know what – who – I was supposed to be running from, but from that moment on, I began to live my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. Finn knew; he could read me too well. We were lying in my bed one night, about a week after the attack. The sheets were a tangled mess around our bodies and he was strumming his guitar softly, humming under his breath as he played.

“You okay?” he asked when his fingers had settled into stillness.

“Fine,” I lied, staring up at the painted stars on my ceiling.

“You can tell me, you know.” He set aside his guitar, rolling over so we were lying face to face. “Anything.”

“I know,” I leaned in to kiss him softly, possessively, as was becoming my habit. I’d never had the opportunity to be soft, unhurried, with someone before; never experienced that gentle intimacy and familiarity of routine. It was so new, to kiss just for the sake of kissing; a kiss that leads nowhere, with no further intentions than to meet that person’s lips with your own, simply because you can.

“I’ll tell you soon. Promise,” I assured him. There was no use lying and pretending that everything was fine. He’d see straight through me, as he always had.

His brow furrowed and he opened his mouth, as if in preparation of saying something important. He stared at my face so intently I began to grow uneasy. After a small infinity of silence, though, his mouth snapped closed and he swallowed roughly, his eyes as distant as his thoughts.

Whatever he’d been about to tell me, he’d evidently decided to keep to himself. And as much as I would’ve liked to pry the thoughts from his lips, I knew that would be utterly hypocritical. After all, I was keeping my own secrets – who was I to force him to share his own before he was ready?

“I have a surprise for you,” he said instead, reaching over to grab an envelope from the nightstand. The playful light came back into his eyes and the tense moment passed as soon as he placed it in my hands.

Finn’s ‘surprise’ consisted of two tickets to the Charlottesville County Fair, an annual mecca of amusement rides, food stands, and carnival games that passed through the area for two weeks every November. The passes were for tomorrow – my birthday.

He’d known, without me ever mentioning a thing. I shouldn’t have even been surprised.

“Lexi?” I asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

He laughed. “Yeah, she did me the honor of informing me that my girlfriend is a bit birthday-phobic. But I already knew it was your birthday.” His voice was smug.

“How?” I asked skeptically.

He shrugged, grinning in an infuriatingly cute way. “I know everything.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, but couldn’t hold onto my mock anger when he pounced on me and began assaulting my sides with relentless tickle torture. I writhed on the bed, desperate to escape and borderline hyperventilating at his onslaught. Only when tears were leaking from the corners of my eyes and my threats had escalated beyond simple bodily harm, to promises of fatal retribution did he release me.

“I…hate….you,” I gasped for breath between each word, rolling as far away from him on the bed as I could get.

“Liar,” he laughed, rolling on top of me so I was pinned beneath him.

I glared at him, my chest still heaving as I pulled in gulps of air.

He looked down at me and kissed the tip of my nose.

“Happy Birthday, Bee,” he murmured, before his lips descended on mine and I forgot all about being mad at him.

***

“Come on,” I begged.