“I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have brought you into this,” I plead with him as I pull my leggings up, the ruined panties a reminder of what we’ve just done. I try to fasten my shirt, but give up after a couple of tries. One button won’t do it. Instead I grab my coat and wrap it around me. “Sorry, I can’t,” I tell him, wiping a hand over my mouth, the tears already running in rivulets down my face. I meet his eyes. “Please, I can’t do this.”
The hurt I see in his blue-gray eyes nearly tears me apart, but I can’t back down. I can’t let him get hurt. At last, he nods and draws a deep breath. “At least let me take you home.”
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
“You will, because I’ll make sure of it. Let me grab my coat.”
Chapter 6 – Saint
The last two days have been hell. Amara didn’t say a word to me when I walked her home, only muttering a thank you when she pulled away from me at the steps to her apartment, not looking back. I felt the sting of hurt for the first time in my life, and wondered for a moment if I’d made a mistake letting myself get too involved with someone, opening up my heart like that. I knew I wasn’t good enough for her, but to have her flee the moment she found out I was just a lowly steel worker still broke my heart. I told myself it was for the best, that she was right, she deserved much better than me. I told myself to forget all about her, but how could I do that?
I’ve followed her. Fuck, I know it’s illegal, that she could take out a restraining order on me, but I can’t help myself. I’ve told myself that I’m doing it for her benefit, that if those guys in the van come back I’ll be there to protect her, but I’m not sure how much truth there is to that. I’m following her because if any other man comes within five yards of her I’ll be there to warn him off.
Am I going to make sure that if I can’t have her, nobody does? Fuck, yes, I am.
“And there are cameras that could pick out detail from that distance? Like, you could identify someone on the video?” I talk into the phone as I stand at the window of my apartment, looking out over the rooftops to where she lives.
When I got back from seeing her home, I immediately made sure that my view included where she’s living, grateful when I found out it does. I’ve watched her entering and leaving a few times a day, even took a couple of days off work so that I could keep an eye on her.
Yes, I’m sick. It’s called Amara sickness and it’s incurable.
Greg laughs. “Saint, what year is it?”
“Twenty twenty-one,” I tell him, aware that I’m being mocked but not sure how yet.
“So why do you seem to think it’s still nineteen ninety-six and digital cameras are fucking pixelated pieces of junk? Yes, there are cameras that can pick out detail from a few blocks away if you’ve got the hardware to support them. Which I know you have because I built your computer system myself. My question is, why do you need to know?”
I ignore the question. “Could you give me instructions on how to set it up?”
“Sure. Look, what’s this about? If the security on your place needs beefing up, I know a lot of people that could do it. Professionals. I heard there was an attempted kidnapping on your street a few days ago, so if you’re worried—”
“It’s nothing to do with that,” I tell him. “And you think the images should be uploaded to the sky afterwards?”
“The cloud, Saint. It’s a cloud. Jesus Christ. And yes. I’ll write down all the instructions so that even your Amish ass can get it set up. There’s an electronics store just down the street from you, they’ll have everything you need. Or, you know, I could come round and help you set it up.”
Just at that moment, I see Amara’s door open and she steps out, carrying her ice skates in one hand, and my heart skips a beat. It’s the first time I’ve seen her with them since those guys attacked her. She’s going to be teaching ice skating in the park again. I have to see her.
“Saint?”
“No. It’s fine, Greg, I’ll set it up myself. Send me the instructions.”
“Jesus, would it hurt you to say please once in a while?” He laughs. “I’ll email them. You are able to use email, right?”
“Yes, fine,” I tell him, ending the call quickly and heading for the door of my apartment.