My Husband, My Stalker

By: Jessa Kane


Maybe I should have tried to work a real job. If I’d done so, who knows how long this ruse might have lasted? But I know deep down, I never would have been able to maintain it. This need to follow my wife, to watch her every move, owns me. Working behind a desk and indulging this obsession with Jolie could never have happened simultaneously.

I’m had.

I’m caught.

I saw the knowledge in her eyes that something is wrong and I can’t lie to her anymore. This conscience she inflicted on me won’t allow for it. The guilt gnaws at me now every time we’re together. I have to come clean and hope like hell she doesn’t hate me.

What if she does?

With that question lingering in my mind, I drive another two miles and turn in to a familiar parking lot. One of the places I come when I’m supposed to be selling insurance.

Self-storage.

It’s a stucco, five-story building filled with ten-by-ten units.

I park my car and go inside, as if I don’t see her pulling into the lot. As if this heart, the one I didn’t realize I possessed until I saw her, is about to shatter.

The door to the main building is open, only the inside units are locked, so I enter quickly and wait below the first stairwell. It’s not lost on me that I’m treating my wife like one of my targets and it fills me with self-loathing. So much that I slam my head into the cinderblock wall while lying in wait, welcoming the rush of pain. The blood that wells up and trickles down my forehead—and then, there she is.

Stepping carefully into the humid hallway, her beautiful eyes searching for the husband she should have been able to trust. She walks down to the end of the first floor, clearly searching for an unlocked storage unit, but when she doesn’t find one, she returns, approaching the staircase to try the next floor.

Her lilac scent hits me on her way up the stairs and I breathe it in hungrily from the shadows, before emerging and coming up behind her quickly.

I clap a hand over her mouth to cut off her scream.

“Hi honey.” I kiss her neck. “If you’re looking for my unit, it’s on the second floor.”

She starts to shake and I don’t blame her.

I’m a monster, after all.

One she’s unknowingly been feeding with her body, her love, her trust.

I walk her up the stairs and guide her into my unit, pressing the code on the wall, a mechanical whir filling the air as the metal door peels open and reveals what must look like her worst nightmare. My theory is confirmed when she makes a sound inside my cupped palm and starts to struggle. “Jolie, please.” Her fear of me makes my chest feels like it’s caving in. “I’m not kidnapping you. You have nothing to be scared of from me. I would fucking die before hurting you. If nothing else, you have to believe that, okay? Please.”

I try to see the room from Jolie’s eyes. The pictures of her taped to the wall, shots of her leaving the supermarket. Hundreds of photos of her sleeping, showering, exercising. There are news clippings regarding her kidnapping. Some pieces of her clothing, including panties that I’ve stolen so I could touch them unseen. Hold them to my face. Use them on my cock.

And then there’s the guns.

A wall of them, neatly lined in racks. Ammunition, silencers, ski masks.

She’s gone eerily still and that scares me more than anything.

Explain. You have to try and make her understand.

“I saw you on the news. I saw you, so brave and beautiful, and I had to get closer. Had to make contact. Know everything. Protect you. And then…we met and I was right. This fire, this love between us is real. You feel it too. I never expected it to move so fast. I thought we would date and I would make myself change. That maybe I could learn to feel for you the normal way men feel about women, but every second…” I exhale roughly against her temple, draw her back more securely to my chest. “Every time you breathe, I grow a little more obsessed. It’s something I can’t stop.”

Jolie whimpers. Which tells me nothing. Nothing.

“Can I take my hand off your mouth?”

She nods.

With a deep breath, I drop my hand away.

My wife turns and punches me in the face. Hard.

Her knee jerks up and comes within an inch of my groin, before I block it.

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