He Sees You When You're Sleeping

by Alta Hensley

“Was trying to get the path cleared before the mailman comes. Didn’t think I’d be taking a tumble.” I glance over at my shoveled walkway. There is hardly a speck of snow on mine courtesy of the landlord. Why in the hell he’d shovel my side in our row of connected town houses and not Mr. Haven’s makes no sense.

I’ve memorized her schedule, her mannerisms, the way her eyes light up when she’s truly excited about a piece. It’s become an obsession, watching her jewelry videos late into the night, my phone screen illuminating my face in the darkness of my apartment. Except for the times, like now, that I stand outside her window in the cold. Watching. Obsessing. Stalking.

I promise myself that this will be the last time I come around to watch her from afar. But deep down inside, I know that’s a lie. Chloe Hallman is my drug.

I hate to admit it, because I truly do love Sloane and her designs, but Hailey’s jewelry is much more my style. It’s gothic in nature. Collars, chokers, metal and raw. It’s a blend of BDSM club and Victorian elegance that speaks to my soul in a way Moth to the Flame’s more mainstream pieces never quite manage. Her jewelry feeds the alter ego inside of me.

Gone is the polished influencer in her secondhand blazer and knockoff heels. In her place emerges Chlo—edgy, daring, and unapologetically herself.

I watch her from afar, collecting these precious details like a fucked-up psycho hoarding shiny trinkets.

Something about seeing Tyler in the coffee shop touching Chloe didn’t sit well with me. Could it be because I wanted to tie him to a coffee shop chair and slowly chop his hand off with a butter knife? Maybe.

I want to admit that I was the one working the scene that night. That I was the firefighter who pulled her parents’ bodies from the wreckage. That I held her shaking hand as I got her into the ambulance. That I went to the hospital after my shift to check on her and have watched over her ever since.

“Wanna know a secret? I happen to like dark,” he says, his eyes connecting with mine. Jesus. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the sudden spark of electricity between us. “Dark, huh? Be careful what you wish for, Jack.” He holds my gaze, his expression turning serious. “I’m not afraid of the dark. Or of you.”

You want a man who doesn’t ask. He just does. You want a man who takes control, who knows what you need before you even realize it yourself. I see a woman who craves intensity. Who wants to be pushed to her limits, to experience everything life has to offer. But I also see someone who’s afraid. Afraid of losing control, of being truly vulnerable.

Yup, I’m going to hell on a sleigh ride. I’m double-fisting my ticket to hell.

What have I done? For two years, I’ve been living a lie. But now, faced with the consequences, I see the truth. I’m not her guardian angel. I’m her nightmare.

“He’s not in love with me. He’s obsessed. There’s a difference.” “I want the insane asylum kind of love.”