Disclaimer
Neither the characters nor the story are of my property, they belong to their respective authors.
This story is a dark stalker romance with extreme dubious situations.
Please proceed with caution.
Itachi
My little Petal leads such a boring life it should've turned me off — yesterday or the day before that.
Or the day I first saw her less than a week ago.
It hasn't.
Here I am opposite her shabby building. The walls are badly chipped, as if they haven't been painted since the place was built.
The security level is next to shit. Anyone can come in and out of that building without any problem. Even the guard is an alcoholic who pours vodka into his juice at ten in the morning.
I know because I watched. Correction. I've been watching for the past few days.
Since she smiled at me in that innocent, yet fake way, I haven't been able to get my little Petal out of my head.
It's not from the lack of trying.
I would rather be focusing on my next job, tracking Senju's heir and finishing his miserable life, but no. Every morning, when my night research is done, I find myself here or at the hospital.
Hisame Roga took her daughter and left town as I told her to. After that, I had no reason to go back to the hospital or to stand near the parking lot, hovering over an ugly Honda, waiting for the one who drove it.
I followed Petal to her house that first day. Yesterday, I signed for the apartment right across from her apartment's balcony. Mine is a newer and bigger building.
Finding a new apartment was one of my priorities anyway. I don't live in one place for more than a few months. Being a creature of habit will only give my enemies a sure way to find and kill me.
Tobirama Senju isn't feared because of his wealth and his power, he's feared because he kills efficiently and without hesitation.
Or rather, I do.
The reason Tobirama's enemies never catch up with him is because they can never catch up with me.
And not from the lack of trying. The moment they find me, my storage, my weapons, I've already moved along.
I've been called detached and cold. I would say I'm efficient. I get the job done better than anyone in my field and then move along.
Now, I live in this two-bedroom apartment that I forced the college student who used to live here to evacuate in twenty-four hours. I offered him the apartment downtown that Tobirama had given me a few years ago. I never used it and I have no interest to.
Tobirama's shit was never my shit. I'm just paying him back the debt I owe. He pulled me from the clutches of death a long time ago and it's with death that I repay him.
My apartment is opposite Petal's but a little above hers so the view from my balcony is straight into her living room — if you can call it that.
Her blinds are open as she crouches and feeds her cat. Two, actually.
Someone is a cat lady.
A cat lady with a fake smile and little to no friends.
There's something curious about Petal. The way she moves, how she talks to people, how she slips out at the end of her shift. It's like she's invisible, and the only way she makes herself visible is by thinning her lips and smiling in that fake way.
Fake smile.
Fake existence.
"What are you hiding, my little Petal?" I retrieve my binoculars and sit on the chair on my balcony with only the darkness as my companion.
She must be hiding something, or she wouldn't have been so efficient at faking, at choosing to be invisible.
It's a little over seven and she just returned from her shift. After she feeds her cats, she'll prepare herself dinner, watch crime shows on Netflix, then read something or go through her laptop and then sleep.
It's the first time I'll get to watch the routine from this perfect position and not through her building's fire escape, where I barely got any view to her living room.
She says something to her cats as they eat. Hmm. I might have to figure out a way to listen in on her.
Or I might forget the fuck about her and move on with my life. How about that?
I readjust the binoculars as she continues talking to her cats with a small smile on her lips as if they're humans. She does that, talking to her cats, which means she's not as lonely as I predicted — it's way fucking worse.
She has two friends at the hospital, the Russian and the Chinese. But even when she's with them, she's still a lonely little Petal.
The cats don't even acknowledge her, one is licking itself and the other is busy eating.
She kisses them both on the head as she shimmies out of her blouse and heads in the direction of the bedroom.
Usually, my observation through the fire escape would finish in the living room, with that little cocktease of her unbuttoning her blouse.
Today, though, I redirect the binoculars toward her bedroom window. She stands in the middle of the room in front of her closet in only black bra and colorful cotton panties.
Her skin appears paler under the white light. The curve of her full tits, creamy and engorged, push against her bra, giving a porn-level view. She has curves that she managed to hide well with those unflattening scrubs. Sometimes, she wears them from home, as if needing the camouflage.
Well, well, my little Petal. What are you hiding from?
She digs into her closet and I expect her to retrieve those pajamas with cats on them. No kidding, she has multiple kitten pajamas.
Instead of her usual home clothes, she retrieves jeans and blouses, then dresses and sweaters.
Petal never goes out, so this is a break from the norm. She'd usually be curled up with a book or cradling her laptop.
She tries several items of clothes against herself as she stands in front of the mirror but soon throws them away. I wonder how that firm ass would look in jeans.
I readjust my cock as she tries one thing after the other against her half-naked body.
One thing's for certain. I need to either fuck her or kill her soon, so I can get the release.
Or I can do both.
It all depends on what she's hiding behind those green eyes and fake smile.
If she's been wasting my time this entire week, she's getting a bullet to her head and someone will have to adopt her ungrateful cats.
She settles on a little black dress, twirling while she holds it to her body. Interesting. She can do that just like any other woman, my fake little Petal.
She digs into a drawer and pulls out a set of white lace lingerie.
White lace.
My cock hardens, but it's out of the hot red anger going through it rather than the view.
Who the fuck is she wearing lingerie for?
She unclasps her black bra and her breasts fall free with a gentle bounce. The soft pink areolas are tipped with semi-erect nipples, begging to be sucked, pinched, bitten.
Petal hides them all too soon with the white bra, then shimmies out of her cotton panties. Her pussy is smooth with a few hairs disappearing between her thighs. My cock pushes against my pants with the need to plunge inside that pussy, claim it and claim her, then get her out of my fucking system.
She pulls the new panties up way too soon, as if she feels me watching her, which isn't remotely possible. She'd have to look from her window and have killer sight. I'm sitting in the darkness and she's in the light.
Darkness never bothered me. If anything, it provided the shadows I needed to go unnoticed.
Petal stares at the mirror again, her brows furrowing as she admires her new lingerie.
White.
Why the fuck is it white? Does she think she's some sort of angel being unboxed?
She throws the dress over her head. It has a low neckline and it's tight at her stomach and falls to above her knees. Appearing satisfied with her dress for the night, she releases her hair, letting it fall in pink waves to her back.
My little Petal never releases her hair, not even in her house when she's alone. I didn't even know it was that long.
She sits in front of her mirror and applies lipstick and mascara and ends the ritual by spraying perfume all around her.
What smell is it?
I don't ever get close enough to smell her, but she always gave the impression of hospital smell; cold and impersonal. Just like all those fucking fake smiles.
She buzzes someone through to her apartment while my blood boils. I don't see the son of a bitch, but I can already imagine cutting him up.
I have to know who the fuck she's wearing that lingerie for.