Unwelcomed Obsession (Lily Collins)

Chapter Six

Chapter 6

The detectives told me that they would place two cop cars outside on the road. Hopefully it will be enough to deter my stalker. I sit curled up in a ball on the couch with a mug of tea in my hand. Joel said that he would spend another night with me. I wanted to say no, but I feel much better than just being here by myself with a stalker on the loose. Chewy jumps up next to me and curls up in the crook of my legs. I run a hand from his head, to his butt smoothing down his fur. I smile weakly at the sleeping pup; Houdini is curled up on the window sill as usual.

I can feel the dread growing inside me like a plague without a cure. I am terrified, and I wish that this night would never come. I feel like it is the night that I shall die, who knows maybe it is. Joel stands cooking spaghetti and tomato sauce at the stove and making a mess out of my kitchen.

He stalks over to me and grabs my hand "Mm, no. You are not a loud to sit here and mope all day, girl. Do you know how many kids in Africa are starving and diseased, or how many whales are dying every day? You missy don't have the right to mope." He says as he drags me into the kitchen.

"I could die tonight." I say quietly.

"Nope, you are not an endangered species now are you?" he says looking at me with raised eyebrows "I sure hope you're not hiding a tail in those pants." He says as he looks at my sweat pants with disgust.

"Hey, I'll have you know that these pants have served me well." I say grabbing a spoon to stir the sauce with.

"Mhm, maybe as a tent." Says Joel cracking the spaghetti into a pot.

I roll my eyes and help him chop onions.

Joel swipes a finger under his eye "I swear; Onions are the devil's creation." He says as he tosses them in the sauce pan "That and those pants of yours."

I can't help but let a laugh out. I feel a weight lift from my shoulders as I do, which makes me laugh harder.

Joel strains the spaghetti and I plop one into my mouth.

"What did your mother teach you as a child?" he asks looking at me with mock horror.

"What?" I ask looking at him confused.

"That, is not how you test spaghetti." He states flatly. He pulls a long string of spaghetti out of the strainer and throws it at my cabinet door. It sticks and just sits there on my cabinet.

Joel smiles "Oh great now I've got spaghetti on my cabinet." I say throwing my arms up. He looks at me with horror again.

"You are an animal!" he exclaims as he pulls it off the cabinet and plops it into his mouth.

He scoops out the sauce while I snatch some cups. I open my refrigerator.

"Really? Did you drink all my milk?" I say turning around with a hand still on the fridge door.

"Don't look at me," he says holding his hands up in surrender "it was Houdini."

"Biggest bull crap ever." I say giving it a second thought. That cat can pull some pretty amazing stunts.

Joel and I sit down on the couch and shove spaghetti into our mouths as we continue our Dr. Who marathon. A couple hours go by and I stand in the kitchen with a shackle on my ankle, laboring vigorously over the dishes. I hear my phone ring once and buzz. I take the towel down from the rack and dry my hand off as I go around the island and press the button on my phone. A message pops up again. I tap on the message; the sender says unknown. I glance at the text.

Dinner tonight was delicious.

I feel my pulse throb faster in my neck as another one comes in.

Spaghetti has always been my favorite, thank you sweetheart.

I feel my legs crumple like decaying bricks beneath me. I feel a tear slip past the rim on my eyes and roll down my cheek.

Who is he? What does he want? We are not dating, we're not lovers! What does he want from me!

Joel walks in and is immediately kneeling on the floor beside me.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks as he looks at me with concern.

I motion toward my phone and Joel goes through it.

"Eck, sweetheart? This man needs some serious therapy, I don't think even Dr. Oz could help him." He says as he lifts me off the floor.

"You know what you need?" he asks.

"An arsenal and four German Shepherds?" I ask weakly.

"Ha, no. A nice foot soak." He says as he flails a hand.

He sits me down on the couch before sashaying into the bathroom.

How does one even do that?

He comes back with a tub full of hot water and some bath salts.

He places the tub in front of my feet and pours in the salt.

"Holy," he says as he lifts up my foot "If I didn't know any better I would think you were older than my grandmother..."

I furrow my eyebrows "Thanks, Joel." I say as I lean against the couch and let the warm water soak into my feet and replace the dread with relaxation. I feel myself become calm, sit with my feet soaking for about fifteen minutes before going to bed.

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