-Blake-
Jordan seemed to be doing just fine. I had watched him for a few hours, admiring his looks and delicate frame, until he went to sleep. When I finally had started moving, it was almost midnight. Now I knew he was doing fine. Now I could move on, and start all over in another city, far away from here. I had fetched my bag, exited the neighborhood, and when the morning arrived, I bought a ticket for the first bus leaving the city. I couldn't wait to get out of here.
"Why isn't he coming downstairs?" I muttered, peering through the binoculars, studying the Simmons family while they were having breakfast.
Okay, yeah – I never got on that bus.
I was now officially obsessed over Jordan Simmons. I had bought as much food as I could carry on my way back to my camp. I also had a nice little tent now, hidden under thick branches by a small, rocky cliff behind me. I had bought some magazines and other stuff to pass my time with, and a warmer set of clothes in case the weather turned bad.
It wasn't even that cold to sleep outside, not yet. I had enough time to find a warmer place to spend my winter. That was the reason I had planned the Simmons heist in the first place. I usually spent the coldest months somewhere warm, but I needed a lot of money to do so. The risk of getting caught grew every time I stole something or robbed someone, so when I was planning on staying in one place for a couple of months, I had to make a few bigger heists somewhere else. There was still a month or two before it would get really cold, so I had some time to spare.
I knew I was being a stalker, but Jordan was way more interesting than any jewel I had ever seen, and I had to say, the entire Simmons family fascinated me. I really was too curious for my own good. I wanted to know why I hadn't seen Jordan even once during the time I was camping on the hill. I'd been watching the house carefully, but I hadn't seen any signs of his existence. So what the hell?
I was determined to learn his secret, and I wasn't going to take my eyes off the house until I knew the answer. I would find out everything there was to know about Jordan, no matter what. There was also another thing bothering me. It was obvious the Simmons were broke, so why did they live in an expensive neighborhood, in an expensive house?
"Here comes George..." I muttered, turning to look at an older car approaching the house.
Every morning that old man came to the house, usually bringing food with him. He was the one who answered the door and helped the family around the house. Wasn't that exactly what a butler would do? He was always dressed neatly, just like the butlers in movies did. I'd found a framed photograph of him with Mrs. Simmons on her graduation day, kissing her on the check. It was easy to tell it was the same man since he had a few moles on his face. George here had to be Mrs. Simmons' father.
"Mistake number one," I sighed, and put down the binoculars. "Never assume anything."
I had been too busy admiring Mrs. Simmons' jewelry to make sure they were actual diamonds. I had assumed her father was a butler because of how he looked. Now I understood he brought groceries every morning because the family couldn't afford it.
I turned my attention back to the house. The maid was upstairs, cleaning the floors. She was probably the only one who was still getting paid, and it was bothering me. I wanted to know how they could afford to pay her. Unless she was doing it for free?
Everything about this whole thing bothered me. Why did things go so badly wrong with my plan? How could they still seem so rich, even though they couldn't even afford food?
But it was Jordan who bothered me the most.
What was with the third floor? What was his deal? Why had I not seen him even once? Why didn't I know he lived there? Was he grounded? Was he one of those who couldn't go outside at all? Did he have some kind of deadly sickness? Was that why I'd never seen him downstairs, or anyone else going up to him?
"Aww crap..." I sighed.
Was that beautiful man dying? The third floor was technically a fully equipped apartment. There was everything he could possibly need to live the rest of his life without stepping outside even once. Mrs. Simmons had often said she wished she could see him... If he lived right there on the third floor...?
Was he actually dying? Did I make things worse for him?
That thought brought down my mood so hard I shivered. I really wished I was wrong, but what else could explain everything? Jordan seemed thin and pale, and he had fainted. I really wished I hadn't made things worse for him by walking in his home. I had heard of people who had no immunity against diseases, and even simple flu could kill them. God knows how many germs I had brought with me into Jordan's home.
Another thing bothered me about him. I'd been in their home, and Jordan saw me. I wasn't sure if Jordan had called the cops on me, but no one in the family seemed scared or worried or even upset – almost like they didn't even know I'd been there. Knowing that someone had broken into their home, even when nothing was stolen, usually made people scared. The Simmons family didn't look shaken at all. I had assumed they would be panicking right about now, but... nothing.
Was it possible that Jordan hadn't told anyone about me? Had he hit his head when he fainted and couldn't remember me at all? Maybe?
There were so many questions, and I needed answers. I'd go nuts trying to figure out this family if I didn't even try to find out what was going on.
*****
I patiently waited for the sun to set, keeping my eyes on the family. No one did anything unusual. Mr. Simmons came home late and locked himself in his office to yell on the phone. He looked really stressed and pissed, and I assumed it was all about money again.
Mrs. Simmons was in her office, looking miserable and tired while going over her papers. She always had a lot of paperwork. After seeing the huge piles of documents and pay-checks on her desk, I didn't wonder why. It seemed like the CEO herself was also the accountant and the secretary. I felt bad for her, knowing she spent every minute of her day trying to keep her business from falling apart.
Joyce was allowed to leave the house again, and I spotted her packing her work uniform in her bag before she left the house. I couldn't blame her for partying so hard. Someone at her age should still be in school, not working to help support her family. She really needed to blow off some steam.
Jamie, on the other hand, seemed to be quite a happy little girl. I had the feeling she didn't even understand how bad their situation was. She was in her room, doing homework with her friend, probably chatting about ponies again.
They all were busy minding their own business, so I hid my stuff under the shrubbery and started sneaking down the hill. Soon, I ran across the yard and dove under the bushes near the corner of the house, and after taking a look around, climbed the vine. I stopped to a halt when I reached the cameras and took a closer look at them. I hesitated before touching the other one.
"Fake," I sighed and smothered the urge to laugh.
There were tiny holes in the wall around the base of the fake camera where the real one had once been. This was clearly a children's toy, made of fragile plastic. I had to admit that whoever had come up with the idea of installing the fake cameras was a genius. They looked real from the distance, and burglars would think twice before approaching the house, just like I had.
I climbed on the roof and sneaked all the way to the third-floor balcony. I ran the last few steps and jumped. A couple of seconds later, I pulled myself over the railing and landed behind the flowerpots without making a sound. I took a quick look around to make sure I was alone on the balcony before peering through the glass walls.
Jordan was standing right on the other side, painting something. I kneeled down behind the huge pots, unable to take my eyes from his slender body. His long hair was in a thick braid, resting on his shoulder and chest. He never looked away from his painting.
My God, he is beautiful...
It was the highlight of my long and boring day at the hill. I could not understand how someone could look so beautiful. His purple eyes were odd, fascinating and stunning. I had never seen anyone with such eyes before. I'd never even heard of anyone having purple eyes, not until I met Jordan.
Jordan looked calm and peaceful as he painted. Last time I saw him, he'd seemed restless and nervous, but now he was the complete opposite. He moved his brush slowly on the canvas, his delicate fingers holding onto it lightly. His eyes followed the long lines he was creating, and he was muttering something to himself.
I was supposed to be finding out more about him, but I just couldn't rip my eyes off him for long enough to see the apartment. Once again, I had a strong urge to go talk to him, but I managed to keep myself in line. I almost wished I had never met Jordan. I'd be free to go if I hadn't. I'd sworn to myself to never fall for anyone, but here I was, risking everything just to see this man again.
*****
Three days I spent on that hill, and three nights I spent on the third-floor balcony of the Simmons' house. I hadn't exactly discovered any new secrets the family had. Maybe I would've if I paid any attention to them, but I was too busy watching Jordan.
Every night I climbed on his balcony, and every time Jordan was painting when I arrived. I was a bit ashamed since it took me a couple of days before I noticed how punctual he was. No... Punctual wasn't a strong enough word to describe his behavior.
Jordan always finished painting exactly at eight every evening and started making something to eat. He always ate slowly, nibbling his food half-heartedly like he didn't actually want to eat. After that, he sat down in front of his desk and waited for his mother to call him. After I started paying attention to his routine, I realized he was practically a slave for his clock.
He wasn't just punctual. His evenings repeated themselves over and over again, and he didn't seem to miss anything, not even by a second. After he finished talking with his mother, he started reading a book. He would read until it was 8:59, and then put the book down to get into his bathroom. He spent thirty minutes in the shower, then stepped out again, dressed in his pajamas, and headed to his bedroom.
Every single night, Jordan repeated the same pattern. I was almost sure he was obsessed because there was no way he could've done everything the same way, at the same time every day, by coincidence. But, I had known people, crazy people, who had obsessive behaviors, and Jordan wasn't the craziest of them. I didn't mind his behavior, and I was pretty sure I could live with his obsession.
"Fool! Stop thinking such stupid things!" I snapped at myself.
Lately, I had started thinking about relationships way too often. I started feeling more and more trapped by each passing day, but I couldn't stop myself. I was helplessly falling for the purple-eyed beauty in front of me.
It was Thursday evening, and once more, I climbed onto the third-floor balcony. I knew awfully well how careless I had become. Earlier that day, I had left the neighborhood to get more food. Every time I had to do that increased the risk of me getting caught. I was acting more reckless as well. I wasn't afraid of the fake cameras anymore, and I hardly remembered the neighbors still had real ones. I was in a hurry to see Jordan, so I didn't have time to be cautious.
I turned to look for him without even bothering to check if there was someone else in the balcony. There never was. Jordan was painting again, looking as beautiful as ever. A content sigh escaped my lips when I was finally able to see him after the long day. I was getting obsessed over him, I knew that, but even though I was happy to see him, it also made me a bit sad.
There was no way I could just go and knock on his door. How on earth could I ever explain why I was on his balcony? He'd call the cops faster than I could jump down, and after that, I'd never be able to return. That thought alone kept me from doing anything stupid.
But... I knew I had to stop coming back. There was no point in coming back again and again. I would never be able to talk with him, and I was only torturing myself by coming to see him. Besides, I really wanted to stay free, even though I didn't remember it right now, and in order to do so, I had to move on.
I turned to look at the flowers next to me. They were white roses, and I had grown attached to their scent. I touched one of them, the silky petals reminding me of Jordan's hair. I wanted to take that rose with me, but it would only wither and die if I did. That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted it to bloom and bring beauty into this cold, damp world.
I sighed and slowly turned to look at Jordan. For the last time. I wasn't coming back ever again. I had to move on because I would only wither away if I stayed, tormented by the man I could only watch, but never speak to.
If only I could take something with me, something to remind me of Jordan, something that belonged to him. I also wished to leave a letter or a card to tell him I was sorry for scaring him the night I had invaded their home. Part of me wanted Jordan to know I had been there, watching him. At that moment, I felt like a ghost. As far as Jordan knew, I didn't exist. There was no proof he even remembered me, and that thought made me even more miserable.
At that moment, I truly hated being invisible. I had never been bothered by loneliness, but now I had to admit, I was lonely. I had never before yearned for company as much as I did now. For the first time ever, I wondered what it would be like to have something permanent. Someone permanent.
"Time to go," I breathed out, knowing that if I stayed any longer, I wouldn't be able to go.
It was time to move on, or I would lose my mind. Whenever I felt like having a home and a lawnmower wasn't such a bad idea, I knew it was time to leave. Relationships were traps, and I had learned that the hard way. I would forget all about that place and Jordan in time, and I'd be glad I chose to stay free.
With that thought in my mind, I stood up and turned my back on Jordan. I grabbed the railing, getting ready to jump over it. I wanted to take one last look at him, so I turned around.
"Oh, shit..."
Of course Jordan had decided to look out of the glass walls right when I stood up! Even though it was dark outside, the lights in the room were bright enough to illuminate the whole balcony as well, and it was obvious he could see me perfectly.
He stared at me with wide eyes, holding a palette and a paintbrush in midair.
"Don't scream, please don't scream..." I muttered.
And he didn't. Jordan backed away from the wall, still holding the palette and the brush in his hands. His purple eyes never left mine, not even when his back hit the wall on the other side of the room.
I had lost my ability to move. I was still squeezing the railing tightly with shaky hands. Suddenly, my body was filled with adrenaline and I was ready to run, but at the same time I wasn't sure if I could actually run. I was almost too shocked to even think about running.
"Now what...?"
-Jordan-
I had lost my mind. I had finally lost my mind. There was a man standing on my balcony. That was not right. That was simply impossible! I must've been seeing things after spending so long painting, but no matter how many times I blinked, the man was still there.
My heart was racing, and my breathing grew faster by each passing second, but since I had taken a few extra sedatives during the past couple of days, I didn't feel like I was going to faint. The man wasn't technically in my rooms and the door of my balcony was locked, so technically, I wasn't in any danger.
But why was the man there! How on earth had he gotten on my balcony?! Why did he look as scared as I felt? How long had he been there? Why, oh why, was he there?! He was standing right at the farmost corner of the balcony where...
"The flower pots..." I muttered.
The man was standing right where the two flowerpots had been moved. Had he moved them? Had I seen him standing there before fainting a couple of nights ago?
He's a stalker!
But how had he gotten on the balcony? There was nothing to use as a ladder anywhere near it! And why on earth was he there?!
Breathe... Just breathe... I told myself.
The man stepped away from the railing, keeping his eyes on mine, coming closer to the window. I started feeling dizzy. I was sure the strange man didn't have anything good in his mind. No one climbed onto people's balconies with good intentions!
The man stopped right next to the wall and lifted his hand. I expected to see a gun or a knife, but his hand was empty, and he...
Is he waving at me?!
He was waving at me. He had a small smile on his lips when he said something, but obviously, I couldn't hear him. Although, it looked like he was trying to say, 'hi'.
It was so weird I forgot to panic. I had no idea what to do. The man opened his mouth again, and I was pretty sure he was saying he was sorry. Why was he sorry? For stalking and scaring me? Simple sorry didn't quite cut it! Who was he anyway? Had he been there before? If so, how many times? It had seemed like he was about to leave when I spotted him moving behind the flowerpots.
The situation wasn't going anywhere, so I gathered all my courage and took a firmer grip of my paintbrush, holding it in front of me like a weapon, however irrational that was.
"What do you want?" I yelled at him, but he tilted his head with a frown, clearly indicating he didn't hear me.
I took a quick look around. I didn't know what I expected to see. Someone else? A camera crew? Surely, I was being pranked! But, since my rooms were as empty as ever, I turned my eyes back to the stranger on my balcony. I took a better grip on my palette and used the brush to write four words on it with the remaining paint.
"What do you want?" I read it out loud, showing the text to the man.
The man gave me an apologetic grin and shrugged. I didn't believe him, so I shook the palette again, trying to look demanding. The man sighed and scratched the back of his head, looking embarrassed.
I stopped to take a deep breath, trying to calm down from the shock. I still wasn't sure if I believed my own eyes, but even after rubbing them, the man was still there. I wasn't seeing things, and I had to let that information sink in. There was a man on my balcony. Alrighty then.
He didn't seem to be going anywhere either. He just stood there and... watched me. Then it occurred to me I probably should be speaking with cops right about now, but I...
I turned to glance at my phone. I should just call the cops since no matter what his reason was for being in my balcony, it was still illegal. I turned to face the man. He had a careful look on his face and he, too, glanced at my phone. When our eyes met, I turned away, taking a deep breath.
Why wasn't I freaking out?
I had no idea what got into me, and why was I staying so calm. I didn't even realize taking a careful step closer to my unfinished painting. The man outside didn't move a muscle, so I took another step. When nothing happened, I slowly made my way to the painting and removed it from the rack. I had another frame leaning on the wall with an empty canvas on it. I picked it up and placed it on the rack.
"Who are you?" I wrote on the canvas and turned to look at the man, making sure he saw my question.
He pointed at himself and said something that looked like 'bleagh'. I tilted my head, and a name popped in my mind immediately.
"Blake?" I repeated.
The young man Mom had taken to the hospital almost two weeks ago had that same name.
"What do you want," I asked, making sure he understood me.
The man started speaking, waving his hands, but I couldn't hear him or understand him. I gestured for him to shut up with a sigh. The man, Blake, fell silent as well, and soon he pointed at the door with a careful look on his face.
"Oh, hell no," I shook my head. "You're probably a murderer or a rapist or both..."
The man gave me a small smile, and I grabbed the brush again. I turned to the white canvas and wrote a new question on it.
'How did you end up on my balcony?'
Once I was finished writing the words, I turned around again to see his reaction.
But the balcony was empty. The man was gone.