Sillage, noun
The scent that lingers in the air, the trace of someone’s perfume.
I was addicted to her, and there was no point in denying it anymore.
That morning, I called a man who I worked with on occasion. Flint Meyers used to be a journalist, but now he spent his days finding out shit for rich people. Mostly women trying to find out whether their husband was having an affair. But I used him for background checks on the girls I fucked, and now, I had a new task for him.
“Good morning, Miles,” he answered his phone cheerily. “Another background check?”
“Not this time,” I replied, running a hand through my hair.
I risked a look through the window towards Bebe’s apartment, but she was nowhere in sight. Probably still asleep from the late night she’d had.
“I want you to follow someone around,” I said, letting the words hang out there in the open. “It’s a woman. She lives across the street from me. Her name is Bebe Hall…”
“Got it,” Meyers said simply. “What should I watch out for? Anything specific you need info on?”
“No,” I said curtly. “I just want to know what she does. Everything. And bring me some shit to look at. Photos—plenty of photos, and anything discarded, like receipts she left behind, that kind of thing.”
“You’ve got a deal.” I could see Meyers smiling in my head.
All he saw was the hefty sum of money I’d let him have for helping me, but all I saw was the opportunity to get more of her. More of Bebe. I needed so much more.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I said, ending the call.
I got off the sofa I was sitting on, pacing the room. The way Flint worked, he usually came to meet me in the evening to give me a roundup of everything he’d found. But he also sent me updates throughout the day, so I decided to keep my phone close, so I could see exactly what my Sleeping Beauty was up to.
But now, the day stretched out in front of me with nothing to do. I felt jittery and nervous in a way I wasn’t used to, and it worried me.
Usually, a bleach bath would help, but weirdly, I had no desire to damage my skin that day. I just wanted information, I wanted to know what she was doing, what filled her days. I needed it like a fucking addict needed their drug, and I resented myself for not being able to track her myself. But there was no way I’d be able to go outside, no way I could follow her around with every thought focused on germs, on the fucking disgusting people around her, when all I wanted to focus on was Bebe.
What she ate for breakfast.
What kind of outfit she wore when she left her house.
Whether her hair was up, exposing that slender neck I wanted to bite into, or down, falling down her back.
How she held herself when she walked; how her tits bounced.
How she smiled at others.
What she ate for lunch. How often she pissed.
I wanted to know every fucking thing about her.
I paced the room restlessly, finally deciding I might as well do some work while I waited for Meyers’ first find of the day.
Leaving the living room, I walked into the all-white room I used as a studio. There was a hidden door in the wall behind the bed, and it led into the room no one knew about. The room of shame. The one space in the whole apartment I couldn’t let anyone see because they would finally know just how badly fucked up I really was.
I opened the hidden door, stared into the fucking mess, and retched at the awful stink.
It was a tiny room, used for storage by the previous owners. There was only one small window to the outside, but that was grubby with grime, and the ceiling was so low I had to crouch to get in there.
And it was a fucking mess.
A terrible mess.
Trash everywhere. Not things I’d used, actual trash I’d collected on rare trips outside. Trash from a garbage can, ranging from soiled newspaper clippings to tissues, some food well past its prime, just anything I could get my hands on. The tiny room stank so badly. It was disgusting. Fucking gross, fucking unbelievable for a man of my stature.
I walked inside calmly, to the small wooden desk that stood against the wall. I sat on the stool in front of it and leaned against the wall because the room was so small I could do that. And then I started thinking, with the trash surrounding me, the oppressive stink of the room making me want to gag.
It was the only way I could work. The only way I could clear out the constant buzz inside my head. And I was fucking ashamed of it. I’d never let anyone see this part of me. My parents made me ashamed of what I did in there, and they made sure I kept it my dirty little secret.
I heard flies buzzing in the pile of trash on the floor. The stench was overwhelming, but I made myself take it because it was the only way I knew how to function.
My phone vibrated, and I grabbed it from my pocket, desperately checking for a message.
It was from Bebe, and the moment I saw her name on my screen, my heart thumped a little louder in my chest.
I wish you’d talk to me when you weren’t just trying to make me come.
My fingers ached from wanting to reply so badly, but I made myself wait. Couldn’t look too eager, could I? Couldn’t let her know how badly I wanted her, how much I craved her.
The phone buzzed with another message, this one from Meyers.
She’s been out for brunch. Three mimosas with it. She had Eggs Benedict.
It fucking hurt to read it, because it was the most normal thing in the world, and I knew I’d never be able to do it with her. Simple things like grabbing food at her favorite place or going out shopping seemed insurmountable to me. They were like a mountain I had to climb without the proper gear and equipment, and the mere thought of it sent me into a panic. I needed to breathe.
I broke out of the room, cold sweat running down my back, and only just made it to the bathroom before I finally gagged and retched up a whole load of puke into the sink. I felt disgusted. Mostly with myself. With what I’d let myself become.
Thoughts filled my head, dirty, horrible thoughts that reminded me of my childhood, of what I’d ran away from, of what I’d left behind.
My parents. Rough, hardened faces, staring down at me, always with that faraway look in their eyes. They rarely spoke to me. The only person who bothered to do that was my grandmother.
Nana. Where are you, Nana? Are you still out there? Are you wondering where I went? Did I take a piece of your heart with me? Do you wonder if I’ve fallen down the same hole as your son and his wife? Do you wonder if I’m okay? Or have you turned into a rotting pile of flesh just like them? Is there nothing left of you but decaying meat and fucking bones? Are you cremated? Are you a pile of ash and regret, Nana? Where are you? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHY WON’T YOU HELP ME?
I collapsed on the floor. Shaky limbs, beating heart, a pile of shit, a diamond in the rough. Fuck, fuck, fuck, not this, not again, not now, not right now. Please make it stop. Make it go away.
I slammed my fists on the floor, trying to break out of the vicious cycle. But it held its grip on me, its talons harsh against my skin, digging, fucking digging into my flesh, making me submit, making me fall down down down. I couldn’t fight it. Couldn’t break away from the madness. It was fucking clawing at me. Tearing me apart.
I could handle pain.
Emotional, physical, what the fuck ever.
But I couldn’t handle this.
This fucking numbness, the panic, the crazy, the fucking insanity of my life; what I’d gotten myself into.
Fear and adrenaline pumped through my veins, and I managed to pick myself up on shaky feet. I wanted to call Bebe, ask for help. Something I hadn’t done in fucking years… But I couldn’t reach for my phone. Couldn’t muster up enough strength to take my damn phone and call her number and beg her to come and help me. I couldn’t do a thing. Just stand there, shaking and utterly broken.
I didn’t know how long it lasted, I never did. The helplessness started to go away, slowly leaking out of my body, along with the sweat that seeped from my pores.
I dragged myself to the sofa and made myself sit down, slowly relaxing, my muscles cramping up from being in such a rigid position. Slowly, I came back to my senses. Back into my own body.
I’d been having panic attacks for years, but the anxiety was something I wasn’t as used to.
Back when I still lived with Nana, she was used to the manic episodes—screaming, thrashing, trying to get away. She’d worked out how to help me and she knew exactly what to do. I hadn’t had them in years, but now that I was alone the anxiety got the better of me too often for my liking. A bone-deep anxiety that made me double over and retch bile and venom. I hated it. Hated that I couldn’t call for help, couldn’t do much of anything until it passed.
Paralyzed.
I was fucking paralyzed.
I sat on the sofa in my rigid position and watched the sun go down. My phone kept buzzing but I couldn’t pick it up. Couldn’t even go to the bathroom, even though I had to go badly. Couldn’t get a glass of water despite my mouth being parched, feeling like it was filled with cotton.
I sat there until it got dark, so dark I couldn’t make out the objects in the room. Bebe’s room was dark, too.
And then my doorbell rang.
I couldn’t get up. I just fucking sat there.
“It’s open,” I croaked, and it took all I had in me to say it.
I could barely turn my head to the direction of the door to see Meyers walk in. The light from the hallway illuminated the room, and I shrank away from it.
When he saw me, his mouth set in a thin line and he approached me cautiously.
“Come on,” he said, his voice dark. “Bathroom.”
Meyers had seen this before. Too many fucking times for my liking, because it was fucking embarrassing.
I let him help me up, feeling ashamed. So fucking ashamed.
He helped me to the bathroom and I had to lean my head against the wall, just so I could fucking piss. He didn’t even close the door. Kept watching me trying to stand, my hands shaking so badly I sprayed the tile. I knew I’d spend the night cleaning that up, once this went away. This fucking part of me that I hated so badly I wanted to rip it, cut it out of my flesh, and feed it to a stray fucking dog.
I washed my hands vigorously, slowly coming back to my senses. Meyers stood there, averting his eyes.
I knew he felt sorry for me.
Everyone did.
I felt my strength coming back, and I walked out of the bathroom with my back straight and my chin held high.
“What do you have for me?” I asked him, flipping on a switch in the living room as if I hadn’t been sitting in the darkness for what was probably hours. “Anything interesting happen?”
“Well, she’s a party girl alright,” Meyers chuckled, handing me a brown paper envelope.
My fingers shook as I got the contents out of it. A bunch of photos. I always asked for photos. I loved seeing my girls like that.
But she wasn’t my girl. Not like the others, not like any of them.
She was the girl, the only girl, the one I wanted to keep.
Too bad I couldn’t, not now, not ever.
“She’s had more drinks in the span of a few hours than I have in a month,” Meyers muttered, shaking his head.
I appreciated him pretending my meltdown hadn’t happened. He knew there was a good tip in it for him, but I didn’t give a shit, I was still grateful.
“She likes booze,” I muttered, going through the photos.
Bebe in a sweet little dress that was much too short to be modest despite the cute style. It made me smile to myself. Her hair was up, just like I’d hoped. Her neck was slender and very pale, and it made blood pulse towards my cock. She was a fucking vision, and in several photos, I noticed men in the street or the cafe she was in fucking staring at her. I wanted to strangle each and every one of them while she watched.
“What else did she do?” I asked, going through the photos.
“She was out most of the day,” Meyers went on, handing me a bigger envelope. “I saved you the receipts like you asked. She went to brunch, then shopping. Dropped her stuff at home and got changed, then went out again with another girl. I think her name was Arden? Does that ring a bell?”
“Her friend, I think,” I said. “Did she notice you?”
“No, not once,” Meyers smiled. “You’d be proud of me. I stayed in the shadows.”
I looked at all the receipts, grinning at her choice of groceries.
A shit ton of chocolate and energy drinks. And a head of lettuce. Such a weird girl.
“Oh, one more thing,” Meyers said, reaching into his briefcase. “She dropped this at the brunch place. Thought you might want it.”
He handed me a piece of fabric.
A cardigan.
I palmed the fabric as he handed it to me, the soft cashmere pleasant under my fingertips.
“Get out,” I growled at Meyers.
He gave me an incredulous look.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” I said, glaring at him. “Get the fuck out!”
He backed away and closed the door behind him.
I was left sitting on the couch, staring at the cashmere cardigan in my hands. It was light pink, and the buttons were little pearls. It was cute. It was hers. It smelled like her.
I raised it to my face and inhaled her sweet scent, groaning out loud. It was almost enough to make me fucking spill.
But through it all, I had to remember…
This was the closest I was ever going to get to having Bebe in my arms.