You Never Know Who's Watching

She walked out of the office alone, saying a quiet goodbye to the secretary as she passed, her pumps clip clopping against the tiled lobby floor. The parking lot was deserted. Her car one of the last in sight. She got into her car and as she turned the keys, the radio came on announcing Love Songs After Dark. She rolled her eyes and smirked. ‘Of course’. She waved absentmindedly to the security guard as she drove out of the parking lot, turning onto Lockhart Avenue toward her apartment.1

The clock on the wall read eleven o’ one as she walked into her apartment. She didn’t stop to turn on the lights, but walked into the living room in the dark. She sighed, tossing her black leather purse onto the nearby couch and kicking off her shoes. She walked to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and pulled out lemonade. After watching a bit of some late night sitcom, she went to get ready for bed. She slipped on a light blue night gown, brushed her teeth, washed her face and brushed her thick chocolate hair. The lights were extinguished and she was not longer visible through the windows.2

He smiled and licked his lips. The scent of citrus whispered gently on the puffs of breeze from the open apartment window. He looked up at the sky, watching as the moonlight danced between the clouds. It hovered, casting a pale yellow glow across the glossy leaves of the slumping tree. He could hear her softly breathing slowly in time with the haunting rhythm of the night. She was perfect.3