Watching Her Chapter 12 - Vixey

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Chapter 12 - Vixey - The Fox and the Hound
Vixey is friendly, caring, and thoughtful. She also has an adventurous streak! 

Holy fucking hell.

I'm frozen in place. My vision swims then becomes crystal clear when I blink rapidly a few times as I stare at the notebook. She's arranged it so that it looks like an easel. The notebook's folded in half and rests on the edges in a sort of precarious balancing act. Across the front of a blank page … or what looks to be blank from as far away as I'm standing … is a word of some sort scrawled in heavy, coal black marker.

Wishing I had something like x-ray vision or a pair of binoculars at least, I wonder what it says.

"Asshole" is the first thing that comes to mind, followed closely by the word "stalker" or even worse … "pervert."

I look around, searching for something, anything. I half expect to see a booby trap of some sort, maybe a trip wire strung from one side of the open bay door to the other, or even a net hidden beneath a pile of leaves, but everything looks as it should be. The night air is eerily still and there's not another sound save for the pounding of my heart.

Every instinct I have tells me to rush forward and grab the notebook but I can't move for some reason.

As thrilled as I am that the doors are open and the lights inside are on, and believe me I'm happier than a fat kid in front of an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet, I'm still terrified of what's on that paper. The possibilities are endless.

Unable to wait another second, I charge forward, not worrying about a thing except to see what she's said. Inside, the mouthwatering scent of peppermint and sugar cookies assaults me once again, but tonight it's even more potent. The delicious smell hangs heavy in the air, and I notice it's more prevalent by the drum set and the little sitting area where the loveseat is located. I take just a moment, barely time to breathe in and out, to survey the rest of the space. In the far corner, in front of a bay door that's never been opened as long as I've been watching, sits a car covered by a heavy, oil-stained tarp.

Curiosity ignites and I immediately put two and two together with the book on engines that I remember from last night. "Damn, she can fix a car, too? Is there anything she can't do?" I wonder aloud, the mystery of her seeping even more into my mind, my soul.

There's a such a charge in the air, a pull I don't understand. What is it about her? She's hot, yes, but I've seen plenty of hot girls before. She can play music, which immediately puts her in a class above anyone around here … but it's more than just that. I've heard her voice only once, but it's as if every time I close my eyes, I can hear her talk to me.

Creeping in the dark of night through the woods to watch someone, a gorgeous, sexy someone sure, for hours is not at all how I envisioned spending my summer vacation. I had a plan to practice and train, to get ready for soccer camp. I wanted to hang out with Jasper and Emmett while Ali and Rose were gone and then with all of them once they were back, occasionally even with the rest of our friends. I figured we'd go to La Push and spend the days on the beach, make somewhat regular trips to Port Angeles just to get out of Forks and even two or three times make it to Seattle where Em, Jas, and I could go to a concert or to see the Sounders play, or even to Six Flags. I assumed it would be a summer like most of the others, with the exception of being on my own for the beginning of it.

I never expected this.

I never expected her.

The distant cry of a coyote pulls me from my scattered thoughts and brings me rushing like a freight train to the here and now. I shake my head and blink a few times.

Purposefully, I stride forward the few steps it takes to reach her drum set, my smile growing wider with each one. The message is for me … unless there's someone else that deserves the name 'Creeper' that's written across the entire page, complete with a little squiggly line beneath it.

I take the word to be a good sign, a bit foolish maybe, but I figure if she can joke about it, it means things can't be all bad.

My fingers are unsteady as I pick up the notebook up and then set the one I brought from home down in its place. My chest's tight and my stomach's seriously angry with me judging from the knot it's tied itself into as I slowly flip the page to see the rest of the letter she's left for me.

The handwriting isn't at all what I expect, though if you would have asked me to explain what I'd imagined, I wouldn't be able to do it. Uneven and slightly messy, it's hard to tell if she was in a hurry, nervous, or if it's just the way she normally writes. A few words are crossed through with heavy, choppy lines. I flip the page and look at the following one and notice the indentations her pen has left. I glance toward the loveseat and try to imagine her writing, maybe chewing on the tip of a pen cap. Her knee bouncing up and down while she balances the notebook on her lap. Maybe she blows out a breath, wisps of hair floating by her face or maybe, like me, she runs a hand through her hair when she's frustrated.

I turn the page to the letter she's left and then lean against the arm of the loveseat.

Um … whoever you are … 

I'm kinda freaked out about the fact you've been watching me. What do you want? 

I don't have money or anything and if you're after something else, I can promise you I know how to protect myself.

Here she starts to write something, the word "thank" from the look of it, though it's marked out once, then twice and then with an 'X' on top. I smirk and chuckle just a little bit, but only because she wrote it again.

Thank you for the sticks. It's the first present I've gotten in … well, a really long damn time.
I'll try to finish the song. You liked it, huh? 

Please don't hurt me. I'm trying not to be, but I'm still scared of you. 

DG 

Oh.

Jesus.

I sag against the arm of the loveseat, almost sliding right off. Catching myself before I fall, I stand up. The urge to pace, to release some of this bottled-up … energy and feelings is so fucking strong. I glance down at my watch and let out a growl of annoyance. I only have a few minutes to get the hell out of here. Yes, the doors were open, but I don't have any idea if she's planning on coming out here or not and if she is, I damn sure can't be here. To say things are tenuous between us is a fucking understatement.

There are things I want, need, to say to her now that the door, literally and figuratively, has been opened. "Shit," I mutter as I think about how I need to get my ass out of here.

Using the only option available to me, I grab the notebook I brought from home and the pen from the shelf behind the drums. A shiver runs down my spine as an image of her holding the pen to her mouth, her teeth gently clicking against the plastic cap, fills my mind.

"No time for this, Edward," I chastise myself.

I write out a quick letter, the first thing that comes to my mind, knowing that I will more than make up for it when I get home and have the time to tell her what I want.

Drummer Girl, 

I didn't mean to scare you. I'm really sorry if I did. 

You don't know me, but I hope we can change that. 

What do I want? I want to know why you come outside every night. 

Will you tell me? 

#18

With that, I close the notebook, grab the one her letter is in, and rush out of her building.
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