He Sees You When You’re Sleeping: A Dark and Steamy Holiday Romance of Obsession and Secrets – Where Desire Meets Danger in the Heart of NYC
He Sees You When You’re Sleeping: Chapter 2

How many nights have I done this now? Lurking, watching, waiting. It’s become an addiction I can’t control.

I crouch low beneath the window, careful not to disturb the freshly fallen snow since the last time I secretly shoveled. Can’t leave any trace that I was here.

I can’t stop myself from coming back, night after night. The thrill of observing unseen, of peering into a life not my own, has sunk its hooks deep into me. I tell myself each time will be the last, that I’ll break free of this compulsion.

But I can’t.

For some reason, I can’t stop.

My breath forms small clouds in the frigid air as I slowly raise my head, enough to peer over the windowsill. The warm glow from inside spills out, a stark contrast to the darkness enveloping me. There she is. . . .

Noticing the snow around me, my thoughts return to this morning. To seeing Chloe face to face. I had touched her. Barely, but our hands had touched. I can still feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her fingers as they brushed against mine when I helped her with her neighbor. Seeing Mr. Haven splayed out on his snow-covered walkway this morning made me feel like a real dick. Over the past few years, I’ve been shoveling Chloe’s walkway after a snowstorm for three reasons.

The first is because snow means footsteps. Footsteps mean evidence. And the last thing I need is my boot prints leading a trail to right outside her window.

The second reason is it gives me comfort. It reminds me of when I was a kid, when my mother was still alive and we were a small family. I would shovel walkways to earn extra cash so I could buy my mom chocolate-covered cherries and a perfume called Charlie Blue at the neighborhood drugstore.

The third reason is . . . well . . . I don’t want Chloe to slip.

And yet, I let that poor man suffer that exact fate.

I made a commitment right then and there as I was lifting the man off the ground that I’d keep his walkway as clean as I keep Chloe’s.

The neighbor’s tabby cat brushes against my legs, her furry body a sudden warmth in the night air. I reach down to shoo her away, hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

“Shoo,” I hiss under my breath. “You’re going to give me away.”

The cat merely blinks up at me with luminous eyes before slinking off into the shadows cast by the tall hedges lining the property. I press back against the prickly branches, heart still hammering in my chest as I try to collect myself.

Even though I’d consider myself a pro at this stalking game, I’m never truly at ease. The fear of getting caught always remains.

These hedges are the only thing keeping me concealed from prying eyes—the only barrier between myself and discovery. Even so, I know I’m taking a huge risk every time I stand outside Chloe’s bedroom window.

A car drives by on the street, headlights sweeping across the yard. I duck down instinctively, heart racing. The neighbor’s porch light flicks on suddenly. I freeze, scarcely daring to breathe. Has someone seen me? But no, it’s the motion sensor. Still, it’s a stark reminder of how precarious my position is.

I should go. I know I should go. But I can’t tear myself away, not yet. Just a few more minutes, I tell myself. Always just a few more minutes.

I glance at my watch, the glowing hands telling me I have one hour until 11:30—before the lights come on. I need to make the most of my time. The last thing I want is to be lit up with red and green and give Chloe a heart attack as she sees me staring back at her from the other side of the glass pane. But at least for now, I’m in the dark, and she’s distracted by her work.

The old windows and building work to my advantage, amplifying the noises within.

Her voice is clear and bright. Sitting in front of her phone, set up on a stand, her face lit up with enthusiasm, she speaks of her latest piece.

“You guys, look at this one,” she says as she caresses the red jeweled necklace resting on her perfect collarbone. “It’s chunky, but perfect for a holiday party. Has a sort of retro vibe but is also modern. It’s the right blend to be a great conversation piece. And the red color is spot on for all the holiday colors we’re wearing this time of year. And the price is right on budget. I’d give this a ten out of ten for sure.”

Because of my nightly visits, I know more about jewelry than any man in my profession should know. Firefighters know fires and smoke, not gold and silver. But Chloe’s passion was infectious, and I found myself drawn to her more and more as each addicting night took hold.

I know every detail of her curvy frame, the way she sat upright when showing off a particularly dazzling piece, or how she would tuck a loose strand of dark-brown hair behind her ear when pondering about some jewelry design.

I’ve memorized her schedule, her mannerisms, the way her eyes light up when she’s truly excited about a piece. It’s become an obsession, watching her jewelry videos late into the night, my phone screen illuminating my face in the darkness of my apartment.

Except for the times, like now, that I stand outside her window in the cold. Watching. Obsessing. Stalking.

I’ve viewed her videos so many times that I can practically lip-sync along with her enthusiastic descriptions. My breath fogs the air as I inch closer, careful to stay hidden. I should leave. I know I should. But I can’t tear myself away from the warm glow of her room, the sight of her biting her lower lip in concentration. Just a few more minutes, I tell myself. Just a little longer.

“Next up,” I hear her say. “I have something from my personal collection.”

She reaches for a small, velvet box and cradles it carefully in her hands.

“My mother’s,” she murmurs to the camera with a softness in her voice that makes my heart clench. “I guess I’m sharing this with you guys because . . . well, it’s the holiday season. And she always loved the holidays. She wasn’t one to dress up or get extra fancy, but the holidays were the one time when she would. Jewelry was always part of it.”

She opens the box slowly, careful not to disrupt the contents within. I strain my eyes to see from my vantage point.

Inside is a ring, a gemstone brilliantly catching and refracting the light from her lamp. A blue sapphire, cut in the shape of an oval surrounded by little diamonds, glints back at me.

“It’s not the most valuable piece in the world,” Chloe says softly, almost reverently. She lifts it out of its velvet confines to show it off to her followers. “But it was hers. And now it’s mine.”

A pang of guilt hits me like a punch to the gut as I realize the depth of my intrusion. Despite the physical distance, despite the hidden nature of my presence, I’m invading one of her most intimate moments—sharing something personal about her family.

Yes, she’s telling all her viewers, but she isn’t telling me.

Yet, I can’t tear away from this scene as she gingerly puts on her mother’s ring on her finger. Even from my distance, I can see her eyes well up with tears even as she tries to keep her composure.

“But that’s enough about me.” She suddenly blinks away the wetness in her eyes and forces a smile for her audience. “Let’s move onto something brighter.”

She reaches for another item from her table, but I replace myself unable to concentrate on what she’s saying next.

My thoughts are mired in guilt, confusion, a longing I’ve been trying to suppress. In the anonymity of the shadows, I fight a silent battle with myself as Chloe continues her show. She isn’t aware of my presence, but here I am privy to every word she speaks, every emotion she displays. But it’s not about me being a silent spectator; it’s also about how these stolen moments are affecting me. How they’re making me feel things I’d never considered before.

“All right, here we go. This one is a bit more fun and traditional for the holidays.” She holds up a pair of reindeer-shaped silver earrings, their antlers adorned with tiny multicolored gems.

Suddenly, my phone vibrates in my pocket, providing an unwelcome distraction. A text from my chief—a structure fire alert. All hands needed. Duty calls. It’s my night off, but it’s not uncommon for me to get the call ins, or my buddies asking if I can cover a shift for them. I’m single, have no kids or family needs, have no real life to speak of, and frankly, I love my job. Other than watching Chloe, I have little else on my plate. Pathetic yes, but the facts.

Good ol’ Jack can bail you out.

Being a workaholic does pay off, however. I get a sweet deal to park my truck at the station a few blocks away from my apartment, which saves me a fortune.

I take one last look at Chloe, etching this moment into the corners of my memory. She’s laughing now, her sorrow from a few moments ago replaced with unbridled joy as she talks about the next piece of jewelry.

As I get into my truck and drive off, I glance back at Chloe’s house. The single strand of Christmas lights is about to turn on, like they are every night when I leave. And like always, I promise myself that this will be the last time I come around to watch her from afar.

But deep down inside, I know that’s a lie.

Chloe Hallman is my drug.