She had her back to him now, still, again, it made him angry.
Look at me.
She always ignored him, always, always.
She ignored his notes. She ignored his flowers. She hung upon him when he called her.
She played his heart like an instrument. She strummed his emotions like she strummed her guitar. She didn’t know him, didn’t see him.
Look. At. Me.
She heard something, maybe his desire for her resonated. She turned around, walked to the window.
She squinted into the dark, not seeing what she heard, not seeing, still not seeing.
He reached in the open window. He touched her hand.
She sucked in a breath, eyes wide, chest heaving as her scream built.