𝑨𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

     Jeff’s in the shower, and I’m sure he’s going to take a while there. I retrieve the binoculars from under the bed and continue surveying the neighbourhood, but I don’t see him. I hate this hide-and-seek game. Where’s the man I’ve been seeing?

     I look intently into the lens, focusing on the bark of the tree, but there’s nobody there. In a huff, I bring down the binoculars and sit on the window sill. This isn’t good. I thought I saw someone behind that tree. I was so sure of it. I couldn’t have hallucinated. Could I?

     I sit there for minutes, mulling over the possibility that I had hallucinated. I don’t want to accept or believe it. Slowly, I pick up the binoculars again and look into the lens. This time, I see him. A chill runs down my spine. I haven’t been hallucinating. Someone’s been spying on me.

     I scream Jeff’s name out of reflex. I want someone to see him too. Someone to know I’m not crazy. Jeff rushes out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. Water drips from his shaggy hair, and his face is filled with worry.

     He runs to my side and asks anxiously, “What’s the matter?”

     I thrust the binoculars toward him and spill out, “Someone’s spying on me. He’s behind that tree.” I finger the tree the man is hiding behind.

     He quickly takes them and looks into the lens. He’s struggling to see the man. I hold up a finger to the bark and say, “There. He’s hiding there. Pay attention to the contours.”

     He’s still struggling. Why can’t he see him? Finally, he lowers the binoculars and stares blankly at me. “I don’t see anyone.”

     I frown and snatch the binoculars from his hand, then survey the neighborhood. The man is gone, but I’m sure he wouldn’t get far. That’s why Jeff couldn’t see him.

     I place the binoculars on the window sill and say frantically, “He was right there. You’ll find him if you go outside.” I just want him to know I’m not hallucinating and to do that, he’ll need proof.

     He stands there like a statue, looking blankly at my face. I yell, “What are you waiting for!”

     He skitters to the wardrobe, snatches his flannel nightclothes, and jumps into them. With the speed of lightning, he dashes out of the room. I hurry after him. The only sounds echoing in the quiet house are our footsteps as we race outside. Jeff rushes out of the house, leaving the door ajar. I near it and stand in the doorway, hoping he’ll find him.

     My heart hammers as I wait for him. Three minutes elapse before I see Jeff walking up to the front door and panting. He stops halfway and crouches over, placing his hands on his knees. After he’s caught his breath, he stands upright and strolls toward me. He looks upset, and I’m baffled, but that’s the least of my worries.

     I ask, my voice husky, “Did you see him?”

     “There was nobody, Adrienne.”

     I don’t like the sound of his voice. It’s hoarse and hostile. “But I saw him behind that tree.”

     He walks past me to the house, putting on the light in the living room. He enters the kitchen, and I trail behind him. He doesn’t stop to look at me. He crosses the center table to the sink, where he grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it with tap water.

     I watch him gulp it, then he places it on the countertop. He turns to look at me now. We stare wistfully at each other without a word. He breaks the silence. “Have you been taking the pills?”

     Oh dear, he doesn’t believe me. Jeff thinks I’m crazy. That’s the main reason I didn’t want to tell him. I’m offended that he thinks I’m hallucinating.

     “I know what I saw, Jeff,” I say, exasperated.

     “You haven’t answered my question. Have you been taking the pills?”

     For the first time, I stare daggers at him. I hate his behavior tonight. It doesn’t feel like Jeff. I shout, “Why does it matter?”

     He shouts back, “It matters because you’re not getting better.”

     I frown and face the door. I stomp out of the kitchen, banging the door. He follows behind, and I’m starting to hate his presence by my side.

     “You haven’t been taking the pills, have you?”

     Still on those stupid pills. It can go to hell for all I care! I plop down on the couch, taking a deep sigh. “I’ve run out,” I say.

     I watch him simmer down, and then he murmurs, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

     I reply, almost clenching my teeth, “It finished today.”

     He runs his hair backward, sighs, and takes a seat next to me. I push away from him. After today, I don’t think I can trust him with anything. He takes my hand and I cringe.

     “I’m sorry,” he says, remorse in his voice. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

     I don’t react. I just look away from him.

     He pushes closer to my side and strokes my hair. “Are you not going to say anything?”

     What does he want me to say when he doesn’t believe that I saw a man behind that tree?

     He leans forward and sniffs my hair. “You know I love you so much, and I want the best for you, right?”

     I don’t reply or do anything.

     “Are you upset?”

     Finally, I decide to set my pride aside and look at him. Ignoring his question, I ask, “Do you believe me?”

     He gulps hard and just stares at me.

     “You don’t, do you?” I implore.

     “I don’t know what you saw, but there was nobody there when I went out.”

     I huff. “This is not the first time I’ve seen him.”

     His brows pucker. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

     “I was afraid you’d say I’m hallucinating, just like you’re insinuating right now.”

     He blushes. “I’m not insinuating. I think—”

     “That I imagined him?” I cut him off.

     “No.” He shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean.”

     “Then what do you mean?”

     “Let’s not talk about it. It’s late. Let’s go to bed. I’ll get you the pills before I go to work tomorrow.”

     I expected so. He pulls me into a hug, and I don’t remember feeling so uncomfortable by his side.