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

I’ve looked at the text exchange far too many times. I’m trying to not overanalyze or read into it too much, but it’s hard to resist.

What does the . . . mean? Why didn’t she capitalize the s in sure? Maybe she’s just busy and distracted. Or maybe she’s not really excited about our plans. The “Uh” feels hesitant, like she’s trying to come up with an excuse. Now I’ve worked myself into a frenzy over two tiny punctuation marks. Or the lack thereof.

My thumb hovers over the call button. I could just ask her directly if everything’s okay. But what if I’m being paranoid? I don’t want to come across as needy or insecure. Or maybe what the real issue is that I know I need to come clean and tell her who I am. Tell her what I’ve been up to the past two years.

I lock my phone screen and toss it onto the couch, trying to push the nagging thoughts from my mind. But they creep back in, persistent as ever. The truth is, I’m terrified of how Chloe will react when she learns about what I’ve done. Will she understand why I had to watch over her—from afar? Or will she feel betrayed, scared, creeped out and call the police to report me as the stalker that I am?

I pace around my apartment, my mind racing. The walls feel like they’re closing in, reminding me of all the secrets I’m keeping. It’s still too early to head over to Chloe’s for our date, but I can’t wait around any longer. I’ll make a stop at the florist before I pick up the Chinese food and get her something. Something that might soften the blow of my confession.

I grab my keys and head out, my stomach churning with anxiety. The late afternoon sun setting feels too bright, too exposed. I squint as I make my way to my truck, constantly glancing over my shoulder out of habit. It will be dark soon. But not dark enough for me to hide in the shadows like I’m used to.

The florist’s shop is a riot of colors and scents. I wander the aisles, touching petals absently as I try to decide. Roses feel too cliché, too romantic for what I’m about to do. Lilies are too funeral. My eyes land on a poinsettia. On theme for the night, friendly, unassuming. Perfect.

Back in the car, I place the plant carefully on the passenger seat. The Chinese restaurant is busy, filled with the sounds of sizzling woks and rapid-fire Mandarin. I give my name for the pickup order, then wait, shifting from foot to foot.

My phone buzzes. It’s Chloe. Don’t forget the hot mustard. Nothing screams getting in the holiday spirit like cleaned-out sinuses.

I text back, Will do. See you soon. I add a smiley face emoji, trying to keep things light.

The woman behind the counter calls my name, handing over two large paper bags. The smell of garlic and ginger wafts up, making my mouth water despite my nerves. I ask for extra packets of hot mustard, remembering Chloe’s text.

As I drive to her house, my mind races through different scenarios. Should I tell her everything right away? Or ease into it over dinner? Maybe I should wait until after the movie. But no, that feels dishonest somehow, like I’m trying to manipulate her emotions.

I pull up to Chloe’s house, my hands shaking slightly as I gather the food and flowers. The porch light is on, casting a warm glow over the front steps. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, before ringing the doorbell.

Chloe opens the door, her smile bright and welcoming. “Hey, you’re early! Come on in.” She’s wearing a soft-looking sweater and leggings, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looks beautiful, and my heart aches with the weight of my secrets.

“I, uh, brought you these,” I say, thrusting the poinsettia toward her awkwardly.

Her eyes light up. “Oh, how festive! Thanks, that’s so sweet.” She takes the poinsettia, her fingers brushing mine for a moment. “Let me put this down and we can dig into that food. I’m starving!”

I follow her into the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter.

“Nice place,” I say. That’s what someone who’s never been in the house would say, right? I’m trying to play it cool, and to be normal, but I feel anything but.

“Thanks. It was my parents’ and then it became . . . thanks.”

As she fusses with the poinsettia, I start unpacking the containers of food. The familiar routine feels surreal, knowing what I’m about to do.

“So, what movie did you want to watch?” Chloe asks, her back to me as she arranges the plant.

Okay, I’ll tell her after dinner and the movie. No sense in ruining the entire night.

I hesitate, my hands pausing over the containers of fried rice and kung pao chicken. “I didn’t actually pick one out yet. I thought maybe we could choose together? Only rule is it has to be Christmas. No Scrooge allowed, remember.” I give her a smile and it feels good to release some of my built-up tension.

Chloe turns around, a playful smirk on her face. “No Scrooge, huh? Well, that rules out Die Hard then.”

I chuckle, grateful for the moment of lightness. “Come on, that’s totally a Christmas movie!”

“Agree to disagree,” she says, reaching for the plates in the cupboard. “How about It’s a Wonderful Life? Classic, heartwarming, and definitely Christmassy.”

“Sounds perfect,” I reply, my voice a little too enthusiastic. I’m trying so hard to act normal, to push down the anxiety bubbling in my chest.

We settle on the couch with our plates piled high with food. Chloe starts the movie, and for a while, I lose myself in the familiar story. Jimmy Stewart’s earnest face fills the screen, his character’s struggles echoing my own inner turmoil.

As George Bailey contemplates ending his life, I feel a lump form in my throat. How many times have I stood on the edge, metaphorically speaking, wondering if my actions were justified? If the path I’ve chosen was the right one?

Chloe must sense my discomfort because she reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You okay? You seem a little . . . off tonight.”

I swallow hard, knowing this is my chance. The moment I’ve been dreading and anticipating in equal measure. “I’m fine. Just . . . missing my mom, I guess.”

Fucking coward. Tell her!

“I know. I miss my parents too.” She mutes the TV, turning to face me fully. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Working,” I half lie, half tell the truth. I am working Christmas Day and night, so that’s not completely a lie. “I try to work one of the firefighters’ shift who has kids so they can be home for at least some of the holiday. Even though I’m technically off as Christmas doesn’t fall on my shift, I feel it’s only right.”

Chloe’s eyes soften with sympathy. “That’s really sweet of you.”

I shrug. “I hope to be paid back someday when I have my own young kids.”

We turn our attention back to the movie, but I can barely focus on the screen.

“This is nice,” she says. “I can’t believe the Scrooge in me is admitting this fact. But I’m actually enjoying this.”

I nod, trying to smile, but my chest feels tight. The weight of my secrets is crushing me, making it hard to breathe. I can’t keep this up any longer. I have to tell her.

“Thank you,” she adds. “My holidays have been pretty shitty for a while, and well . . . this year feels different. I’m determined to not have another bad one. So thanks for helping me with that.”

Guilt floods in. She has no idea how much I’ve been involved in her life, how I’ve watched over her through those “shitty” holidays. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I’m about to say.

But she just got done telling me she wants a good holiday and is on the path of having one. I don’t want to be the reason of fucking that up for her. Not when she actually is smiling and seeming genuinely happy for once. I decide to hold off on my confession, at least for tonight. Maybe it will be my New Years resolution to tell her.

Plus, I don’t want to ruin tomorrow night. Our Christmas Eve.Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Or is that my dick speaking, and he’s much louder than my mind?

“I’m glad I could help,” I say, forcing a smile. “Everyone deserves a good holiday.”

We finish the movie in comfortable silence, but my mind is still racing. As the credits roll, Chloe stretches and yawns.

“That was nice,” she says, smiling at me. “Thanks for suggesting this.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Chloe tilts her head, studying me. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem distracted.”

I force a laugh, but it comes out hollow. “Just tired, I guess. Long shift yesterday.”

She nods, but I can see the concern in her eyes. “Well, don’t let me keep you if you need to get some rest. I appreciate you coming over, even if you’re exhausted.”

Her kindness only makes me feel worse. I stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over my empty plate. “I should probably head out. Early shift tomorrow.”

Chloe looks surprised by my sudden departure but doesn’t argue. She walks me to the door, and I can feel her eyes on me as I fumble with my jacket.

“Thanks again for tonight,” she says softly. “It really meant a lot to me.”

I turn to face her, my hand on the doorknob. Her eyes are warm, trusting. I open my mouth, ready to spill everything, but the words catch in my throat.

“Anytime,” I manage to say. “Goodnight, Chloe.”

I step out into the chilly night air, my breath visible in small puffs. As I walk to my truck, I hear the soft click of Chloe’s door closing behind me. The sound feels final, like a missed opportunity.

The drive home is a blur. My mind keeps replaying the evening, analyzing every moment, every word left unsaid. I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white.

At least I get to see her tomorrow night.