It wasn’t his fault. It was yours.

If you weren’t so damn pretty, maybe his mind wouldn’t keep circulating back to you. He wanted to see every inch of you. If only he were the clothes on your body.

That was completely reasonable. No, no, you were the weird one for not picking up on his advances— he sent you three bouquets of flowers, and you had the gall to think it was some secret admirer? No! He may not have attached a note or anything, but how was that romantic?

It was from him! It always was— and always will be — him! Did you not see how he looked at you when you passed each other in the hallways to unlock your apartment? Or down in the mailroom, when he very subtly brushed against your shoulder?

Maybe you didn’t want him. No, no. You did. You just didn’t know it yet. You needed to have the opportunity to, that’s all. Yes.

Your latest dates had stood you up. Ghosted you. All of your recent matches on Tinder had curiously unmatched you.

Parker would never admit to having a part in that, no, no, no. He wanted you to like him, not think that he was some kind of obsessed freak— ha.

How stupi—

Interrupting his internal monologue was none other than you, exiting the elevator as he stood motionless by his front door. You looked tired… poor thing. Did another date stand you up? How utterly unfortunate.

Not.