Chapter 1 : Feeling Watched

*Seymore's POV*

I’ve heard sex addiction described as an excuse someone uses to get away with having risky sex. But those people probably haven’t been addicted to anything in their lives. Sex addiction is like any other addiction, it eats away at you until you get a fix, and then eats away at you some more.

As my feet slam against the cold slate floor, the abrupt sensation causes me to awaken fully from the nightmare. Sweat pours down from my brow, and my heart threatens to burst out of my chest. The panic is still present, but I don’t know why. What had the dream been about? My eyes adjust to the dim nightlight glow from the bathroom just off my bedroom.

That’s right, I’m home. Back from a long trip to New York where I went to help one very special and important friend Kade. Somehow, I had hoped that the jet lag would help keep this reoccurring nightmare at bay. So much for that. My heart starts to recover as I take a deep breath.

“Zeus, come here, boy.”

The command isn’t entirely out of my mouth when I remember the bouncy Rottweiler is still at my second best friend’s house. Doc was sent from heaven. After deciding it was too late to bother my old friend, I took a taxi back to my place. My body relaxes as my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. Glancing at the nightstand I squint at the bright red numbers on the alarm clock. I sigh, it’s too early to be this awake.

“May as well take a piss,” I grunt, willing my legs to stand.

A pressure in my groin presents itself as I climb to my feet. A poorly timed erection is going to make using the bathroom impossible. While wobbling to the bathroom I try to conjure up something to assist in ridding me of this burden. The first thought I go to is sex. That’s the addiction talking, and if I let it go, I will be forced to call one of my hookups to assist with my dilemma.

A vision of Kade’s woman slouched over in a chair, dead, kills my desire immediately. Somehow, my visit to one of my rarest best friends almost resulted in a tragedy. Yes, it happened. I had thought for sure my addiction had ruined the only relationship I cherish. Kade had forgiven me, as Raven hadn’t been dead, but I still can’t forgive myself.

I hover over the toilet and manage to relieve myself with little to no effort. While washing my hands, the feeling of being watched hits hard. It’s almost like someone’s standing in the room with me watching as I clean up. I noticed when I came home that the house felt different. Something felt out of place, but it was too late to worry about it. I did a walkthrough and found nothing, so why do I still feel this way?

After convincing myself it’s leftover anxiety from that horrible nightmare, I walk back to bed and climb in. I think I will stop in and pay Dr. Davies a visit tomorrow. I missed our last appointment, and after how things went in New York, I need to speak with him. While looking up at the ceiling, I think about what my therapist is going to say when he finds out I fell off the wagon.

I try to think of other advice he has given me over the years, but the late hour makes it difficult to think clearly. I wish Zeus was here. An emotional support animal had also been the good doctors' idea.

“Any time you start obsessively thinking about sex, direct that energy into something else. I would recommend some kind of emotional support animal,” he had said.

At first, it had worked like a charm. I made it through the first month of my celibacy by taking Zeus on walks and just talking to him. Living alone can be lonely, and Zeus helped make the house feel alive again. When I started getting the urge to set up a meeting with someone, I would take the dog out onto the property and work on training him. I can honestly say I have never trusted a person as much as I trust my dog.

I’ll have to call Doc after I see Dr. Davies and let him know I need my boy back. The old retired Commissioner has few obligations these days, so he had offered to take Zeus for me when I needed to go out of town. His wife died before I met him. He has three children, all of whom decided their father wasn’t worth their time. I guess his job kept him away from home too often as they were growing up. Once Lilly passed away, they all stopped coming around.

Our friendship had started by chance. One of my cars had been stolen and he was the one to track it down for me. He had driven to the location where it was dumped and we found a single mother with two small children living out of it. The car had been abandoned and she had taken up residency to keep her little ones out of the rain. Needless to say, I gave her the car and found her suitable housing.

My act of selflessness had touched Doc deeply. Our friendship started from there and has grown since. It has always amazed me how people with limited income react to the smallest of gestures. I guess the fact I’ve always had more money than I know what to do with, I’ve lost touch with what it means to really want things in life. The only thing I desire is something money can’t buy.

I shiver as I pull my blanket up to my shoulders. It’s not cold, but I still feel like someone is in the room with me. I could solve two of my problems with one phone call. A warm body would help me stop this erection and provide comfort in the dark empty house.

“Stop thinking about it,” I grumble to myself.

It’s not that easy. If curing sex addiction were a matter of mind over body, I would be living my best life and not lying in bed trying not to think about the supple curves of a woman’s body. The encounter wouldn’t end in satisfaction anyway. Most of the time I find myself wanting more, needing more.

The disappointment in myself and whatever partner I choose drives me to regret ever convincing myself that the sex was worth it. Maybe this time will be different? Not likely. I think part of the problem is that the encounter never lives up to the expectation of the scenario my mind wants.

No matter how much money I throw at the addiction, it never leads me to the place I want to be. Thus, money cannot buy me what I really want in life. Closing my eyes to block out the red glow from the clock, I find myself thinking about what she will be like.

A beautiful woman, with confidence and charm. She will be someone who can look past the dollar signs and see me for the man I really am. Her looks are a mystery, as all women are beautiful in my eyes. That’s the part that makes it difficult to spot her. She’s unassuming and allusive, blending into the sea of breathtaking bewilderment that is the female allure. After pouring hundreds of thousands of dollars into trying to buy the right woman, I’ve learned the hard way that money isn’t going to find her.

A noise from outside my bedroom windows causes me to jump. There shouldn’t be anyone up and about at this hour. I hold my breath and strain to hear anything beyond my own racing heartbeat. I’m about to roll over and try to go to sleep when I hear it again. It’s faint, like the shuffling of feet across the lawn.

At this point, I feel like my anxiety is turning into paranoia. Could there be someone stalking around my yard this early in the morning? Sure. Is it possible there’s just some animal on my property trying to enjoy some grass? Also, yes. Part of me wants to go back to bed and forget about it, but the sound of muffled voices puts me on high alert.

I slip out of my bedroom and down the hall. There’s a bat in the front hall closet I keep in the house in case of something like this. I grab it and slip on my shoes before taking off out the front door. My bedroom is in the back, but if I go around I can get a jump on whoever is on my property.

I slip around the side of the house and try to get my eyes to adjust to the moonlight. I notice someone walking across the lawn heading right for where I’m standing. No time to think about it, just act. I tighten my hands on the wooden stick and wheel around the building, bat raised.

“Hey, Seymore, it’s me!” my neighbor yells, throwing his hands up to guard himself.

“Jason?” I mutter, lowering the bat from above my head. “What are you doing here? I thought someone was sneaking onto my property,” I scold, realizing just how badly I could have hurt him.

“I would have knocked, but I saw someone walking behind your house and I wasn’t sure if you were back in town yet,” he replies, looking around to see if the people he saw were still around.

“Who did you see?” I ask, noticing my motion sensor lights still haven’t kicked on.

Jason shrugs. “Two people walking around your house. Some of the other neighbors have been talking about strange cars in the neighborhood in the last week or two. I’m not the only one who’s seen strangers around,” he adds, looking back at his own property.

He’s probably longing to go back to bed, regretting his decision to come out and check on my home. I actually feel bad about this. Jason’s actually a really good guy.

“Sorry, I almost assaulted you. I really do appreciate you keeping an eye on my home while I’m gone,” I say, not wanting him to think twice about coming over if he sees a trespasser.

“I understand, I almost grabbed my hockey stick before I came this way,” he says with a smile. “Just keep an eye out, this isn’t the first time our neighborhood has dealt with peeping toms.”

Jason nods and takes off back to his house. Before heading in, I walk around the back to see why none of the motion-censored lights have kicked on. I put them back here to deter people from trying to break in.

I walk up to the first one I have placed over the sliding door. I wave, but nothing happens. It’s really dark out, but if I bend down and use the light from the moon I can see something black over the censor. Either someone spray-painted it or put a piece of tape over it. Either way, this was done intentionally.

I walk back up around to the driveway, open the side door to the garage, and put the bat against the wall right inside. I close the door tight and head up the pathway that leads to the front door. Before I get inside, I hear a car out by the road peel out. I turn my head in that direction, but the vehicle has its headlights off. I can make out the shape of a car as it takes off down the street.

I hurry into the house, closing and locking the door behind me. I don’t feel safe. And here I thought that coming back home would only make my addiction worse, but it turns out, even though I’m inside my own home, I feel like I’m being watched.