Jake Melnick's Corner Tap Photos Novels & Stories

Loss. ​The arena erupted into disappointed murmurs as the players trudged toward the locker rooms. Cole paused on the baseline, wiping the sweat from his blonde hair. He looked up at Jake one last time, tapping his chest twice and flashing a cruel, triumphant grin before disappearing down the tunnel. ​An hour later, the heavy oak door of Jake's off-campus apartment swung open with a violent shudder.

A cool amber glow trembled at the top of Jake’s beer glass. The frothy head of Tooheys New danced as he took a slow sip—cold, sharp, the kind of bite that felt like comfort if you didn’t look too closely. Photo albums carpeted the coffee table: bent corners, sun-faded covers, time pressed flat between plastic sleeves. A younger Leslie with baby Jake. Tom at a backyard barbie, tongs raised like a trophy. Beach days. Birthdays. Split knees, patched hearts.

Jake barreled past me without preamble, thrusting his phone in my face. Squinting against the harsh glow, my eyes refocused on a paparazzi snapshot clearly taken yesterday during my bookstore encounter with Megan. It depicted us standing close together near the display windows - her gazing up at me with that damnable hint of a smile playing about her lips while my fingers hovered near her arm as if we'd just been touching. "Incredible," Jake breathed out in exaggerated reverence. "You two should just start dating and put us all out of our misery already."

I gripped the edges of the marble sink, staring at my pale reflection in the mirror, taking slow, deep breaths to force the clinical detachment back into my spine. Don't get carried away, I told my reflection. He hasn't changed. He is exactly the monster you came to destroy. I turned and walked back out into the hallway. As I rounded the corner toward the main dining room, I stopped dead in my tracks. Jake was standing in a quiet alcove near the wine cellar, his back to me. He had his phone pressed to his ear. "The photos are everywhere, Marcus," Jake was saying, his voice a low, ruthless hum. "Yes, I saw the Vanguard stock bump. The narrative is working."

I mouth thank you and place my ass on the stool next to Immi. The guy on my right slaps me on the back, “honor to be sat next to you.” He says. Easily he’d pass for a hockey player, he is huge. The tattoos on his arms run from the ink around his wrists, vining up to his bulging biceps. The tight black tee with a skull on it, hugs his impressive chest tightly. “Names, Jake.” “Good to meet you, Jake. This here is my assistant, Immi. We’re out for a bite to eat before the play offs this weekend.”

the girls asked, their excitement waning, "are you photographer or not?" "Well, I guess..." "Matt!" Jake shoved him in the shoulder, warning him to cut it out. "Okay! What can I do for you today, ladies?" Matt left with the girls further down the stalls to do some shooting with a group. "Ok...and now it's just me," Jake sighed. "Jake?" the familiar voice made him freeze instantly as he turned round. She was standing next to a stall, observing an extremely large pumpkin that was hollowed out with a large mouth but with no eyes and had a low light glowing inside it.

I even make a cup of tea green, no sugar like that’s going to cleanse me of the last two years of my life. Then I make the mistake. I check my phone. Not for Jake. Not intentionally. I just swipe up to clear some notifications, to mute the noise. But one catches my eye. Another Jake Anderson Sighting: I don’t click it. I don’t have to. The preview is enough: a grainy photo of Jake through a half open window, shirtless, holding a wine glass, standing in front of a city skyline that isn’t ours. The woman that woman is curled up on the couch in a silk robe, legs draped over his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

My eyes welled up for a few seconds before the room came into focus slowly. Gray concrete walls, no windows, a single metal door and screens. Dozens of them, covering an entire wall. Some showed security footage. Others displayed files, some codes I had no idea what they were for. A desk sat in front of the screens. Jake sat behind it, his fingers rapidly punching the keys on the keyboard before him. His face was illuminated by blue light. He's the stalker. Jake was the stalker and the mole. I tried to move. My head screamed. Pain radiated from my temple down through my jaw.

Mitch shrugged again, watching the multiple screens like an owl. Jake rubbed his face, eaten up by frustration and a tint of anger. He attempts to look around the littered study table in the room and he becomes more reluctant at pursuing this. There were used plates and leftovers that had grown moulds. Jake could not imagine when they were put there but it grossed him out and he wouldn't pry through them. But then an envelope stained with what appeared to be tomato ketchup caught his eye. His name was boldly typed on it. Forgetting the disgust, Jake picked it up and shook off some of the rubber mess. He turned to Mitch, eyes furrowed when he said, "Why did you not leave this mail at my door?

Janel says connecting her phone to the wifi. “The rain yesternight messed up the internet connection. I couldn’t even make plans for the trip at home and—” she stops. “What is this?” The tone in her voice gives me chills. Oh my God. “The video is on your page.” Jake has my phone. He’s the only one who was with it the last time. Did Jake post the video ? Oh my God. I’m so not prepared to talk about why I ruined Nella’s uniform and then listened to her be worried sick about the team