Through My Window: Looking At You Book Novels & Stories

I saw him, through smoked glass, unlocking the door. I scurried across a patch of young grass and sat down beneath one of the windows that faced into the square. I thought it was a kitchen window, for no better reason than its proximity to a large waste pipe, which could have meant nothing. I waited for a light to illuminate some of the grass, but when it did, it was at the side of the house and I had to creep round. There was a tiny crack between the window frame and the blind if I was very, very careful, I could just fit my eye in that space and take a look.

Not like this. Not with— I reached the back corner, and saw it. One window with the curtains wide open. It was our bedroom window and although the glass was locked shut, I could see through it and probably call someone that might be passing. Light spilled outward, cutting through the rain as I stepped closer and looked gazed insides I was made to freeze. At first, I didn’t understand what I was staring at as I saw movement but then I blinked and it became clear with the sharp sting in my chest.

Hermosa's POV I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the trees blur into a dark smudge against the horizon. My arm throbbed where the needle had pierced me—a dull reminder of the life I’d just drained out of myself for people who looked at me like a meal.

NIGHT WAS SLOWLY FADING AWAY. The stars seemed to dim with the break of daylight that was slowly and calmly coming in. I stood gazing out the window in a state of utter apprehension struggling to fathom the very path that had led my life to this bleak dead end. The small wooden brown window with thin glass shatters, the place that had now become a permanent spot for me to sit and ruminate on things; ruminating on my entire existence on this Earth brought me some form of closure and comfort. It eased my internal pain and I felt everything was going to be just okay. The window that had bore witness to my bleak and sad life also bore my happiest moments.

I spent the rest of the day in my room, and by night the packhouse was silent around me. I stood by the window, the same window Julius once found words burned across. Now the glass was clean. At least it looked that way. Outside, the world breathed slow. Inside, my reflection watched me too closely. I leaned nearer. It leaned back, but a beat late. “Stop,” I whispered. It smiled. In my own voice it said, He’s not the only one watching. A hairline crack split the glass from top to bottom, thin as lightning. I stumbled back, pressing my hand to the mark that had begun to pulse again.

Beautiful on the surface, suffocating underneath. I moved to the windows next, running my hands along the frames, looking for any way to open them but they were sealed shut. Probably reinforced glass that wouldn’t break even if I threw a chair at it. The view of the lake was stunning but it might as well have been a painting for all the good it did me. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass and closed my eyes.

I glanced out the window to see the girl still staring into my window as if the tinted glass would suddenly turn into a see through glass which would enable her be able to see me. I scoffed.

And I thought that reading all this would calm my mind. I closed the book and lay on the bed, but all the things that happened today and the things that I read were just too much for my brain to let me sleep. I went to the window and looked towards the woods. For a split second, I saw a pair of golden eyes looking right toward me, but they vanished as soon as I blinked... {What was that?} ... Is that my hallucination or... I took my cell and called matt.

The silence around me felt heavy and suffocating. As I gazed out of the window, I was filled with astonishment at the sight before me. Through the glass, I caught a glimpse of Sarah emerging from the front door of the house. The sunlight seemed to dance around her, illuminating the vibrant colors of her dress and casting a radiant glow around her.

Selina's POV Windows have always been my favorite kind of lie. From this third-floor landing I could watch the pack without being part of it—pretend I was one of them, just another pair of eyes behind glass, without all the responsibility and history rotting inside my stomach. This morning was especially perfect for it: sun-baked snow sloshed in drifts against the battered siding, and the path to the common hall was churned to mud by wolf and human feet alike. The air was so cold it turned everything sharper, even my own thoughts.