I Always Know Who's Watching

TW: Stalking, armed robbery (gun), not sure what this falls under but the main character is insane. Occasional vulgar language (minor).

I have to do it carefully, or he'll stop following me. I can still imagine the high that I get when I feel his eyes groping me.

I barely restrain the sort of laugh that makes people creep away from me. Walk carefully, you can't look like you know.

I pulled out my phone and found a bench to sit on. Carefully, I arrange my body, making sure the highlights could be seen from behind. He's looking. Don't smile like a creep, it will scare the children away. Then he won't want to follow you.

That feeling returns, the one that makes my jaw ache from the need to smile too widely. The one that tickles my stomach and makes me want to clench something. The one that makes me want to squeeze something until it stops moving. Imagine seeing an adorable puppy, or a baby. Whatever you find adorable, now imagine that feeling, and multiply it, and give it a violent edge. That feeling. Cuteness aggression, except more emphasizes on aggression. The doctors say it's not good. They say it can make me dangerous or violent. 

I never really minded.

I can feel him. It doesn't matter I don't know what he looks like. But when I feel his eyes on me, or when I feel like my pictures being taken...

I have to stop thinking about this. I'm going to give it away. I run my hands through my hair. Giddily imagining his response to my action. I imagine him staring at me with a smile that would make mothers hold their daughters closer. With eyes wide and sick with desire. I know I'm not supposed to want it...

But I do. And I don't really mind.

Finally, I sigh and pull myself up from the bench. Walking away from  my resting place. I bet he's moved from where he was, now he's walking in the trees. Staring at me the entire way. Writing down notes, taking pictures. Finally, I reach my car. Slowly, I run my finger over the handle, imagining the mystery man's face replacing it.

Then I opened up the door, faking as much struggle as I could. I throw myself messily into the car. I sighed, playing with my hair in the mirror. Finally, I turned on the car and started driving.

I drove slow enough for him to follow me. Slow enough that he could get on my trail and stay on it. Then I sped up. In the car, I could let out a little laugh. It wavered. The laugh was like bursting a balloon, I could feel my eyes getting wide, a smile crept across my face. Making my cheeks hurt.

The trees whizzed by much faster now. I started out at the road imagining the man. Imagining his touch, the way he would caress my cheek. Then how he would grip my neck, reaching aggressively for a kiss. Another laugh escaped my lips.

He was all I thought about. Everything revolved around him.

I pulled into my driveway. Stopping the car and slipping out. Then I walk slowly to my door. I take my keys out of my handbag, and put it in the lock.

I like the way it twists. The soft click that I can hardly hear. It's ominous, it could mean going to a safe space after a long day.

Or it could mean that you're locked in a house, or maybe a room, with the man who follows you.

I open the door slowly. Quickly entering the house, I closed the door. And looked at the lock.

Leaving it unlocked would seem desperate, or careless, helpless. I stare at the lock for a long moment. I had to get this right. I loved this feeling, the burning desire. The feeling of being wanted. I had to keep it. I had to. It wasn't an option anymore. I laughed. Then I locked the door.

I ran my hands through my hair again, then I walked into the living room. Slowly, I scanned the room. Then I walked quickly over to one spot on the floor. The whole room was what was considered 'under wraps.' The cameras that I knew had been installed, would not be able to see this room. I reached down to the floorboard and took it off. Underneath were overflowing papers and notebooks, paintings, sketches, you name it.

They were all of him. I took out my favorite, smiling at it. The man in the picture was young, maybe twenty six. Only a year older than me. He had dark hair, ever so slightly lighter than ink black. His skin was olive, a brutal contrast to my pale white skin. His lips were soft, you couldn't feel them from the painting, but you could see.

He was wearing dark clothes, his long fingers holding a camera. On that camera, I knew, where countless pictures of me were. I put the painting back. Looking next at a journal entry.

This morning, I found cameras in my house. I can't express the joy that I had in words. Tonight, I hope that he breaks in. Maybe, just maybe I'll get that lucky. I think I'm going to finish stitching that doll up tonight.

I smiled at the letter and reached carefully into the floorboard and found the doll that I had written about. It was a replica of what I imagined was the man. It was tall. Soft. I squeezed it as tightly as I could.

Then, something changed. A car on the road. I had to move quickly. The note and the doll were thrown in quickly, but the picture was placed very delicately back under the floorboards. Then, I placed the floorboard back where it was. Someone was walking towards the door now.

I quickly got off the floor and darted the short distance from the broken floorboard to the couch. Quickly I grabbed a blanket and threw it over myself as the door creaked open.

Well, they weren't trying to hide anything. Bold. I like it. I smiled, twisting my hair around my finger.

"Don't scream." A voice breathed.

I tensed, trembling with anticipation. I could almost feel his breath,

I could imagine him, behind the back of the couch, watching me. That feeling came back, putting a slight tremor in my hand. Perfect, I looked afraid.

"Who are you?" I whispered. Finally, I would get a name for the man.

"Jonathan Smith. I've been following you for six months."

Chills ran through my body. I shuddered. 

“Are the doors locked?”

“And the windows.”

Oh his voice, it was so tantalizing. It's like he wanted to tease me. My body ached with the tension, and resolve.

I had done it right.

He was here, hovering over me. But I wasn’t done yet, if I wasn’t

careful he would run off. 

“Why are you here?”

“Not for you to know yet.”

I began to tremble. I finally had him. I knew that he would turn around the corner and confess that he had followed me because he wanted me. Tell me he wanted the dangerous wild love I dreamt of. He wanted to be out of control with me. He had to. Why else would he follow me everywhere?

“Can I sit up and look at you?” I asked softly. I could barely hold myself still now.

“If you’d like.”

I shook, sitting up I looked him in the eyes. He wasn’t anything like I imagined.

Instead of dark hair he had light hay colored hair. His eyes were not dark, they were soft chocolate brown. His skin wasn’t the dark olive complexion I had imagined. It was a similar shade as mine. He was the same height as me, not tall and muscular. Just… regular. 

The word sunk in slowly. Then rage bubbled up in my chest.

Regular. He was regular. Not special, wild, daring. He was normal. He had the nerve to lead me on. Make me think that-

“You…” I faltered. Staring at his cruelly regular face. “Your not special.” I spat. “Get out of my house.”

He looked at me, eyes squinted. “No.” He said simply.

“I said get out.” I stood up off the couch. Trembling. Seeing red wasn’t real. Not for me at least. When I was angry, I saw everything clear. Deathly clear. He wasn’t here because he liked me. He was here for something that was mine.

“No.” He said calmly. Then he took out a gun.

I stared at it with a scowl. “You won’t hurt me.” I spat. 

“I bet you won’t risk it.”

He walked around the couch, I stared at him. He reached the spot where the loose floorboard was. Bending down he popped it off. I watched him coldly, still trembling with fury.

Carefully, he took out a doll.

“Nice sewing job isn’t it?” I said icily. 

“Who’s it supposed to be?”

I smiled slowly, staring at him. Sudden realization sunk in his face.

“It’s supposed to be you.”

“Me?” He asked. I smiled, relishing his unease.

“Jonathan, you said that the doors were locked, the windows too. Right?”

“Yes.”

“Let me tell you a little secret Mr. Smith, I always know who’s watching.”