Her Words

Trigger warning: stalking and violence

The words, her words… How can they be so beautiful? The curves of the letters, the sounds they make as I read them aloud, the way they come to life: It’s like nothing I’ve seen in my life. 

I was her first fan. Back before there were so many people obsessed with her words, I was there reading her beautiful words. Each word is a sculpture, together they make clay-mation movie that I can watch as many times as I want while barely paying anything at all. From the beginning, I was the only one watching as her stories formed, like magic, from nothing but her mind. 

She herself is not very pretty; she doesn’t curve like the C’s she writes, but she’s not misleading like her H’s either. She’s simple, made of O’s, round, but not alluring like her sexy little S’s. She looks so normal, but her mind, that beautiful mind… It’s a mind so amazing it bore the letters that turned me from my old boring self, someone who barely even read, someone who only worried, forgetting to live, into someone who couldn’t stop reading the same stories, her stories, over and over again until they were ingrained in my brain. 

Her mind is something I can’t begin to understand but wish I could. I wish I could hold it in my hands and study it, dissect it and find all the letters hidden inside so all the remaining stories are no ones but mine. In fact, that’s my plan; when she comes back to our home I’ll be there, waiting with her cat, Tommy.

When I first found her, who she really is, not the pretend person she says writes her beautiful words, she had a different cat. That cat was too close to her, it would sleep on her bed and sit on her lap. It was too close to the beautiful mind so one day while she went out to buy it food, she left the door open, or at least, that’s what she thinks happened.

Once that first cat was gone, I took my cat Tommy and left it on her doorstep. She couldn’t just leave him there so she took him in and now he hides in her cupboards and keeps her from getting another cat. 

Tommy was all I had left from my life before. Before I met her I was normal and boring; I lived alone, working day in and day out for no reason other than because I was supposed to. Her words gave me purpose, so I found her. It took me a while but I found her, I found everything about her, where she lived, what she liked, who she knew, what she looked like. I took all that time to get to know her and have spent all my time since protecting her, not because I have to but because I wanted to. I get to see every word before the rest of the world because of it and that was enough for me. All I wanted was to be with her but then a few days ago, out of nowhere, she disappeared. 

She went on a trip without telling me or anyone else, she didn’t take her clothes or her cat, just the pretty words trapped inside her beautiful brain.

At first when she left, I was mad. I couldn’t believe that she’d dare to leave me after all I’d done for her, after I’d protected her from all the fake friends and success seeking strangers. That’s when I remembered, she doesn’t know that I exist. I’ve been with her from the start, in the shadows, helping, up in her attic, hiding, at some point I made the choice to stay hidden, I don’t remember when. I can’t blame her for not knowing me if I never let her. 

When I realized that I decided that it was time to stop hiding. When she returns, I’m going to let her meet me. I’m going to say hi to her and her beautiful mind and things are going to go just right. We’ll have the kind of romance people dream about, one with love at first sight. She’ll want to know everything about me and she’ll help me know everything about her. She’ll want me to now all her secrets, all the words trapped in her head will be mine and I will see that all. If I can just wait for her then everything will go perfectly. 

Yeah, all I have to do is wait for her to ret-

I think I can hear the rumbling sound of her car pulling into the driveway. I knew she’d come back; she always comes back. 

I walk to the door quieter than the silent h’s she sometimes puts into her writing. 

Her feet hit the gravel of the path as she walks to the front door. 

I grab something sharper than the sound of the T in thrash and hide, in case she doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Her keys make tingling sounds as she puts one of them into the door.

I listen as the door unlocks with a click, excited for what’s to come.

Her oh so soft hand turns the handle and swings open the door.

I reach for that pretty hand.

A-

KA-THUNK!

I fall back as she readies the J in her hands to attack me again.

“No one believed me!” the beautiful O shouts excitedly. She’s happy to see me. “They said I was imagining things!”

I reach for the pretty O, wanting to hear more of her beautiful words, but when my K of a hand starts to snake towards her, she takes the J and slams it into me again.

Red explodes over the pretty O, so I try to wipe it away, but it doesn’t work. She hits me with the J again and again and again and again till all that’s left of the pretty O is a smear of an ugly shade of red.