Three Little Words
It was all I could to keep from physically shaking all the time; I’d made a quick exit from the bar. How could I be so stupid flirting with Ambrose, there were so many red flags, and I ignored them. Abandonment wasn’t an issue I dealt with easily, and Clay’s flight on his birthday, felt like abandonment all right, I wasn’t angry, I trusted Clay, and if he just up and left, it was for good reason, he never did anything lightly, well hardly ever. He was just confusing, and his face was ashen.
Maybe there was some anger, what possessed me to go to a bar in the first place, I’ll never know, dad had taught me to be so careful and yet I let my guard down. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I feel like a mouse in some maze, and he’s the one watching me. Could have been those intense eyes? The more we talked, the more I knew he wasn’t human. Okay call me crazy, but he’s just different, even then I didn’t leave, I could blame it on the alcohol, partially it was because of he attraction, and partially because around him, I had this feeling of power, if you’d call it that, frankly I was a bit inebriated, and I don’t remember.
What I do know is he could have hurt me, I allowed myself to get in that place with him, and he didn’t. It wasn’t pity, it was more like a game, but as scary as it is to think, I think we connected on some other level, and that’s what made him hesitate, why are girls drawn to bad boys? And they always want to think that they meant something? That’s where I am, wanting to believe that I got to him. It’s not like many things get to him, by the end of the evening I could tell he was a cold fish, but as he looked at me, there was a deliberation, a conscious decision to kill me, or kill me and change me into something else to be with him. God, I sound insane, and how does one interpret feelings, but that’s what I felt, real or not. Maybe I just wanted to matter to someone.
I’ve had a long time to think about this, develop and discard theories as I lived through my day-to-day without Clay. His silence, his absence an obvious need to deal with his own demons, I’ve been there, but it hurt none-the-less, and his cryptic emails, gave me no clue to what was happening, and for the first time in my life, I began to feel isolated, yes, I began to isolate myself just for self preservation, only going to class.
I’m not sure when I realized I was being followed, it was more of an awareness I guess, a realization, the sound of footsteps behind you, the phone ringing, and when you answer it no one is there. On one of my few outings with friends, I caught Ambrose staring at me across the room, as if to taunt me.
So I ran, packed up and got out of Florida and began traveling North, stopping here and there, and just when I began to feel safe, the overwhelming feeling of being stalked, and terror slow overtaking me like a slow cancer eating one up inside.
I’d wanted to be self-sufficient, to take care of myself, but death followed me and in each town, a series of violent attacks, following me my wake and I felt responsible.
There was only one thing I could think of doing.
Shaking, I picked up my cell and pressed one on my speed dial.
Boston was cold and icy, cheerful signs of the season greeted me in every shop, and street corner, but now they offered no comfort. Like a little child moving up and down as if holding it in because he or she couldn’t find a bathroom, my feet flat, my body shaking as if to will Clay into answering.
Finally, his familiar voice “What’s up homes?” I had to giggle, hearing that it almost melted everything away.
All I could must was three little words, “I’m in trouble,” before the tears started streaming down my face. Thank the goddess he couldn’t see me.
Maybe there was some anger, what possessed me to go to a bar in the first place, I’ll never know, dad had taught me to be so careful and yet I let my guard down. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I feel like a mouse in some maze, and he’s the one watching me. Could have been those intense eyes? The more we talked, the more I knew he wasn’t human. Okay call me crazy, but he’s just different, even then I didn’t leave, I could blame it on the alcohol, partially it was because of he attraction, and partially because around him, I had this feeling of power, if you’d call it that, frankly I was a bit inebriated, and I don’t remember.
What I do know is he could have hurt me, I allowed myself to get in that place with him, and he didn’t. It wasn’t pity, it was more like a game, but as scary as it is to think, I think we connected on some other level, and that’s what made him hesitate, why are girls drawn to bad boys? And they always want to think that they meant something? That’s where I am, wanting to believe that I got to him. It’s not like many things get to him, by the end of the evening I could tell he was a cold fish, but as he looked at me, there was a deliberation, a conscious decision to kill me, or kill me and change me into something else to be with him. God, I sound insane, and how does one interpret feelings, but that’s what I felt, real or not. Maybe I just wanted to matter to someone.
I’ve had a long time to think about this, develop and discard theories as I lived through my day-to-day without Clay. His silence, his absence an obvious need to deal with his own demons, I’ve been there, but it hurt none-the-less, and his cryptic emails, gave me no clue to what was happening, and for the first time in my life, I began to feel isolated, yes, I began to isolate myself just for self preservation, only going to class.
I’m not sure when I realized I was being followed, it was more of an awareness I guess, a realization, the sound of footsteps behind you, the phone ringing, and when you answer it no one is there. On one of my few outings with friends, I caught Ambrose staring at me across the room, as if to taunt me.
So I ran, packed up and got out of Florida and began traveling North, stopping here and there, and just when I began to feel safe, the overwhelming feeling of being stalked, and terror slow overtaking me like a slow cancer eating one up inside.
I’d wanted to be self-sufficient, to take care of myself, but death followed me and in each town, a series of violent attacks, following me my wake and I felt responsible.
There was only one thing I could think of doing.
Shaking, I picked up my cell and pressed one on my speed dial.
Boston was cold and icy, cheerful signs of the season greeted me in every shop, and street corner, but now they offered no comfort. Like a little child moving up and down as if holding it in because he or she couldn’t find a bathroom, my feet flat, my body shaking as if to will Clay into answering.
Finally, his familiar voice “What’s up homes?” I had to giggle, hearing that it almost melted everything away.
All I could must was three little words, “I’m in trouble,” before the tears started streaming down my face. Thank the goddess he couldn’t see me.