Page 21 of My Stalker, My Protector

Maybe instead of going to the authorities, I’ll do something else.

We’ll be equal partners in this twisted relationship or there won’t be a relationship.

So, I’ll show him that.

I’ll give him a taste of his own medicine…and see how he likes it.

8

Cash

The world is on fire.

I can’t find Scout and I could rip my skin off, it’s so painful to be alive.

I continue to function, to breathe and move and think, but it’s only to find her.

She tricked me in the movie theater, looking up at me with drowsy affection, when all the while, she was preparing to run. There’s a part of me that is impressed by how well she played me, but I can’t appreciate it fully now. Maybe ever.

Not until she’s back in my possession.

After I leave the theater, my first order of business is tracking down her phone and when I find it on the side of the highway, I have the urge to step into traffic. Right into the path of the speeding cars. Not in order to kill myself. No. Because in my current state of galvanized agony, I am positive the vehicles would bounce right off me, but perhaps the impact would take my mind off the distress causing my heart to collapse.

I go to my off-campus apartment. Her dorm.

She is not in either place.

I roam the campus like a bleeding animal, incapable of responding to people who call my name, recognizing me from baseball. They call things to me like “good game” as if a sport matters when I don’t have Scout. She is my lifeblood, and she has drained herself from my veins, leaving me in a zombie state.

Does she hate me for stalking her?

Is she scared of me?

Where the hell is she? Is she huddled somewhere hurt and terrified that I’ll find her?Hurther? I wouldn’t, I swear. I would just tie her down securely and make her understand thatshehas made me like this. That I have no control over my response to her. Yes, I will imprison her and reason with her until she agrees to stay with me forever. That’s not the same as hurting her, right? No. It’s as humane as I can be.

At the edge of campus now, I stare out into the trees that surround the grounds, shoving five shaking fingers through my hair, realizing my hands are covered in blood and dirt. Where have I been for the last six hours? What have I been doing? The search for Scout is all a blur, but…I think this is my own blood. After I found her phone on the side of the highway, I have memories of searching in the woods, falling to my hands and knees and tearing at the earth. Bellowing her name again and again until my voice turned hoarse.

A tingle climbs the back of my neck and I spin around.

My breath in the night air creates a thin cloud of fog.

Is someone watching me?

In the distance, I hear the snap of a twig and the pulse at the side of my neck begins to pound. I’m delusional at this point, though. I’m not thinking straight. I’m looking for Scout in a place she would never be. In the woods at night? Watching me? That’s ridiculous.

Still, I reach for the last reserve of strength inside of me and shout her name, “Scout,” listening to that single syllable echo through the misty pines.

Nothing.

No one answers.

Oddly, I still have the sensation of being watching. Could it be the police? Preparing to take me down? Take me somewhere and question me about my eternal obsession with Scout? No, they wouldn’t be holding back like this, watching me in silence. They would move in and arrest me. My imagination has been turned upside down, just like the rest of me. But I’m positive that as soon as I return to my apartment, the police will be there, cuffs at the ready.

I’m almost eager for that outcome, simply so I can find out where Scout is located. If she’s all right. If she called the police, at least I know she’s safe—and I will be back out on the streets in no time, more than willing to violate whatever protective order she slaps on me.

But when I get home, there are no police.

There is nothing but quiet.