Page 7 of Obsessed

“Yeah, Mom, I know.” My scholarships cover most of the tuition, but there are still book fees and living expenses. My mom paying for it saves me from having to get a job on top of dealing with school work.

It’s not that I’m not grateful. I am. I know how lucky I am to have my mom helping me out. I just wish she wouldn’t remind me of it every single time we talk. I’ll pay her back someday, once I’m a doctor and making good money. I don’t want to be a freeloader forever.

“You’d better know,” she says, that familiar warning tone in her voice. And then it’s replaced by a much lighter one, like a switch has been flipped. “Oh, I heard from my friend Kevin yesterday. Did you know his son is an engineer?”

Brilliant. Straight into the match-making sales pitch. “I’ve never met your friend Kevin.” I try not to sound bored.

“I’ll invite him to the Christmas party. You can wear your red dress.”

I rub a hand across my face. My mother is exhausting, and I’ve already had the longest day ever, so I don’t feel very guilty when I rap on my coffee table to imitate someone knocking on the door.

“Gotta go, Mom!”

“Emily, wait! Don’t answer your door at this hour!”

I hang up and toss my phone on the couch. Finally, it’s just me, my popcorn, and my movie. I turn the movie on and try to calm down enough to relax.

Something snaps outside. A twig, maybe. But it could be something else. It doesn’t have to be a snapping twig signaling something sinister. And if it is a twig, that doesn’t have to mean it’s something bad. Could be a stray cat.

I pause the movie. This is ridiculous. I’m going to put my shoes on, walk outside, and make sure no one is there.

I shove my feet into my sneakers and grab my keys. I also grab the can of pepper spray from my purse, just in case the cat happens to be an axe murderer. Are axe murderers immune to pepper spray? I shake my head at my own stupidity.

When I step outside my building, the night is quiet and dark and drenched in the sweet smell of abelias in bloom. There’s nothing creepy about it aside from the growing cramp of unease in the pit of my stomach.

I look around to see the lights on in the apartments on either side of mine. Single-story, like the rest of the apartment complex. It’s nice that I never have to worry about deafening hoof noises from above me keeping me up at night, but right now I’m wishing I was on the second floor.

My place is cheap and close to campus, I remind myself. And in a safe enough neighborhood, too, which is an unheard of trifecta in Boston. A unicorn, that’s what my apartment is. I know people—my closest friends included—who would do anything for this kind of deal. There’s never been a break-in or any other kind of petty crime for that matter. All the more reason for me to quit freaking out about nothing.

I walk down the sidewalk that leads from my door to the parking lot. There’s nothing and no one. I turn back and scan the sparse trees and bushes. Without so much as a breeze, the branches are still and peaceful. Not even a rustle in the leaves.

So where’d the sound of a snapping twig come from?

I shiver and bite the inside of my lip. A squirrel, I tell myself. Or maybe an opossum. I’ve seen the odd raccoon near the dumpster every now and then. One of them could easily be the culprit. I should know better than to jump to stupid conclusions that will only creep me out further, but I can’t help it.

I step closer to the bushes just outside my living room window to double-check. Right then, something moves in the corner of my eye and I whip around, my eyes frantically trying to land on something solid I can bl

ame.

But nothing’s out here.

There’s the sound of feet on pavement from around the corner, then a car starts up. Probably just a neighbor on a late-night store run. It’s unusual, but not impossible. And far better than the alternative.

I rub my arms to try and get rid of the goosebumps that have shot up all over. My nerves shattered, I walk back inside at a quick clip and slam the lock up as soon as I’m in. I press my forehead against the cool door and take a deep, steadying breath.

I’m fine. I’m imagining things. Nothing is going on. No killer cats and no killer stalkers.

I consider calling Heather and asking her to come over, then reject the idea. She’s probably out with her boyfriend, and I’d just be ruining her night over my silly paranoia. What would I even tell her? I heard a sound and now I’m scared, please hold me? I’d rather not.

I settle back on my couch determined to make it through the movie, and my determination goes a long way because before long, the credits are rolling and my hand hits the bottom of my popcorn bowl. I’m starting to feel better as I clean up. I don’t know why I was so worried before.

Ready to call it a night, I pad sleepily down the hall to my bedroom and freeze up the second I walk in. The exhaustion I felt a second ago is replaced by something else as my muscles tense up. The window beside my bed is covered in markings. It looks like it’s been done with the grease pen I use to leave myself reminders on the bathroom mirror. With nothing but my twenty watt bedside lamp illuminating the room, I can’t make out what they say.

Taking a breath, I convince myself it’s okay to move, and slowly step closer to the window until the writing becomes clear. Hearts have been drawn all over the glass. My name is etched in one of them. Around the hearts are hurried, scraggly messages. One says, Emily, I love you. Another, I know we’ll be together someday. And a final one: I’ll make you mine, no matter what it takes.

I cover my mouth with both hands as a gut-wrenching scream rips from my throat and I stagger backward on legs of jelly. I can’t take my eyes off the words, but they’re swimming in and out of focus now, and my knees hit the floor.

The man from before. The one who shouted he loved me. The sense of not being alone. The snap outside my window. The person who drove away!

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