AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Bea
One month living alone and I’m already back at my parents’ house. That’s got to be some sort of a record. And maybe the worst part is, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m putting her in danger too by being here.
Another pretty bad part is that they both think I’m crazy. After what happened, you’d think they would give me the benefit of the doubt just a little bit, but not so much.
I wish it was just in my head. For the first time in my life, I really, truly wish that. But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s out there, watching me, waiting for night to fall so he can creep closer to the house and watch me sleep, or whatever. The feeling is so strong, I’m having trouble drawing a full breath.
Every time I stare out the living room window for too long, I’m greeted by my mom and step-dad’s concerned looks even though they seem to be completely engrossed in the game show we’re watching. It doesn’t help that the back yard is huge and covered by all sorts of high bushes and trees so easy to hide behind. Back at my condo, there’s fewer places for a peeper to hide. But I didn’t put the yellow rose on my windowsill. Nor did I lose one of the large knives from the set I bought at college when I was into learning how to cook. Sure, I might have left it behind when I moved back from San Diego. It is possible. And I don’t remember if it was actually there when I set up the knife stand at my new place. But when I noticed it was gone, and I couldn’t find it anywhere, the fear that someone was in my condo and took it was overwhelming. So I just packed an overnight bag and came here. That was three days ago.
The condo was supposed to be my new start. Now, just a few months after renting it, I’m already looking for ways to end the lease.
Mom clears her throat and I already know what she’s going to say from the look in her eyes. It’s part concern, annoyance and fear, and it makes me feel like I’m sixteen years old all over again.
“Maybe you should go see Doctor Flanders?” she asks.
Doc F was my psychologist when I was sixteen years old and I very much doubt she deals with adults. And besides, I don’t have a problem that’s just in my head. I have a problem with a stalker. One that leaves random items in my mailbox and windowsill and on my doorstep. Flowers, pendants, cute little toys, a ring once--all things that could not have gotten there some other way, I suppose, like Mom keeps reminding me. But I know someone put them there for me. I know it. I also feel him watching me. Feel him following me everywhere I go.
The weight of all that spiraling fear crashes against the terrible, unsettling feeling that no one believes me. That everyone thinks I’m crazy. Including my mother.
But I don’t want to blow up at her.
“It’s fine, Mom,” I say instead. “I’m going out later tonight and I’m sleeping at the condo tonight.”
I didn’t decide that until just now. But part of the weight lifts as I say it out loud. Name your fear, that way you can see them better, deal with them better. That’s advice from Doc Flanders from before when the fear was indeed just in my head. Most likely it still is. I just wish it felt that way.
Mom gasps, and my step dad Rick looks at me sharply over the rim of his glasses.
“Are you sure, honey?” Mom asks. Now who can’t make up their mind? A minute ago she was telling me I’m just imagining things.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I tell her with a defiance I don’t actually feel.
The oven timer in the kitchen goes off, the shrill beeping filling the sudden silence that erupted, purely as a result of my mom’s doubt.
My step dad Rick lets out a huge sigh of relief and stands up, clapping his hands. “Good, good. Let’s eat, I’m starving.”
Mom jumps at the chance to end the uncomfortable conversation, literally leaping off the sofa to go tend to the beeping.
By the time I follow them into the kitchen the whole room smells like the generous amount of the rosemary my mom seasoned the roast she has spent most of the day preparing. I shouldn’t blame her for worrying so much. She has good reason to.
I started having these paranoid ideas that someone was watching me back in high school, and the fact that a creeper broke into my sorority house in college and nearly killed my roommate didn’t help any. But the guy was caught and I was fine for the last two years.
I wish I could believe I still am. Maybe it’s being back in my hometown that’s triggering my paranoia’s again. Maybe it’s being back in my childhood home. Maybe it’s just an extension of the fact that I’m living alone for the first time in my life. Maybe it is all just in my head.
But if I go see a psychiatrist they’ll put me on medication and I hate that. I always have.
Maybe I just need to stop thinking about it.
I do my best to follow that brilliant advice as I prep the salad, Rick is cutting up the meat and mom is busy arranging the veggies on a plate just so. No one is speaking. None of us are even looking at each other. The only sound in is the whirring of Rick’s electric cutter.
I wish I was sure no one was looking at us. But I’m not. I feel his eyes on the back of my head and the urge to turn and look out the window is so strong my whole body is tense, virtually shaking from trying to fight it.
But if I look now, that whole painful conversation will just start all over again.
Going back home tonight will help. And then, first thing Monday morning, I’ll go see someone. But it’s Saturday. I’m meeting my BFF Lily for a girl’s night out in two hours. We’re checking out a place that just opened and everyone keeps talking about. If I give into my fears, I’ll just stay home with the shades drawn and my bedroom door locked. Wide awake. Afraid to go to sleep. I spent years living like that so I know it’s no way to live.
