May Kill Me

Twelve

I was walking down Main Street, turning Sullivan's words repeatedly in my head, when my phone dinged.

Of all people, it was Jonathan who texted me. The text he sent was short, admitting that seeing me felt weird and that he was in the area until Wednesday. Another text came through asking if I was interested in meeting for coffee. 

I was so stunned, that I froze in my steps: the last time I saw Jonathan was Graduation Day, when he walked up the steps of the auditorium to get his diploma. 

This is the last time I'm going to see him,  I thought. Jonathan is going to move to New York and live a New York life filled with drinking in hole-in-the-wall bars, buying food from food trucks, and attending underground parties. In my mind, he was moving to live a far more exciting life than the one he lived in Yorkville, Massachusettes. 

I actually deleted Jonathan's number from my phone once I moved to New Glasgow. After what he did at the party, I expected some kind of apology from him. There were even moments when I wanted to text him or call him, tell him what a baby he's been. I wanted to make him feel terrible, to squeeze an 'I'm sorry' out of him! But the more time passed, the more I began to come to terms with the fact that no apology was actually coming.

Rumors circulated that he hooked up with Chloe Chang during the summer break. Her Instagram was filled with the two in Cape Cod eating buttered shrimp and dipping their feet in the water. 

That Jonathan wasn't someone I recognized. The Jonathan I knew wasn't the type to eat buttered shrimp with some girl and allow her to post photographic evidence for the world to see. The Jonathan I knew, the one I dated, loved tailgate parties, hunting, any sport, hunting, fishing, camping... His entire extended family was very outdoorsy, and very into sports, manly-man things. The thought of him eating shrimp and dipping his feet in ocean water with his jeans rolled up (and commemorating it on camera), seemed laughable. 

At first, I was sure he was doing those things to make me jealous, to show me how great of a time he was having without me. How he didn't need me in his life. But then, as I was scrolling through the photos, I got to thinking. Perhaps, the Jonathan I was dating wasn't the 'real' Jonathan. Maybe, what he genuinely enjoyed were these low-impact chill activities that were documented by an eager girl who was more than happy to post them online for everyone to see. Maybe the person he was with me was the facade. He behaved how he thought people around him expected him to behave. 

So I deleted his number. Nonetheless, I exchanged so many texts with him that I knew the number by heart. 

It never occurred to me to block him altogether, simply because I never really expected him to reach out after he started dating (or whatever it was) someone else. 

"Not interested." I type back and am about to hit the send icon when something stops me. 

 Sullivan said that if this is a stalker, chances are they are already in my life. Someone I know. I could meet up with Jonathan, ask him about it, and show him the note. See what he has to say. Perhaps, he is the note-sender, and if I confront him head-on, he'll admit to it. Just like a criminal committing a crime, and inserting themselves into the investigation or coming back to the scene. 

I would have never taken Jonathan for someone who'd creep around, and leave notes for people. But people have secret sides to them, and sometimes all someone needs is something inside to snap for them to let the creep out. 

Maybe all Jonathan wanted was recognition, and closure. Perhaps the sooner I gave him whatever he wanted, the sooner he'll stop. 

"How soon can you meet me here?" I send him the location of the coffee shop I often go to, knowing it will be fairly busy on the weekend, so that if anything happens to me - there will be some kind of breadcrumb trail.