May Kill Me

Sixteen

"What happened?" 

This is the first thing I ask once Travis and I are in his car. Last night is a fuzzy and practically non-existent memory, a smokey trail of what happened.  My brain pulsates in pain every time I try to remember. 

"You really don't remember anything?" Travis raises his eyebrows at me after turning the key in the ignition. His pickup comes to life with a soft rumble. The radio turns on, tuned to an oldies rock station. 

I don't know who's playing and I don't care, but it's too loud. Even though this is not my car and Travis and I aren't friends, I don't bother asking for his permission when I reach for the dial and turn the volume down. 

"I remember sitting at a coffee shop to work on the presentation, and I remember Jenna turning up at some point..." I also remember holding a beer bottle. 

Travis presses his lips together, making them into a tight line as he pulls out of the outdoor parking. 

"Well?" I snap at him. 

Travis flinches. 

We're somewhere I'm not familiar with: vast plains of green nothings are on both sides of us once we pull away from the apartment complex. 

I assume we came this way last night, but nothing about the surroundings looks familiar. 

"Sorry, I'm not usually like this, but I am more than freaked out. I never blacked out before." 

"That's okay," Travis offers me a small smile, "I would have been freaked out too if I woke up in a stranger's apartment and didn't remember anything." 

"We were at the coffee shop like you said, and Jenna showed up. One of her friends celebrated her birthday at the bar where Jenna works. So Jenna invited us." 

"Is Jenna your girlfriend?" I blurt out before I can even stop myself. 

I know how this sounds, it sounds as if I was interested in Travis romantically, sexually, whatever. I'm not, though. Not at all. I just want to have all the players figured out, I want to be able to piece things together the best I can. 

If my question weirds out Travis, he doesn't let it show, he doesn't even turn to look at me. 

"Not really, not a girlfriend. We hook up from time to time." He trails off, eyes on the road.  

"Okay, so not your girlfriend. And what happened after Jenna showed up?" I wanted to scream at Travis to tell me what happened faster. It felt like I had to pry the words out of him with pliers. Sudden throbbing pain shoots across my brain, and I flinch. Whatever happened last night, I was still dealing with the aftermath. 

"Well, we got to the bar and you got a bottle of beer, and then you checked your phone. Something someone named Jonathan posted or did or whatever made you upset. I didn't ask what it was, but you did order another bottle of beer. I left you there with the girls for a bit. I don't know for how long you were gone... When I came back you were dancing on the bartop and shouting things out. It was quite shocking. We don't know each other that well," 

Or at all, I wanted to add. 

"I just didn't expect that from you, you know?" 

Houses begin to crop up on the sides of the road, small ones with the flag waving proudly in the front yard and trucks parked on the driveway to the front door. 

We pass A Welcome Sign to New Glasgow. 

So, something Jonathan did triggered me. 

I reach for the phone in my bag to try and figure out what was it that he did that upset me that much. Did he text me? Posted something that set me off? 

"... And suddenly this guy approaches us, telling me he's your friend and he's going to take you home." 

"Wait, what?" I stop, turning to look at Travis, who now turned his head to face me when we approach a stop sign. 

"I'm used to seeing men pray on women, especially when they are in a-um- compromising position. So this didn't feel all that shocking, but there was something weird about the whole thing. He said he's your friend, and even though there were a lot of people around you, he wasn't deterred. I asked you if you know him, and you took one look at him and said no." 

My insides turned icy at his words. 

"He kept insisting. It got pretty bad, actually. No matter what I said, he kept presenting. My friends noticed it and approached us. I think if it weren't for them, the whole interaction would have turned violent. He finally backed off, though. I wanted to take a picture of him, just in case he turned up again so that the staff know to kick him out. But he was gone in seconds the moment my friends showed up." 

This could be my stalker.

It could also be a random creep, which wasn't that much better. 

"What did he look like?" 

Travis scratches the side of his arm before answering, a pensive expression on his face. 

"He was tall, taller than me. And looked like he was working out. A big guy, you know. He looked like someone who plays football." 

"Did you see his face?" I prompt, anxiety building up inside me. 

"No, not really... I mean, he wore a baseball hat and it was pretty dark. White dude." 

"Did he look anything like this?" 

I quickly type Outlander on my phone and shove the phone in Travis's face. Not the safest thing to do when the person you do it to is driving, but this was also potentially life and death. 

Travis takes a better look at the photo quickly, and then once again once we stop at an intersection. 

"Maybe," He pauses and takes a longer look, "Yeah, that could be him." 

***

After Travis drops me off close to my apartment, I call my work at the university textbook store and say I'm sick and won't be able to come in. 

Hans, my boss, an annoying bespectacled man with tiny round glass and very pink skin is not happy to hear I won't be showing up. 

He hates me, and it's not so much that he's upset I won't be coming, but more that I have the gull to call in sick. 

"We're really tight here, Oceane, you're putting us in a real bind calling so last minute."

"I'm sorry, Hans, but I feel really sick." I cough very loudly into the speaker, "I was hoping this is a 24-hour thing, but the last thing I want to do is get my coworkers sick." I fake a sneezing sound for good measure. 

"Well, alright." Hans accepts and hangs up the phone. 

He doesn't even wish for me to get better. 

Hans can shove it.

I bet he doesn't have a stalker watching his every move because that's exactly what's been going on. If this is the same person who my mom met at the grocery store, the same person who slid a note under my bed, then this person is tracking my every move. Somehow, this Sam Roland Heughan doppelganger is tracking my every move. 

But why? 

Why the hell would anyone who looks like hot beefcake care about someone like me? 

*** 

I leave the apartment only once, to pick up the yearbook, and an XL pizza from Domino's for sustenance. 

The rest of the day I spend pouring over my yearbook, trying to figure out if I went to school with someone who looked like The Outlander.  

***

I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I'm jolted awake, it's because of the front door handle: someone is jiggling it, trying to get the door open.