May Kill Me

Twenty-One

It all made sense now. 

the whole time, it was right there in front of me, and I was too stupid to see it. 

Noah and Jonathan knew each other. 

On Instagram, Noah went under noah_nov13. He had about 240 followers, but only under ten posts, which led me to believe that I need to be part of his approved followers to see more pictures, or that he had another account. 

In his bio, it stated that he's a surfer and was born and raised in Portland. 

And then there was the photo, posted last August. 

In the photograph, the two of them were on a beach - visible torso up - and clad in Rip Curl wetsuits. Noah was pointing at something in the distance, and Jonathan was craning his neck to get a better view. 

This was not the typical Instagram post where people were looking at the camera. It was more of a candid photo that generated 50 likes and 0 comments. 

Jonathan never told me about him. Not that it was a shocker. He'd go on those trips when we dated, sometimes with other friends and sometimes by himself. The solo trips never bothered me, not even when Rory said pointedly how big it was of me to be so chill about it. 

"Most girls won't let their guy just go by himself like that," She sniffed.

"Jonathan doesn't belong to me. If he wants to go without me, there isn't much I can do about it." 

I prided myself on this forward-thinking back then, but now, I was starting to believe that I'd given him too much of a free reign: he got so used to getting what he wanted, that the one time I relented, he snapped. 

Noah was my stalker, and it was the perfect plan.

Jonathan must have asked for his help in terrorizing me, scaring me shitless because I dared break up with him. 

I wasn't sure what Noah had to gain from it. Maybe they were good friends, maybe Noah was a psychopath, or perhaps Jonathan paid him for his trouble. 

The first letter arrived at the apartment after I broke up with Jonathan, after the party. At the time, it seemed cryptic and innocent enough for me to ignore, as this was a letter that could have been written by anyone. But now I knew, I knew that it was Noah. 

Jonathan enlisted the help of someone who wasn't local, someone I'd never seen or heard of. 

Meanwhile, Jonathan has built an alibi of dating another girl and gushing over her publicly on Instagram. Whenever weird things happened to me, or I got a letter Jonathan had the perfect alibi: he was with his TikTok-pretty girlfriend. It was just like in that old movie Scream they showed on TV a few years ago on Halloween. Billy and Stu - two high school buddies - team up to kill their classmates. Billy is the Golden Boy, while Stu is the goofball. No one ever suspects them. This was real-life Scream, minus the murder. 

Jonathan was the Golden Boy with the bright future ahead of him, and Noah was the laid-back surfer goof.  

I went through the photos Noah posted and tried to picture him with a baseball hat on. I guess he could look like the Outlander guy. Not quite, but at a quick glance, you could easily see the resemblance. 

"Oh, Jonathan, you piece of shit..." I muttered, taking a screenshot of the two of them on the beach. 

And what was with the coffee shop thing? Did Noah know my routine and stalked me into the place, initiating a conversation as a taunt? Or was it a coincidence? I highly doubted it was the latter. Knowing what I knew now, Noah probably learned my routine, my school schedule... He gave me his real name! He even followed me all the way to some bar and if it wasn't for Travis... I shuddered to think what might have happened if Travis wasn't there to stop him. 

"You piece of shit asshole..." I start typing my message and then stop. 

As much as I want to give Jonathan an unadulterated piece of my mind, I also do not want to sound hysterical or out of control. The only way for him to understand I was dead serious was by sounding as composed and mature as I could. 

I could have taken this to Sullivan, but I suspected what he was going to say. That a photograph wasn't proof of anything, that it was all my speculation, that there wasn't any budget to do a proper investigation, that I had to die at the hand of said stalker before the police would take me seriously and actually start an investigation, blah blah blah. 

No, I had to take this into my own hands if I wanted to see results. If I wanted this to STOP. 

"Jonathan, I am going to send you this kind of text once and only once. I know what you and Noah and doing. I am angry with myself for taking this long to figure this whole thing out, but honestly, I didn't think you'd be this petty and nefarious. When we met for coffee a few weeks ago, you told me you were sorry for how you acted. Was it all an act? Do you or your friend take pleasure in terrorizing women? Are you really that juvenile that you cannot handle rejection? How would your pretty and cool girlfriend feel if she knew you were stalking and obsessing over your ex? How would your parents feel? What will they tell their friends at the club? Because I am not the asshole you are, I am going to ask this of you once and only once, and if you don't listen I will make sure you blast this on EVERY SINGLE social media outlet and I will destroy you! Tell Noah to back off and get the hell out of my life! I am serious, I will take you both down if you won't FUCKING STOP!" 

For emphasis, I attach the photo of the two of them together and hit SEND.

For a few seconds, nothing happens, and then I see the notification that the message was Delivered. 

I stood at the end of the passenger car for five, ten, fifteen minutes waiting for a text or a phone call from Jonathan. 

I've prepared myself for the worst: anger, denial, screaming, cussing out, accusation. 

But nothing happened. 

When I got back to my seat, Andrea stirred, opening her eyes for a moment. 

"Are we there yet?" She asked through a yawn. 

"Getting there," I replied, making myself comfortable.