Psychopathy

1 - L'Étranger

I loved the way she breathed.

I first saw her at a coffee shop in Kwun Tong, Hong Kong, her delicate hands reading a book by Albert Camus, "The Stranger", and I instantly fell in love. 

She had deep onyx-like eyes, her skin was a tan shade and her composure was well maintained,  as if she was pulling me in to be her only audience. I swear I was just passing by, but then she stood up from her seat and started to talk to someone, I saw the veil of anger covering my eyes. But I knew I couldn't do anything, it was the constraints of society that stopped me from professing my love. I needed to know everything about her. An endless hunger soon opened within me. A void that she would fit perfectly in.

I followed her, her routine, her home, her job, her hobbies, nothing about her remained unknown to me. Of course, for some things, I risked exposing my own identity, but it was all worth it, all for the love of my life, Anika Hansen. She was born in Hong Kong, her parents migrated from India and she worked as an online novelist anonymously, which was easy to figure out. I read every single work of hers, savoring all of it as if she was singing it to me, as if it were her personalized love letter to me. My favorite time of hers was a recent hobby she took up, taking a walk at a nearby park at exactly 8:30 p.m. every day, I loved it because I could observe her closely, get closer in the dark which I couldn't in the morning. Her demeanor was always calm, on these walks I could observe it even closer, her steps were always quiet, relaxed, as if she were walking on clouds without a care. As if she existed only for the sake of existing. I loved it.

But it soon became insufficient, it was no longer fulfilling my needs, I needed to bump into her, naturally, get to know her, make her think that I'm the one for her. But wait... but that isn't my reality, that isn't the real me... she deserves to know the real me. The real me. It had to be the real me. I needed her to rely on me. I need her to be desperate. I want to see her crumble. I want her to be my doll.

It felt wrong, no, it was wrong. But it was all society's fault I couldn't profess my love to her.

I couldn't help it, I no longer wanted to be her stranger. I decided to write a letter to her, my first letter to her, I wanted her to know of my existence, to fear me, to know that I was a threat. Then I would come into her life as her princess charming, saving her from 'the stalker'. I wrote it in red ink, the symbol of love, wearing gloves, using the best paper, she only deserved that much.

"To my dearest Anika,

As I write this, I imagine you from your window, you're not home of course, but as I look up, I can't help but see you in my little bird cage. You sometimes stand at your balcony when your writing isn't going well, I find that so cute my dearest <3 I love you, love you to death. I hate it when you look at someone else Anika. I can't stand it. Be my darling and stop looking at them. Don't look at anyone. Just look at me.

From,
Your lovely adorer"

I couldn't wait to see her horrified expression, to break that calm, euthymic expression she always has. I want to be the first for her. I want to see that mirror break, I want to be the one who is on the opposite side when she knocks four times on that door of unhappiness. I posted the letter in a post office and waited for it to arrive. I'm a little sad I couldn't leave it myself. To not miss her reaction, I snuck into her apartment and placed a small camera in her cupboard. Her lock was easy to pick, I'm so glad for that. 

Now I just needed to wait. I would no longer be a stranger to her.