It's Never Over

                           Chapter 1

I thought I had got over it all. 18 months had passed since the events that changed my life forever. I often found myself looking over my shoulder, looking to see if he was there, watching me silently. But he wasn't; actually, it seemed like he had disappeared from the entire planet, since he hadn't made contact for so long. But I wasn't to be fooled; I knew he was still alive.

In an effort to move on, I started to go to the gym so I could maybe prevent it  ever happening again. He was muscular and thick set though, and a part of me knew I would never be able to fight him, but I continued going; perhaps just to get out the house and rebuild my life. I tried to buy a gun. A nice 12 gauge would keep him away for sure. However, with my 'record', I never could. You see, when I tried to convince the police of what happened that night, they refused to believe me. I was angry, and struck out, earning me some prison time and a gun restriction.

My next plan consisted of seeing friends. I looked at my phone, and saw all the old faces of those that had forgotten me. I was perfectly fine alone, but still secretly craved any form of social interaction. You see, I was often alone growing up in the thick forests of the Scottish Highlands. I'd make little dens under cover of the pines, while my father locked himself away in his room and worked day and night. My mother was killed in a car accident when I was only 6 years old, transforming my already quiet personality into an even more withdrawn one. I left that house to go and live all the way down in London, and on my 19th birthday I got the news that my father had passed away, from alcohol abuse. I couldn't even bring myself to cry. I am now 23 years old and still live in the same small, damp and decrepit flat.

Anyway, I began by taking the train into Kent to go and see some of my old school friends. I had texted them before to inform them of my arrival, and at 1 o'clock I was knocking at the door. I waited for about 5 minutes before realising that he must of been out still, since he said he was in a nearby town when I messaged him. I stood around the corner of the street checking my phone to not appear awkward, and a couple of minutes passed until he turned up in a Ford Mondeo and drove into his driveway. He wasn't the only one in the car however; a young woman also got out the car and then proceeded to get a baby out of its car seat. I was shocked; I was never told about his new family. I heard from where I was him say to his wife that I would be here soon. Instead of going to greet them, I simply walked back towards the station and got the next train back to London.

                                 * * *

I was still stuck in deep depression for the next few days. After I got back I decided to drown my sorrows. I had never really thought about alcohol because of the way it had made my dad, but I knew the effects and after weighing up the pros and cons I went out and bought a bottle of vodka from an off licence close to my flat. I poured a small amount of it into a glass and threw it back. It was revolting and it burned my mouth, but I enjoyed the pain, and as I poured more, all the grief that had built up over the years came out and I sat there sobbing until I fell asleep, with half of the contents of the bottle still there.

The next morning I woke up with a searing headache and the brightness of the sun's rays burning into my eyes. I attempted to stand up and close the curtains, but only managed it half way before tripping on the coffee table and being brought to crawling on the floor. I reached the window and yanked the curtains closed. I could hear my stomach making violent sounds and then I found myself scrabbling to the bathroom and throwing up into the toilet bowl.

My apartment was paid for using my dad's money and showed all the signs of neglect; damp patches, unclean surfaces and peeling wallpaper, to name a few. I still hadn't found a job which was mainly down to lack of trying and the fact that social interaction wasn't my strong point so an interview seemed like hell. I usually tried to avoid people in general by using the self checkout in shops, hardly ever going out in the evenings and since all my close family lived in Scotland, I was never bothered by any reunions and socialising. Using these methods, I had managed to effectively blot myself out of society, and become forgotten by everyone.

The following day I watched the TV most of the day while occasionally glancing at the bin which contained the half empty bottle of vodka. Eventually I gave into the temptation and spent the rest of the evening downing the whole bottle; I no longer felt the pain of the alcohol and enjoyed the feeling of all my problems disappearing. In the morning I repeated the process of the previous day, and decided to buy another bottle as soon as I could.

                                * * *

I had just tied my shoes and put my coat on when I heard a knock at my door. The sound made me jump, but I had enough composure to open the door. A man of a similar age to me was at the door, a look of worry and curiousity etched acrossed his face. It was Rowan Garwood, the man who forced me to drink with just the presence of his family which I envied greatly. I attempted to close the door on him but he had already pushed pass me and entered my disgrace of an apartment. "Will...what the hell?" he said.

I avoided his  and sat on the sofa. I knew what was going to happen.

"What is this?" he said, holding up the empty vodka bottle which I hadn't disposed of yet.

"It's not mine..." I began, "it was a friend, he-"

"There hasn't been any one here, has there?" he asked.

"Well...no, no there hasn't, and why d'you care anyway?" I argued back.

"I was looking forward to seeing you the other day, and when you didn't answer your phone I thought I'd come to you" he said.

"It ran out of charge" I answered.

"Well, how are y-" he started, before being cut off by a scratching sound. I

I looked over and thought I'd seen a shadow of a hand disappear below the window. My flat is on the second floor.

"Did you see that?" I asked him.

"It was nothing, now-" he replied.

"There was something at the window!" I shouted.

"It was probably a bird, now stop changing the subject and listen" he demanded.

"You need to get out-" I said, struggling to say his name "-he is coming!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" he asked, clearly bemused by my sudden fear.

"Him! That- thing- that attacked me a year ago!" I yelled.

"I thought we got over this, you said it yourself; there are no such as monsters" he said.

"I thought that too, but it's felt like I've been followed and watched since. Always in the corner of my eye, but I kept dismissing it!"

"Are you still drunk?" he said.

"NO!"  I screamed, "Get out! Please".

He held up his hands and backed away.

"If you feel like that then fine" he said with a hint of frustration in his voice.

When he left, he closed the door closed with excessive force, shaking a hanging picture on the wall. Later that day, I found out he had been severely injured in an assault just down the road from my flat.