He's Going to Kill Me/ Dissection

V. You Have One New Stalker

When I arrived back home from the sleepover at Anton's (which was as hilarious as hell, just as I'd thought it would be), I surprised to find a lack of presence in my home.

My father was out of the house for once. Which could only mean one thing: he went to the store to buy more liquor.

Urgh, that man disgusted me.

I swore then that I'd never drink after I'd seen what it does to him. It's poisoned him into thinking that if he sits there and does nothing all day but swig his juice mom will come back. He believes that if he kills his liver, she'll walk right back into our home.

Fucking idiot.

Inside the pocket of his favorite recliner glimmers a photo frame. Inside is no other than Blythe herself. She was beautiful, you know, but not too much that she looked like a supermodel. She had tight skin around her face and luscious red lips, the kind Snow White would be envious over. Her blue eyes had been wise, full of tales and wonder.

She didn't look like that when the ambulance took her away. No, those cheekbones had been ripped open and her lips were cracked and dry from the superglue they'd used to gag her. Before I'd seen the white sheet fold over her whole body, those blue eyes were inexistent. They'd lightened to the point where there was no color, only emptiness.

I brushed the glass with my fingers, gasping when it shattered beneath my touch. I dropped it, wincing as my hand throbbed in pain.

Then once again when the picture hit ground.

Why had the glass broken? I thought as I scurried over to the kitchen and ran my hands under the soft flow of the tap water. The blood poured out slowly, like a river going over the bend, taking its time as if every swish needed to be perfect.

With my nails, I plucked out the shards, grinding my teeth whenever it hurt. It was times like these you needed someone to aid you, assist you during your time of need.

Instead, what do I get? The town drunk.

I put a band aid on each finger and then sauntered back into the living room. I thought of my father's reaction once he saw the photo and then sighed when I predicted just what he'd say. The fight would be worse than others prior before it.

Putting the frame back where it belonged, I ascended the staircase. It was too quiet in there, none of the steps creaked.

Once I was inside my room, I could tell something was different just by entering it. There were new smells and I thought I could make out footprints on the cerulean colored floor. The person had been so damn heavy-footed they didn't even think about leaving behind their tracks. Other than that, I noticed my wardrobe was unlocked.

I always locked it.

I opened the door and examined every garment carefully (not that I had much) and grew mystified when I realized my Pikachu hoodie had disappeared.

Who would take my clothes?

I felt anxiety building up inside me and I chewed on a nail, trying to reason with myself. My heartbeat was beating so hard I knew it wanted to break free of my bones and skin and run like hell. I got to say, I don't blame it. I was beginning to feel a little on edge and I hardly ever freak out. Last time I did so was when my ex-boyfriend Riley told me he wanted to go further than just kissing (it didn't matter, we broke up like, two weeks afterwards anyway).

I turned to face my window.

Where, I noticed, a miniature pink envelope with my name on it written in a lovely Edwardian-like scroll.

Had that been there the whole time and I hadn't seen it? There was no way I could pick it up anyway. My stomach was ready to heave and I felt tingling sensations everywhere in my body.

Swallowing, I snatched it up and tore it open.

Open your e-mail ;)

My blood boiled as somewhere inside of me curled up in fear. In denial of that, I shredded the paper into two and threw it in the bin. If I had a lightner I would've set it on fire. I didn't ever want to see that message ever again.

My legs were like dead weights as I approached my laptop. I hesitated to start it, but I knew what I had to do, despite how much I didn't have the desire to. I opened up my desktop and then accessed the internet, logging into my e-mail accout.

Where it highlighted that I had one unread message.

The user was unknown, although I kind of guessed that already.

I think I stopped breathing. Honestly, I couldn't feel any air in my lungs and I couldn't find the will to make any enter them. I think I wanted to die rather than open up that letter and realize that something horrible was going to unfold.

Which it would, of course. I mean, it is my life after all. Since when does anything go right in it? Well, I suppose one thing, but that's not until later.

Finally, after a much one person debate, I clicked on the envelope icon and waited for the words to pop up on screen.

You have something of mine 

Now I have something of yours 

I love you.

"No, no. This can't be happening." My words were weak and I was fully sure I couldn't even convince myself. The truth was out there staring me right in the face, those words frightening me to the core.

Somebody was after me.

A noise.

I shot up from my position on my chair and gazed out the window, raising it up so I could have a clearer view of outside. It was light, there would be nobody out there looking in like a Peeping Tom. Yet, I still couldn't ease the feeling someone was watching me, gauging my reaction to their horrid prank and feeling satisfied with themselves.

Whereas I was here and terrified, hugging my arms and trying not pinch myself to delude my brain enough to convince me that I was dreaming. Because, a dream, this was far off of.

In the end, all I had to do was look around my room and match the pieces together, like it were all one jigsaw puzzle.

Someone had invaded my house.

Someone had stolen my shirt.

Someone sent me a creepy e-mail.

Someone was watching me.

I, Ashlynn Clover, daughter of a deceased houswife and drunken father, had a stalker.