Anxiety

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Beep beep beep

Beep beep beep

Beeeeeeeeppppp

"Urggggh" I groaned as I lurched off my mattress. I get up and slam the snooze button. "Damn alarm clock." I just moved into a new apartment...

*flash to apartment interview*

"So why are you buying a new apartment if you already live in New York? Was rent not affordable enough." The landlord said with a slight chuckle.

"Nope, I just had some problems I need to leave behind at the old place," I said casually. What really happened is I think someone is trying to kill me, but I want this apartment so I didn't say that. I know everyone just thinks I'm paranoid but I'm sure someone's out for me.

"Well, their loss is our gain!" He said, chirpily. "and over here you see the..."

*back to reality*

I shake the sleep from my eyes and start the coffee maker, one of the few things I splurged on.

If someone were to walk into this apartment right now they would think I was either a college student or crazy. My mattress is on the floor, I have a landline instead of a phone and no computer. I don't trust electronics, but my mother insisted on me having the landline. I have a coffee maker and my cupboards are only stocked with protein bars, peanut butter, and bread. I guess you can say I'm ready for a quick getaway.

Many people think I'm paranoid, they think I'm crazy because of last year. Last year there was a man that I used to see everywhere I went, and I thought it was coincidence until he would beat me to the coffee shop and pay for my usual, and then check out the books I looked up the night before and leave them in the chair I always read in. Many may think he was just being nice, but you haven't heard about the notes.

At first it was innocent little things, things I didn't even think about. Like a "good morning" on my coffee cup or a bookmark with a little smiley face on it in one of the books, but they started to get twisted. I once found a paper in the book I was reading that said: "don't come to the library, someone is going to start a fire." I turned the paper into the police and they didn't think anything of it. The next day there was no fire, no coffee, no books. It was like my little admirer had disappeared.

Everything was quiet until about a week ago when someone had left a note in my room that said; "I bet you thought I left, but snitches don't get off that easy. After everything, I did for you. I spent so much time buying you coffee and finding your books. Bitches die. Ungrateful bitches burn."

I had my computer and my phone checked out that day and they said someone had downloaded a virus that sent all the data from my computer to another untrackable device. All my searches, all my texts, all my privacy now belonged to this mystery man. Which is when I fell off the grid.

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