The Run-In

Stalker

"Could I have a plain bagel with cream cheese, please?" asks a middle-aged woman with bobbed black hair.

"Of course. That'll be one dollar and fifteen cents." I reply smoothly. "Wait by the counter for another minute and a fresh bagel will be delivered to you."

The woman smiles politely and stands by the wooden counter while Arazely prepares her bagel. I then sigh contentedly she receives her treat and sits down to eat. Sasha's closes earlier than usual on Sundays, so it was incredibly packed today with people trying to slip in a coffee before it was too late. That woman was the last eligible customer for today, so now all I have to do is wait for the rest of the customers to finish eating so I can close shop.

"We survived!" rasps Arazely through the opening into the kitchen. She's been working so hard, darting back and forth across the tile floor taking orders and delivering drinks, that even her perpetually energetic demeanor is shot.

"Yup." I agree. "And what a rush today, too. I didn't know that that many people could fit in here comfortably."

Arazely momentarily disappears from behind the opening and walks out the kitchen doors. Her poofy mass of curls is wrapped tightly into a slick bun on the top of her head, and her slitted eyes are accentuated with long, thin wings of eyeliner.

"Someone must have spread good news about Sasha's Café, and then it domino-effected until all of these people decided to show up. I don't think they'd come here otherwise." she says thoughtfully. "I guess we had really good service one day."

The crowd suddenly starts filing out of the front doors of the café. I check the clock; yep, one o'clock. Time for the employees to get back to work.

As I turn my head back to the retreating hoard of people, I notice a dark entity hiding behind them. I squint my eyes at the unknown object, straining them for a better view. As my eyes focus, I realize that the "entity" is really a young man with onyx hair. A panicked look crosses his face after brief moment of eye contact, and he scurries away.

This really doesn't help with my fear of being kidnapped.

Stifling a scream, I rasp to Arazely, "I have a stalker!" Her eyes grow wide for a split second before her countenance is polluted with skepticism.

"I want to take you seriously, but I think it's common knowledge that you're insanely paranoid."

I gasp, offended, but continue talking anyways.

"When the lunch crowd was leaving, I spotted a young man staring at me through the window. Staring, Arazely!" I add when her facial expression doesn't change. "And when we made eye contact, he jumped up and ran away! How do you explain that?" I place my hands on my hips proudly, sure that she will believe me.

"I think that's called 'puberty'." Arazely mutters indifferently. "He's probably just a middle schooler who saw a cute waitress and decided to drool all over her."

"No!" I whine frustratedly. "That's not what he was! He was a stalker, I'm serious!"

Even though she clearly doesn't believe me, Arazely starts to look concerned. "If you're so sure, then contact the police or something. Make sure they're aware of a possible stalker in the area."

"That wasn't a possible stalker— that was a stalker!" I cry. Arazely just sighs and tosses me a key.

"You get to close up shop today. I have errands to run."

I mimic her sigh and hug her gently. "Sorry I was so...intense. You can go now; I'll clean everything up tonight."

"Thanks. See you tomorrow."

And with that, the bells on the back door tinkle as Arazely walks out of the café. I now need to wipe down a few tables so I can leave, too. I push open the swinging doors that lead into the kitchen/bakery and walk to the storage closet. I retrieve a well-worn cloth and a spray bottle of disinfectant from one of the buckets sitting on the floor and head back out to the tables. I spray some disinfectant on the first table I reach and start wiping it down with the maroon-dyed cloth. I spend twenty minutes cleaning all of the tables and chairs thoroughly; there's no need for the flu to be spread in my café.

I survey the finished product quickly, and, satisfied with the result, grab my purse from behind the counter and head out the back door. I slip Arazely's key out of my pocket and stick it in the lock, shutting up the café for the day. I won't be back until five thirty tomorrow because I classes at the U of W. I work the night shift during the week, the day shift on Saturdays, and the entire half day on Sundays. The actual owner of the café, Sasha, has an alternating schedule with Arazely and I. She works the day shifts on weekdays and the night shifts on Saturdays with some other employees. She tends to her other business for the rest of each day and for the entire day on Sunday.

I suddenly remember a jovial tune that my father used to sing after a long day of hard labor. The notes were piping and short, bright and merry, and bounced around the air freely. They were refreshing and vigorous, bursting with avidity and passion. I pull back the curtains in my mind, trying to shed light upon the memory that contains the tune to the song.

The first note has barely rolled off my lips when I spot a familiar head of onyx hair.

Overwhelmed with fear, I beeline for my car. I fumble the keys in my hand before I find my car key and unlock my silver Honda. The well-worn, outdated hunk of metal is my only source of hope now. The mysterious man arises  from his nook in the shadows, and I practically dive to the refuge that is my car. I swing the door open wildly and fly into the drivers seat. I have the key in the ignition in a flash, and I barely manage to shut the car door while pulling out of the parking lot and speeding down 14th Avenue.

I gasp for breath, flapping my mouth fervently like a captured fish.

I make it home without realizing it, seemingly too caught up in my terror to be aware of reality. I burst into my apartment and slam the front door behind me. The pictures on the walls quake with the reverberated force.

I sprint into my bedroom and collapse on the the scratchy, grey comforter. Tears stream down my flushed cheeks, forming a path to my quivering chin and dripping off it onto the bedsheets. I shudder violently, convulsing as each wave of terror crashes over me, dragging me into the depths of oblivion. Wave after wave strikes more agony into my soul until it becomes unbearable.

My consciousness slips out of my hands as I let the demons drown me in my suffering.

[A/N]
Hey, sorry this chapter was kind of lame. I just felt like I needed to get something out! Also, Serris's reaction might seem a little strange and overly dramatic, but I'll explain her fear of being raped/kidnapped in the next chapter. Thanks for reading!

Bonus: