Hunted Predator [DISCONTINUED]

12

'I think I'm being stalked'

That is what Joseph wanted to say. That what he saw was not his imagination. That it was not a lucid dream. That it was not a forgotten false memory he was trying to piece. How the cloth which he was clenching in his pocket was from a cloak and not another material, holding harder as if letting it go would make it disappear. He was sure this wasn't made up in his mad driven mind.

Because this wasn't his first encounter

But something was making him stop. It wasn't only his doubt but also the "story" of it all. But to what extent was his bold statement even true?

Sure all his anxiety crawling was only leading to 'what ifs' but never lead to a clear answer. And how much would his encounter link up to the "realism" of this world? The world where magic remained a tale. The world where stories only lead to theories. The world where no one ever had an answer.

To what extent was his story all that believable?

Instead of explaining his current concern, he decided to shift to one still lingering at the back of his head, something he avoided no matter how hard he wanted to face it. How one doesn't wish to place their bare feet in a gushing river fearing it was cold

But despite it being cold, it would eventually lead to comfort, and joy in how the water flowed and played around his feet. How he only had to endure the cold for a few seconds, and in the end, it was truly fine.

He simply wanted someone to support him, to encourage him to do it

Why are you always running, Joseph Lemieux? 

And so he took the risk of asking, hoping he asked was a leaning branch to hold and not the slippery mud which would let go.

'It's my mom,' he said. Layla let out a light 'ah' and nodded her head

'It's not going well?' she reckoned, her accent pronounced

'Yes?' Joseph said with doubt and question, 'I mean no. it's just that-'

He paused and sighed in agitation, readjusting himself to the sofa repeatedly, his knees knocking with each other. Layla raised her hands and gestured

'Take your time,'

Joseph tapped his fingers against the warm glass, trying to word it.

'Sometimes feel like we're lying to each other, y know?' he cut it short. Not wanting to express himself so freely yet. He still was scared of holding the branch.

'So it's like you can't communicate with each other freely?' she asked as if opening his ways so he could tell with more comfort.

'I guess?' he replied, still unsure of how to place it. He had a thousand this to say, but nothing would come out. As if there were many things tangled together, but he couldn't quite pick the one he wanted.

'It's like I'm keeping too much from her...and so does she. One day I'm the one angry at her for not telling me something. And the other day she is. And it goes on and on' he felt his stomach curl recalling the time the two yelled at each other. After that, no call was the same. It started feeling more like a schedule than a call. As if just to check if the two were still breathing.

'It's almost like we hate each other,'

'But do you?' Joseph quickly snapped his gaze from the floor right towards her stoic expression, but Joseph couldn't help but feel hurt by it

'Of course not,' he snapped defensively.

'Then why do you say that?'

'It's because it sounds true,' he gestured exasperatedly, resting his head on the back of the sofa.