English Written Final: True Love or Infatuation.

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by cannibalisticutie

by cannibalisticutie

(Grade: C, Format: MLA)
Me!!
Teacher
Honors English 9
09 June 2023
True Love or Infatuation
One body, lying on the floor. There's blood everywhere. It's you, with a smile on your face, beautiful as ever.
***
Look at you, walking without a care in the world. You're beautiful and kind, smiling at everyone walking past. Nothing is wrong with you, you love it here.

It's August, hot as all hell. You seem to be sweating buckets in the 87-degree weather, but it's alright, you're still beautiful. You knew what you were getting into when you moved away from home to L.A. It's much nicer here than in South Carolina. You're closer to your purpose here.
***
I'm miserable, I hate it here, I want to go home. It's hot, but not the kind I know. I feel like I'm being watched. I can complain about a lot of things here, but at this point, I just want to get my drink and go home. I turn on the street with my favorite shop on it and I see a tall man, staring straight into my soul. I can feel his eyes digging into me and I call out to him.
"Sir? Can I help you?" I'm nervous, almost shaking. Adrenaline pumping through me. He doesn't respond, just frowns and walks away. I can't help but feel bad for calling out to him. He probably wasn't even looking at me.

I try to hide my feelings and maintain my composure, brushing off the incident with a forced smile. But deep down, I can't shake the feeling that something is off about this encounter. The way he brushed it off so casually doesn't sit right with me.

As I continue on my way, I can't help but glance over my shoulder, feeling a gaze lingering on me. It's as if their eyes are burning into the back of my head, sending shivers down my spine. I pick up my pace, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling, but said feelings persist.

Days pass, and I find myself constantly looking over my shoulder, feeling a growing sense of unease wherever I go. I begin to question my decision to move to L.A., wondering if it was worth leaving behind the safety and familiarity of my hometown.

One evening, walking home, I took a shortcut through a barely lit alley. My heart races as every step amplifies the echo of my footsteps. Suddenly, I hear a noise behind me, causing me to freeze. I turn around, only to see a shadowy figure disappearing into the darkness.

Fear clenches my chest, and I instinctively quicken my pace, determined to get home as soon as possible. But the feeling of being watched persists, intensifying with every passing day. It starts affecting my sleep, my appetite, and even my overall well-being. I feel like a prisoner in my own life, constantly on edge and looking over my shoulder.
***
She's right there, Esme, my love, is standing right there. Why does she look scared? She shouldn't be, I'm her lover, she should be happy I'm here. To take her away to my, and now her, sanctuary. I'm so close to her, I feel our souls bonding together. I love her so much.
***
Days turn into weeks, and the weight of fear continues to burden me every step. Each night, sleep escapes me as my mind replays the unsettling encounters and unknown threats. Dark circles form under my eyes, evidence of the toll this ordeal has taken on my well-being.

My friends and family notice the change, my once exciting spirit was now overshadowed by anxiety. They offer their support, urging me to seek professional help or involve the authorities. But I hesitate, torn between the desire to protect myself and the fear of escalating the situation.

As I navigate through my daily routine, paranoia becomes my best friend. Every crowded street corner feels like a potential trap, and even the safety of my own home offers little comfort. The walls seem to close in around me, amplifying the forever-present feeling of being watched.

With each passing day, my resilience weakens, and the cracks in my person grow deeper. I find myself isolating from the world, withdrawing from social interactions, and seeking refuge in the walls of my own mind. The once bustling city now feels like a labyrinth of shadows and hidden dangers.
***
I am so sorry for this my dear Esme, but I need you with me now. I planned this for later so your room isn't ready, but it has to be done now. I have everything I need for you to come home, and for you to love me.
***
I feel a hand around my waist, and a chemical smell coming from whatever the person behind me has compressed across my face. Smells sickeningly sweet, like a squashed ant. I feel my eyes growing heavy, ready to go wherever this person takes me. I'm too drained to fight back, but I wouldn't be able to anyways. The arms are strong, not willing to let me go. If these arms were wrapped around me in any other condition it could be comforting.

It's warm, I've read many books that talk about kidnapping. It always has a cold box-like room to wake up to, but this is pleasant. Compared to how I've been living in my dumb, small, studio apartment, this is nice.
***
I hear something from our room. Is she laughing? I'm happy she's happy but, this, this is weird.

"Darling? Is everything alright in there?" I yell, hoping to get an answer. But she just keeps laughing even louder. "Are you okay?" responding to her laughter with a low whisper.

What is happening? How is she laughing at this? What have I done to her?
***
I feel happy? I think I do. It's a warm feeling in my chest, that's been rare these past weeks. I'm going to savor this as long as I can. I heard my captor speak, it was a man, it sounded hoarse. I couldn't answer with words, I just laughed harder and louder than I'd ever laughed before. The situation is funny to me, why? Is it because this is the 'safest' I've ever felt for a while? Is this even safe?
***
This woman, how is this her reaction? At this point, her laughing is getting obnoxious. How do I make her stop? I'm even starting to feel scared. Her laugh sounds fake but hearty and even maniacal. I run into the room, trying to get her to shut up. I've started getting angry. Why is she like this? I'm shaking her, even hitting her, but she won't stop laughing. All I see is red, hitting her repeatedly with whatever strength I have. Then silence. It stopped, she stopped. The laughing, the uneasy feeling, all of it. I regain my thoughts and look down at her.

One body, lying on the floor. There's blood everywhere. It's you, a smile on your face, beautiful as ever. I feel sick. How could I have done this? I thought I loved her, how she held herself, how she walked down to the coffee place, and even how she dealt with others bothering her. But now she's just a puddle of red and bruises. I made her like this, but she made me do it. She wouldn't shut up, I had to, it was making me insane. Now I have to deal with this, people are going to talk, they have to have heard the laughing.
***
Two bodies, lying on the floor. There's blood everywhere. It's you, Esme, with a smile, beautiful as ever, and your captor, Daryl, holding you like he should have done before, smiling with you.