Curious

Stalker?

There seems to be an infinite amount of ways to see yourself and the world around you.

For example, when a serial killer decides to commit acts of murder, you may hear what's commonly described as a "rush".
I wonder if they itch for their next kill and that exhilarating feeling of a dull blade reaching their victim's throat.

while most find acts of murder to be disturbing, the perpetrator may find it necessary, exciting, or possibly apart of their basic nature. Like Hunter and prey. After the rush passes, they are left with the final step, escape. however, despite this being their final objective in a murder, they supposedly 'subconsciously' hope to be caught. Maybe then, the paranoia and anxiety will finally cease. Maybe then, they'll receive credit for the outstanding amount of work they did.

While many people view this as malice behavior and or insanity; others may not. We all have different levels of awareness. Actions are seen and done differently based on each person's perspective.

Don't mistake my intentions, I do not support such malice behavior. I am simply on a search to achieve an extreme form of sympathy. I must gain a diverse understanding of the world around me in order to aptly think of justifiable solutions.

I'm currently sitting in a bar, a glass of water rests in front of me, only half emptied in the four hours that I've already invested in this dark and glum place. I watch as others drink on their leather chairs, and in front of their oak tables.
I have a habit of spending my time here. Maybe it's the customers, maybe its the bar tender. I'm very intentional with my time here, even though it may seem as though I'm simply wasting time.

It's my job is to be curious and insightful so that I may gain a firsthand understanding as to why people do the things they do.
I've been eyeing a 25 year old man who had a rustic beard. He comes here fairly often. Tonight he decided to dress himself with a mismatched baseball cap and ugly plaid shirt. There was still a beer stain on his chest from last week.

I watched him take large chugs of some vodka, it was a bit heavier then what he'd usually go for.

Why..?

I find the answers might be in the phone that he's been checking for over an hour now. I quietly walk over, then reach over him, taking a sneaky glance at his phone as I do.
"Nina?" I pried, reading the name at the top of the screen followed by a text from her saying 'but what if you did?'
I remove three empty shot glasses from his table to provide an excuse for approaching him.
He scowls, then scans me up and down to make a snark comment about my skirt.

I found this rather rude, however, I can't necessarily be upset with him. He's simply negatively retorting because I took an open look at his private information. I even had the audacity to ask him about it.

It was rude, but everything is fair game. My intentions are to understand you, I'm not trying to defile your person, or harm you. What I'm doing isn't a bad thing.
Unfortunately, I must go on the assumption that no one else will understand my intentions in this world of distrust and misunderstandings.
I don't condemn you for misunderstanding me. After all, everyone is a victim of something in this world, so it's easy to understand that you feel like a victim of my curiosity.

I take the glass to the bar, and sit back down to regroup. my hand waves Tyler,the bar tender, for refill. He gives me a suspicious look then nonchalantly wanders my way.
"Good evening, detective. " he said with a smirk. He fills my cup and passes quick glances at me.

They say that eyes are Windows into the soul, he must be wondering if I moved a pawn.
"'What and if' are a dangerous pair of words when put together." I mention to tag a slight hint to my investigation.
"Vaguely talking to yourself again, Lucy?" He remarks. He winks and picks up the three glasses I retrieved.

Tyler rolls up his white satin sleeves and begins washing the three glasses in the sink. I rest on my elbow and take a sip of my water as I watch him. He's only a few feet away; yet he seems so far. He returns shortly with a drying towel.

"Why do you torture yourself like this?" He doesn't look at me or try to analyse. There was no expectation to receive answers.
Maybe that's what I like about you, Tyler. It's too tempting to share with you what I understand. Torture? No, this is exhilarating. This is what I've been after this whole time.
I need answers, and there's only one way to find them.

"What do you know about the one in the plaid shirt?" I say, glancing towards the table to insure that there is no question as to whom I'm referring.
"Ah, his name is John. I recall something about his job a few weeks ago, and his wife."
Nina could be his wife, or perhaps a secret lover.
"But what if you did," I repeat to myself.
The worse case scenarios, and also the most obvious assumptions, would be that Nina is:
A wife, a side lover, or a family member.
Based on the information that something is wrong with his job, it's reasonable to think 'but what if you did loose your job?'
Or
'But what if you did fall short of money again?'

Bingo. An idea pops into my head, "maybe his wife wants to leave him because they are going bankrupt," the longer the thought processes in my mind, the more the idea becomes obscured. "no, that's not quite right, is it? "

"Don't you think that you're over thinking things?" Tyler asks as he grabs the last glass.
"I'm only doing my job, I'm investigating human behavior."
I reply, he never asked about my 'investigation', which I'm grateful for, however he is rather pesky when it comes to hovering over self morals. I am in no way over thinking, I need to understand these people what ever the cost.

"Why?" I hear him reply quietly, my head jolts up to look at him-Was any of that said out loud? I watch as he places the last glass into a cupboard. He doesn't glance my way, he doesn't even see me.

I wonder if he ever will.

I remain silent, I don't understand his question. Everything I'm doing makes perfect sense, so what do you not understand?

He must believe that I'm someone other than myself. 'Why are you doing this?'
Must have been his full question. I want to gain empathy. That's why. That's the answer.
That is simply who I am, Tyler.
His eyes finally look into mine, no his green irises burn into my blue ones. They give me doubt, they scream 'why' and have pity.

He sends storms to me with every glance of doubt. Why can't he accept me? Something in his eyes convert to a different emotion. I see his lips move into a friendly smile, he has some sort of idea.
"How about tomorrow we go on a date?"

A date... Really? Tyler, I knew that you were special, but not that kind of special. I can already imagine the ridiculous movie you'll ask me to watch and the unnecessary expensive dinner.
Dates sound wrong. They sound like a movie that people reenact repeatedly in hopes if some sort of gratification.
What are you trying to achieve, Tyler? This isn't a story of "true love" or happiness. I am examining his unchanging green eyes, but I don't find the answer right away.

"Just trust me, okay? Meet me here tomorrow at three."

"What do I gain?" because, honestly, I don't see the benefits.

Tyler looks frustrated with my comment, but I think it's a reasonable question to ask. I feel a slight singe of guilt to his reaction, "fine." I say.

A group of people wander into the bar, I sit, and continue to drink my water.

"Promise me that you wont flake out?" Tyler says, holding out his hand, as if this were some sort of business deal.

Interesting, Tyler, has a girl broken your heart before? Stood you up like you were trash? You must have been terribly upset. I stare into his eyes, why are you talking to me, Tyler? I truly hope you don't make the mistake of viewing me as a love interest. I shift my attention from his eyes to his hand that's held out before me.

"Lucy," his voice is gentle and calm in attempt to regain my attention ,"Is it a deal or not?" Tyler says, we glance at the customers, who patiently await for their bartender to greet them. I wonder what would happen if I didn't shake his hand, if I left it at this. Would he still meet with me tomorrow? I see the anxiety building in him, he needs me to answer so he can go back to work. Will you eventually move if I make you wait too long?

I shook his hand.

He didn't smile, or respond. He simply turned and attended his guests. I had my own work to attend to as well.