The OutCast's Stalker

000

There are stalkers who only reveal themselves when they're ready to pull the plug. You are oblivious to their intentions or even their existence until it's too late. Perhaps that's why I was blind to it all. I had no suspicions.

Other stalkers enjoy the thrill of the hunt. They want to see the fear overcome your life. They relish in that control over you. They know that they could rip you from everyone and everything you love.

Either way, you'll be a prisoner of their love. Squeezing every ounce of normalcy you once had–dropping you into their twisted fantasy.

I cannot perfectly dissect the mind of a stalker, but I do know that my stalker stalked me for love, power, control, and even ego.

Everything was calculated and thought out: how he took me, the torture he put me through, the future he planned for us—Everything.

The only unpredictable part—however—was me.

Stalkers can't force you to love them. They can't force you to comply. You may lie or submit for survival, but it's never genuine. And he loathed it.

My free will was his nemesis.

Yet, my predictability was his imperium.

He mastered my nature—not from my patterns—but from my impulses. He studied between the lines of my reactions, thoughts, and emotions. He wanted to break me down and build me into his perfect partner.

I was his challenge.

And he desperately wanted to conquer me.

*

"Kaitlyn, we know this must be difficult for you to talk about, but we would love to highlight your story on the dangers of stalking. We need survivors like you to speak out, so government officials can start taking more action towards..."

I click on the next message.

"Good morning Kaitlyn, this is Carol with worldnews. We heard about your shocking stalking story, and we would love the honor of interviewing you. We want to highlight the dangers of stalking for teens and young adults..."

*click*

"Kaitlyn, we are sure you're being swarmed with messages. We want you to have a safe space to tell your story. The interview can be via phone, video chat, or in person. We want you to feel as comfortable as possible..."

*click*

No additional messages

I open my laptop to 100 new emails from different news stations and independent networks asking for an interview. We want to highlight this. We want you to be comfortable that. I roll my eyes. Every news reporter wants to hear my story. Exploit my terror for money. Maybe offer me a cut to ease the pain of reliving the past.

My trial is being pumped through every television network. Now that the verdict is in, everyone wants my final thoughts before the jury decides. However, I've been evading the cameras. My life has been signed away, and a little storytime won't give me my peace of mind back. It won't remove the scars. It can't ever bring me the sense of normalcy I once had. It can't undo a thing.

A knock on the bathroom jumped me from my thoughts, "Kaitlyn, are you ready? The car is waiting for us."

"I'm almost finished," I quickly answered, closing the laptop.

*

The crowd swarmed the car as we approached. My door was opened, and a hand stuck out to help me. I followed the motions: I grabbed the hand, stepped out of the car, and kept my head straight ahead as I was ushered up the stairway to Hell.

The court doors slammed behind us. The bustling reporters were now trapped outside. My heels clicked on the marble flooring as I approached the courtroom. Each step was louder than the next. A familiar hand wrapped around my waist–a comforting gesture. I forced a smile; everyone is watching us.

The court doors opened for me, and a chilling air rushed out. Every fiber in my being wanted to turn around and run. But everyone is watching me. I avoided eye contact with the crowd and with the jury. I focused on the prosecutor's desk, avoiding the defense. I took my seat and stared ahead. I could hear the whispers.

"We're one step closer to justice," my lawyer whispered.

I forced a small smile. Justice is all I ever wanted.

The courtroom doors opened again, the whispers hushed. He walked in with the clacking sounds of the handcuffs following. I was tempted to look his way, but I didn't. I couldn't face him. I don't think I could ever face him.

The Judge's chamber doors opened, and he walked into the courtroom. On command, everyone rose and waited to be instructed to sit.

"You may now be seated."

Again, on command, everyone sat. I hate wasting time on "what ifs," but all I can think of is what my life could have been if our paths never crossed. Or what would happen if I actually fell in love with him initially? None of this would have happened.

"–The courtroom is now ready for the verdict," the Judge's voice booms.

I felt like throwing up. I didn't want to hear the verdict. I didn't want to be present here. I just wanted the ground beneath me to swallow me up. I made brief eye contact with him. The pain, the memories, and the horror swirled in my head. I wanted to scream. I wanted to stop the bailiff from passing the paper to the Judge.

I felt a tear threatening to fall. I quickly wiped it and watched as the bailiff returned to the jury. My heart froze as the paper slowly unfolded. There's no turning back now.

"...We the jury find the defendant..."

// KikADot \\