The stalker

By then it was more than a routine. It was my life. Every day I would do the same thing. Every. Single. Day. Arrive home at five, brush my teeth, take my evening bath, eat dinner, and sit in front of my computer at twenty five minutes past five. Prepare myself, and then she would come. Amanda. At five thirty I would be listening for the sound of a door opening; the cue for her to enter the bedroom about a minute later. This was an exact schedule, set in stone, no exceptions. So every single day at five thirty I would be there, sitting at my computer, waiting for her. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

My graphics card was so good it felt like she was in the same room as me. I'd spent a fortune on internet, so the streaming quality was pure gold. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't watching porn. This was the real deal. Middle school me implanted a virus in Amanda's computer when she had asked him to fix her computer. Something about her fonts. Anyway, it was a webcam virus, meaning that I could see her anytime, as long as her computer was facing her. Middle school me must have been more of genius than that useless public school let on because as the years went on Amanda went from cute to pretty to beautiful to gorgeous to model. That's the reason I first started watching. It was a hobby at first, but it progressed so far without my knowing. One day I tried to describe how I felt about her and I realized - I thought - that I loved her. Love. What can a teenager know about love?

And then one day, as quickly and as desperately as it started, it was over. And what could I do? And there was no one like her, no one who could even compare at all. So I'm done. I'm just done. I've overdosed on prescription pills. I'm not too afraid of how it's going to end. I've been feeling the individual effects of some of the drugs already, soon to escalate, becoming too much for my body to handle. The clock is the only thing I can hear; a uniform ticking. It's almost like it's timing me. I've been sitting here looking at the sane words you're reading right now. Just sitting here in front of my screen since a bit past five. It's five twenty eight now, but it's not like I'm waiting for her. The only reason I'm still here is to write this; a parting message.

I'm not doing this because everything changed - almost nothing has changed. I've been following my routine since forever. Every day I arrive home at five, brush my teeth, take my evening bath, eat dinner, and sit in front of my computer at twenty five minutes past five. Prepare myself, and then she would come. Amanda. But she wouldn't be coming today. At five thirty I wouldn't be listening for the sound of a door opening because she wouldn't be entering the bedroom a minute later. This was supposed to be an exact schedule, set in stone, no exceptions. No. Exceptions. So this is the last day that I would be here at five thirty, sitting at my computer, waiting for her. I didn't miss it for the world; the first day she didn't come home at five thirty.