unfortunately, you have a stalker.

it's not like he's threatening to kill you or leaves dead bird's heads on your doorstep or sends you weird pictures of yourself from your window or lurks around the corner.

oh, no, this guy has decided to be an annoying asshole.

you're not exactly sure how he got your phone number or how he knows your name or your favorite color, you just know that he knows too much.

it all started on random sunday night, exactly two months ago. an unknown number called you and you answered. and since that day you became what that psychopath likes to call 'best friends'.

he always calls after 9 pm, always breathes loudly, says something really weird with pure intention to mess with you and then process to dump irrelevant information about how his past few days went or how much this 'tim' guy gets on his nerves. or whatever topic comes up in his messed up mind.

was this creepy? it wasn't, until he described the outfit you wore the previous day, saying how he likes the same band that was on your t-shirt.

brilliant, this guy follows you around and knows where you live, since he left several 'gifts' at your doorstep. his beige hoodie that smelled like wet grass, a necklace made of human teeth and a drawing of you. or more like scribbles, since the lines were really shaky.

the worst part? probably the one when your inner voice tells you to go to the police station and report about that creep, but instead you ignore it completely and play Roblox sometimes with him.

---

your eyes were glued to the clock face on the wall, waiting for 9pm to finally arrive. you were really looking forward to this, despite the conflict between your emotions and common sense. be damned you, stockholm syndrome.

finally, your phone rang. raising it to your ear, you heard that painfully familiar voice again.

"hiiii! y...you answered quick-...kly. w-what, were you waiting for me? yo-your special BEST f-friend?" the voice of your tormentor finally rang on the other line, as he stutters and laughs