Chapter 3 Elizabeth
elizabeth
Dear Stalker,
I see you, you know? For a stalker, you’re not really good at the whole blending-in thing.
It makes me wonder if I’m your first. If I am, would it be weird to say I’m both honored and a tiny bit shocked that you, Austin Hart, out of every local male resident of our small mountain town, are following me, of all people, around like some kind of lost puppy? I don’t get it. I’m just… me.
Thanks for the succulents, by the way.
I know it was you.
The plants were sweet, but you were the only one in the store when I went in who would have seen me asking the owner all sorts of questions about them, only to walk out with a tiny aloe vera plant.
And just so you know, I’m terrible with plants, so you might have just cursed these to their demise.
Either way, it was sweet to wake up to the plants sitting at my front door.
I mean this respectfully; I don’t know if you remember, but you are, after all, a ginger-haired, six-two giant with way too many muscles and seriously sexy facial hair. You don’t blend into the background of our town like some kind of npc in a video game.
I know you’re the one who has been running behind me for my morning jogs every day since our night of dancing ten days ago. But you have to know that wearing tank tops to show off your muscles cannot be healthy! Especially in late January.
You could get seriously sick! Anything from catching a cold to pneumonia.
Not that the sight isn’t a good one. God, those arms make me ache to climb you like some kind of capuchin monkey and then have you show me what I know a lot of tourists passing through found out about you.
If you’re a boxer or briefs guy and if you’re as generous and good in bed as I’ve heard women gloat you are.
So… stop stalking me.
Quit following me from store to store, watching me through the window.
It’s time to shoo. It’s a little creepy.
(That’s a lie. You’ve never creeped me or scared me.
If anything, the idea of you sneaking into my place, into my room while I’m asleep?
I think I need to get my head checked because I know that’s exactly what I’m going to be thinking about tonight when I pull out my battery-operated boyfriend from the top drawer of my nightstand.
Begrudgingly yours,
Elizabeth ‘You-still-can’t-call-me-Liz’ Verdusco
I shut the journal I was supposed to be writing in to myself, so I learned how to enjoy sitting still, and shoved it into my bag wishing it weren’t the first entry in the thing I’d addressed to my handsome yet not-so-stealthy stalker.