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Assistant: Title: Monster In Me
        Author: mogitz mogitz 
        Chapter: 2/17 
        Summary: "What do you want me to say? Do youuuu…want me to feel awful?""Kinda," Sam admits."I've never been worse. My life is meaningless. How can I go on-" I begin to drone, robotically. She steps towards me, cupping her hand over my mouth, frustratedly."Aren't you even the least bit sorry?"If I'm being honest, I feel nothing. But she wants a show, and I'm bored, so I decide to see where this goes.
        Contents: Chapter 2: Falling Away With You
    

    


  

  
  
    
    
  aka

  That One Time A Pretty Blonde Girl Stalked Me
Her car is wheeling slowly beside me as we have literally turned onto my street now. She's been following me since a little after the bus stop. That's about as crazy as it gets. She. Is. Relentless. I might even go as far as describing her as downright gutsy, following a psychopath like me. Who knows just what I have goin' on in this wicked brain?...…Actually, it's not that interesting.Movie quotes, mostly."Stalking is illegal, Samantha!" I shout out over my shoulder."You would know what's illegal," she retorts, a smug and satisfied grin on her face. Only a little part of me hopes she hits a pole or something. Not enough to actually get hurt, but enough to wipe that smirk off her face. At least the rain has lessened."I mean it, Sam. You're gonna do hard time. Especially after I give my tear-filled testimony that puts Meryl to shame about how I no longer feel safe." It is so incredibly hard not to joke with her, the effortless and easy banter returning as though nothing has changed. But everything has changed. I fold my lips to suppress my own urge to grin. I'm still mad at you, Sea Siren. You shall not break me."Well, maybe I'll request your judge and get off with a slap on the wrist, like you did!" she quips cleverly. "Or was it daddy's magic pocketbook that made all that disappear?" Damnit why is she so witty today? I stop walking and turn towards her. My eyes narrow and it is almost painful how hard it is for me to remain straight-faced."That's cold, Sam. Ice cold.""Use it to soothe that burn!" Okay...That one barely even made sense. It's like the thirty-love comment all over again.
  She's such a f@ck@ng dork.
I turn back to my route, facing forward and moving along as she snorts at her own joke; I can hear it from the sidewalk. I glance at her sideways and can see her shoulders bouncing up and down in her laughter. I feel my face crack as I watch her, but I stuff it down quickly before I give her the satisfaction of seeing it."I'm really not supposed to be talking to you," I say, taking on a more serious tone. Really, though. If someone found out, I could get in trouble – that Oz-level trouble I mentioned before. It was part of the conditions. Leave it to Sam and unyielding persistence of all things to land me in the big house."You're not supposed to be talking to me? Are you kidding me?!" That did it. I hear her tires screech under her abrupt breakage. "Joshua, you are incredibly lucky I'm even speaking to you after everything you've done!" she shouts at me, her words running together like wet paint. I turn my head to see her face and I kinda regret it immediately– she's not playing anymore, either. Her eyes are shooting daggers at me.I've offended her. Good. Maybe she'll go away now. The more she harasses me, the more things I'm mentally crossing off of her apology letter.I begin up my driveway, hoping she'll take the back of my head as a hint it's time to move along. It feels like a lot longer walk than I remember, probably because I can feel her glare burning into me from behind every step of the way. It sends a shudder down my spine. I raise my hand up and give her a peace sign without looking back at her and step up onto my porch before I get inside the safety of my house. Aaaaaaand… just for dramatic emphasis, I slam the door behind me.Aaaaaaand then I lock it for my own protection. I have angered the beast and barely escaped with my life."Mooooom!" I yell, turning around. My voice echoes back at me. It would appear she's not home. Hopefully she's not driving around, searching the neighborhood for me. Whoops.I drop my bag to my side with a thud and head towards the kitchen, as per usual. This post-therapy snack has become routine, and if I remember right, there is some Chinese takeout in the fridge with my name on it – not gonna let some little run in with Sam ruin my desire for food. I earned it. Sitting in that overly air-conditioned office with Dr. Finke builds up quite an appetite in a young, strapping boy like myself.As I pass my dining room, I see a flash of light from the corner of my eye. I twist my head around to see that the light of the post-rain, afternoon sun has hit a decorative decanter bottle on my dad's minibar. It's crystal, sending rainbow shards of light around the room, beckoningly.It's tempting. Soooo tempting. Especially after being stalked and harassed my whole way home. How rude.…But, like all things fun, I'm not allowed to drink.So, in lieu of drinking, I live vicariously through my father, who seems to be drinking enough for the both of us these days. I just make a note, day by day, of the contents of the bottle. It seems to empty and refill over and over and over and over again.It's about half-full now…. (Or, half-empty if you fancy yourself a pessimist.)Either way, this means that dear old dad is in for the day, usually locked away in his office where he sleeps. And eats. And lives.Funny story, and it's actually true… my father hasn't said one word to me since it happened. Not one word in four months. That's not just mean…it's f@ck@ng talented! Have you ever tried to NOT talk to someone you share a roof with for months on end? Not even 'pass me the salt, please'?And they think I'm the one who needs therapy.The doorbell rings. I don't remember the last time someone was at our door and I feel slightly panicked, the way an 8-year-old kid home alone for the first time might feel… instead of the rugged, manly 20-year-old on his way to the kitchen for a mouthful of cold chow mien. Sorry, stranger-danger, mommy and daddy said I'm not a'pposed to answer the door when they're not home. The bell rings again. And again.But it's not a stranger-danger. I know exactly who it is and I'm gonna kill her if she rings that bell one more g@dd@mn ti-"What!" I hiss as I pull the door open. She's standing on my front porch, her hands behind her back, staring at me through batting eyelashes and a pouted lip. Her rebound rate is remarkable."Can little Joshie come out an play?" I roll my eyes. This cuteness normally works on me, but she's gonna get me in trouble. Maybe she knows that. Maybe her revenge is being served as we speak. Cue the swat team. This feels like a trap; dangerously teetering on To Catch A Predator."Sam, seriously. Go away!" It sounds like I mean it. I'm not friendly anymore. No more jokes. My head starts to hurt and I resist the urge to let it show on my face while her brows come together in a look of… I don't even know what that is. Somewhere between offense and disgust."Jesus, chill out," she snips and pushes passed me. I swing the door shut behind us, gesturing my arm out to the foyer."Sure, come right in. Move in, for all I care-" I start to mumble bitterly. She's looking around as though she half expected it to be a gothic castle with coffins and torture devices. Wait… that's vampires. Not psychopaths.As her eyes take it all in, I realize that I forgot the fact that she'd never been here- we moved soon after the night of the prank. Too many flaming bags of p@@p on our porch – I suspect Mike. He seems like the only one of them who'd actually sh@t in a bag to get back at me. And if not, he was the only one with a dog. (But I prefer my first theory)"This place is smaller than the last one," she observes. I lean my back against the wall of the entryway, folding my arms in front of me. I feel weird having her here- I feel weird talking to another person that isn't my mom or doctor."Yeah, well…" I shrug. I almost don't finish my sentence but it slips out anyway. "Less rooms to fill, I guess." Before, back when my sisters were missing, that kind of remark would elicit a hug and a kind word from her. It seems to roll off of her now. She must still be pretty p@ss@d off.You broke her heart, my mind pipes up, but I shut that down quickly with a firm belief that she never cared for me like I thought she did, anyway."…So, how's it going?" she sniffs casually. That's IT? Following me for a full three miles and that's what she has to say? That's what is gonna make me a prison b@tch?All those thoughts race through my mind, but my lips simply utter a quick 'fine.'She doesn't look at me like she used to – I guess when she would come around after Hannah and Beth disappeared, she was handling me with kid-gloves. Now I got to see the more spirited Sam again… and I didn't even realize until now that I'd actually kinda missed her. The Sam while Hannah and Beth were missing was always so careful with me, as though I might break. I guess she had reason to believe this.She turns to me, her face twisted into pure suspicion, as she puts her hands on her hips. She's got her feisty pants on, today, I see."You're fine," she repeats, which means she's giving me time to change my answer, as that clearly wasn't the response she was looking for."What do you want me to say? Do youuuu…want me to be awful?" She gives a shrug."Kinda," she admits."I've never been worse. My life is meaningless. How can I go on-" I begin to drone, robotically. She steps towards me, cupping her hand over my mouth, frustratedly."Aren't you even the least bit sorry?" If I'm being honest, I feel nothing. But she wants a show, and I'm bored, so I decide to see where this goes."Of course," I say, muffled through her fingers, without saying the actual words that 'I'm sorry.' I'm sneaky like that. She drops her hand, heaving a sigh."You could try to be a little sorrier." This makes me chuckle."What do you want from me?""I want my friend back," she challenges. Her eyes have a kind of expectant hopefulness that makes me know I am going to disappoint her again. "But… since that isn't going to happen, I want to help you.""I don't need help-""Actually, you do. You are completely alone, and you aren't going to be able to actually deal with any of this if you're locked up in here like a hermit.""Okay, that has less to do with me and more to do with a court order, which you are currently breaching, I might add.""Oh yeah? What does the court order say exactly?" She folds her arms across her chest and I am not appreciating the attitude, little missy."That I'm not allowed to initiate conta-""You didn't initiate contact with me. I contacted you. Loophole." I'm still not sure, and I'm trying to decide if being bullied and berated by Samantha is better or worse than a jail sentence. "Do you even know what's been going on with your friends since that night?" Sam asks. Her voice is soft now, like she's trying to reach me on an emotional level. Joke's on her. I'm on 400 milligrams of Clozaril a day. I mean it when I say I feel nothing. I shrug and shake my head."I'm not sure friend is the best noun-""Everyone's really messed up, Josh. You need to make things right. If not for their sake, then at least for yours.""Yeah, well, I'm one step ahead of you! My doctor is already making me write apology letters, so-" before I can stop myself, I accidentally gesture towards my messenger bag. Before I even get a chance to react, Sam is diving for it. "No! That's private, you can't read them!" I shout, and before I know it, Sam and I are in a full-on wrestling match on the floor. I grab ahold of her ankle and pull, sliding her back across the entryway tiles, but she hauls an elbow back and gets me in the eye before she tears into my bag with unforeseeable Hulk-like strength. I'm compromised, my vision blurred, instant headache. She doesn't even look sorry."What the f@ck, Sam!" Not even a sideways glance in my direction as she opens my notebook. Her eyes scan the only page with writing (I suddenly feel so thankful that I ripped out that page about her goodies before)."Chris, I'm sorry that you were too chickenshit to-" Fuuuuuhck! I guess I didn't cross the words out well enough. She stumbles through my sh@tty handwriting as I reach for the book, her twisting her body just out of my reach. "-make a move on Ashley (who's basically a 4/10 anyway) so I had to take matters into my own hands. You're welcome-" She gasps, slapping the book shut. "Joshua Washington, that is not an apology, that is mean!" she scolds, hauling back and punching me hard in the bicep with those boney, little fingers. It hurts like a Charlie horse – she is freakishly strong for that tiny stature.I can't stop laughing, having heard it actually read aloud. So f@ck@ng mean. 'What is the matter with me,' I ask myself for the second time in one day."It's not funny," she says, but she's trying to keep from laughing, herself, so I feel a little better. Before I can say anything to defend myself, my watch starts to beep. Sam glances down at the electric watch on my wrist. It's literally the least fashionable thing that ever existed. She raises an eyebrow as I silence it. She doesn't have to ask why my watch is going off, I just reach passed her into my bag and pull out my orange bottle of pills. She just nods to herself as I pop the top open and take one, dry."Gotta keep the crazies away. I get pretty ridiculous without my meds," I wink. She doesn't seem to think it's as funny as I do."You're ridiculous with your meds."And just when I kinda wanna reflect on how good it feels to be in her presence, I hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Sh@t! It's my mom and she is going to freak out if she sees Sam here. I jump to my feet, grabbing her by that blasted elbow, and pulling her up. Reality came crashing the party, hard."You need to go. Now!""Fine, but this isn't over yet, Josh!""I can assure you, it is!" I jeer, dragging her b@tt to the back door through the kitchen. She looks partially amused, watching me panic like this. I rip open the glass sliding door and shove her outside. She hobbles on her feet a bit, but thankfully doesn't fall down the slippery, rain-slick wooden steps. I don't need yet another lawsuit. She turns towards me, shoving my notebook into my chest. She points her finger in my face, her eyes on fire."I will be back tomorrow, you will have something better written on that paper than the cr@p I just read," she orders. Once again I find myself trying to subdue a smirk. At this point, if I were to break a smile she'd probably break my nose, so that's good enough motivation for me."Josh?" I hear my mom call out for me. The panic sets in again. I would tell her I was the king of f@ck@ng Belgium to get her to leave."Finefinefine," I whisper, "Go!" I slam the door shut and she's still staring at me with burning intensity. I blow her a kiss. She's repulsed."TO-MOR-ROW!" she mouths, before popping her own hood on and turning to trudge through my back yard and presumably out to her car. Hopefully out of my life. But something tells me it's gonna take a lot to shake this stage-five-clinger. Downright ballsy, Sammy. I can't help but smirk to myself as I watch her walk off. What a woman."Josh?" My mom enters the kitchen. I turn around quickly, looking guilty, but that's nothing new. She sighs in relief, clutching her heart dramatically, but still with sincerity. "You need to answer me when I –" she stops speaking, her eyebrows pulling together in concern as she nears me. I'm almost certain that I'm busted, but instead she reaches up to my eyebrow. I hiss in pain. "What happened?" she asks. I reach up and when I bring my hand down, I see a little bit of blood. B@tch broke the skin with her pointy-ass elbows."I… fell." My mother knows I'm lying, and for the first time all day, I feel slight remorse. I've caused her so much heartache, I hate to disappoint her. She swallows."Well…be more careful," she says in a tone I can only refer to as…well, motherly. She turns to leave, and I look down at my notebook. Apparently I have some homework to do. Now that I feel like my heart isn't in my throat, I take a deep breath and head up to my room. I toss the notebook on my bed before falling down onto it. I pull it up, opening to another blank page, but first I rip out the bad letter I began to Chris. No need for that to see the light of day again.New Page. New Start.Chris, I etch across the top. I close my eyes, trying my damnedest to draw up some emotion within me. Suddenly, a flash of little league, sprinkled in with birthdays and sleepovers… he'd been my best friend since I was 9 years old, how could I forget that? I'm sorry that my actions cost us eleven years of friendship, I write. I stare down at the words, waiting for more to come to me.
  It doesn't.
I reckon that today has been eventful enough. I am exhausted and my pills are starting to kick in. Since music seems to be the only fun thing I'm allowed to indulge in, I pull my iPod out of my pocket and thumb through my playlist, trying to find something to match my current mood.I settle on Falling away With You by Muse… and I reflect on how even though I might have ended up with a concussion, and I am pretty positive she sorta hates me, it was kinda nice to see my old friend, Sammy.
  So I'll love whatever you become, forget the reckless things we've done.

  I think our lives have just begun. I think our lives have just begun.

  To Be Continued…'
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