Haven't Forgotten

|Haven’t Forgotten| 8

That night, Ebba was watching your flat through her binoculars as I organized my notes, most of which taken in panic. I squinted at my handwriting.

“He’s not even home!” she complained. “Where is Jayden Miller?” she yelled through the wall between our rooms.

I glanced at the clock and clicked my pen. I put the cap on and took my notebook after sticking the pen in a pocket of my jeans. “At this time of this week, he should be in the elevator, heading down.

“Ebba put down her binoculars and came out of her room, meeting me in the hallway. I smirked and winked at her, showing her the back of my hand.

“Freak,” came her comment as I slid the gate close.

As a habit, I pulled my cap lower when I got closer to your building. I didn’t look for you. I didn’t have to.I would meet you there.

Now that I think back, we were probably only a few steps away from each other back then.

At one point, I passed by an alley between two buildings. I checked my watch.

Late.

My nose wrinkled at the smell, but I darted in with no hesitation. I had to get there the fastest way. Halfway through, a dark shadow blocked my way. “Where ya goin’?” the words of the man came out slurred. I had one hand in my pocket, clicking my pen. In my other hand was the notebook.

His arm extended towards me.

If you haven’t forgotten, you’ll remember that I jabbed my pen at him once. And if you saw clearly enough from wherever you were standing behind me, you probably know where I stabbed, so I won’t repeat here.

After I stabbed him, I ran ahead. At first, I didn’t even know you were there. Curiosity gripped me when he didn’t catch up. After all, I knew I didn’t run that fast. So, I turned back to see what was going on.

You had him pinned against the wall.That wall was disgusting.

I couldn’t see your expression, but you were whispering something in his ear. I wrote that scene down. You threw him onto the ground. I wrote that down as well.

After that, you began walking towards me. I put the pen back inside my pocket and pulled my cap lower.

“Are you okay?” you asked, stopping in your tracks four steps away.

“Yes. Thank you,” I replied.

“Okay,” you said, starting to walk ahead of me with your hands in your pockets.

I didn’t move. “How long have you been following me and why?” I demanded in a quiet voice. Considering the circumstances, this dialogue quite startled myself.

You stopped and turned around, lifting my cap a little. Then, you snickered and stared at me directly. “That’s a funny question.”

It was then that I stared back–probably with my glare on full blast. “Why?”

You pointed at my notebook.

“Well…” I couldn’t find an excuse.

“Show me when it’s finished,” you said, smiling before walking away again.

That was the last time I followed you. I didn’t need any more research. I began the writing.

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