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I'll Always Love You

Short story By: Mickel Mais
Horror



A not-so-typical boy meets girl story.


Submitted:Mar 12, 2013    Reads: 154    Comments: 4    Likes: 8   


Does it scare you?

Does it scare you like it scared me? Don't worry if it does. Don't worry if it makes you cry or wish for things that, deep down, you know could never be. Don't worry if it makes you regret you had ever done this or that, or ever being born. Don't worry. Do you know why?

Because I'm here, and I'll always be.

I hope you realize that this is no one's fault but your own. You gave me these feelings, after all. If you hadn't been so pretty, so nice, you could've saved yourself.

Everyone avoids me, hides from me, talks at or about me, but never with me. You weren't everyone though. You were special.

Do you remember the day we first met? It was a beautiful, May afternoon. At 2:15 pm, the bell rang. I was standing at my locker when you walked by at 2:18. The perfume that scented your skin slowly crept its way up my face and into my mind. I turned around just in time to accidently hit my elbow against your arm, causing you to drop the three teal notebooks you were holding.

Teal is your favorite color. I bet you didn't know that I knew that, did you? I know lots of things about you. I also know that your name is Lily Ann Mariette, your favorite food is sweet potato fries, you were born in Oceanside, California, your dad has a criminal record, your mom raised you by herself up until age 6 and a half when your dad decided to get on the straight and narrow, and many more things.

Many more things, indeed.

These were easy to learn. It took a great amount of effort to learn the more useful things. Like your schedule, both in and out of school. I followed you, religiously, for 742 days. Every morning between 6:20 and 6:27 am, your father wakes you up by turning on your stereo. You always have the same CD in it, even though you have 13 other albums. You get up and use your private, teal-painted bathroom between 6:30 and 6:37. By the time you get downstairs, your mother and father are already at the table eating the breakfast she made; usually eggs with toast and some sort of fruit. You leave the house around 7:10, but no later than 7:20. From there, you walk and ready yourself for another "boring" school.

But not for me, no, ever since I helped you pick up those teal notebooks and you said your first two words to me:

"I'm sorry."

Honestly, though, you didn't have to apologize. That was probably the happiest moment of my life. It was the sprouting of my first and only love. A great love that was capable of anything, even convincing you that you couldn't live without me.

That you wouldn't live without me.

Life went by so fast after that day. I continued to follow you, and you continued to be perfect. The picture of innocence and love was what you were, unlike those sluts you hung around. They were like everyone else. They made fun of my stutter, my limp, my face, and pretty much everything. I didn't ask to be born like this, I had even wished that my mother had chosen to use a condom that night when she decided to, once again, swap her body for a pick-me-up. That's right; I was the child of a crack-addict whore and a diseased, abusive thug.

Which explains my rather grotesque appearance, doesn't it?

Those dark thoughts were before I fell in love with you, though. Sometimes, I briefly dwindle on the thoughts of suicide, murder, and everything in between, but then I remember your face... Your pretty… Pretty face.

An exchange of words that you do remember between us would probably be at Jessica's party. The whole day was spent happily as I watched you browse the local clothing shops. You could've worn anything in any of those stores and looked spectacular. In fact, I picked out what you're now wearing from the last store you were in before you left to go get ready for her party.

Innocence is never better suited than when suited all in white.

At about 6:51 pm, you left for Jessica's house. Once you had gotten there, it was painfully obvious how out-of-place you felt. Yes, my dear, you are better than to stoop to the level of needing drugs, alcohol, and sex to have a good time. Seizing the opportunity, I crept up on you from a dark corner of the room. You turned and saw me before I could get too close and, instead of screaming or laughing, you instead said hello. Never before had someone greeted me as warmly as you did that night, not even my mother after coming home to sleep off a few drinks with another man or two. We talked for a few brief moments of little things before you decided you were over the party-scene. And so you bid me adieu and left the house, but not my mind nor my sight.

Then he came.

A boy, hardly older than me, followed you out. He cleverly engaged you in conversation and convinced you to stay. So you did, for hours and hours, merely talking with that sly creature. How he could've been enough to hold your attention for longer than it would've taken for you to brush him off, I'll never understand. I'm sure he thought that there'd be a future between you two.

He thought wrong.

After a couple days, I noticed his bothering of you increased. Though you could've casually put him off and moved on, you decided to invite him into your life. That was what enraged me, what made me snap. How could you have done that to me when I loved you unconditionally and so immensely?

So, I made a plan. I waited and watched you get closer to him. I watched your first kiss and your first love sprout as my love darkened. Finally, the right opportunity presented itself. After going through your phone, you always leave it on the end table next to the window, I learned of a date you had set up with that disgusting lump of flesh.

You were to meet in this very spot at midnight. And I would be waiting.

I immediately ran to the shack I call home to gather the necessary tools. A flashlight for seeing, a rope for binding, a shovel for digging, a knife for slashing, a camera for recording, and a gorgeous white dress for wearing.

And, boy, do you wear it well.

I don't know what you did earlier today as I didn't follow you as usual. Instead, I dragged my body here to find a suitable spot to await my love and her captor.

And then… Well, you know the rest, don't you?

Truthfully, you have caused me quite a lot of difficulty. The police will surely realize the disappearance of the football team's all-star. And when they do, they'll come here to look first. Oh, my, this is all such a headache. If you hadn't given me these feelings in the first place, he wouldn't have been slit ear-to-ear and buried in a shallow grave. Then again, I wouldn't have gotten to see you in such a cute dress. Too bad it's been stained, though.

Who, other than me, would've known that a stab in the heart would release so much blood? That it would cause so much pain?

Now that you're dead, you won't struggle against my embrace. These feelings you left me with make me, sometimes, wish I had never been born, or had never done this or that. Sometimes, while I rot in my dingy jail cell, I wish for things I know could never be, such as a happy life between you and me. But, then I remember the time we had together the night I rescued you with my glittering knife, and those feelings turn warm and gleeful. I don't know why you gave them to me; but it's caused me nothing but trouble.

But don't worry, because I'll always love you.





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