Revealing

What if you thought your secrets were safe that nobody would ever find out but you. What if you'd be wrong all along.

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1. Revealing

Messages and messages had been sent to me about my life, about secrets that I hadn’t revealed to anyone, those who read my stories and claimed to be my friend only knew a little, so how come the one person that I could fully trust on the internet started to spill out things about me. It had started as a message through the chat box in the writing website, where I would get so excited for the person to reply, but now I was scared, even creeped out by what this person knew.

That didn’t stop the person from finding me on my social media and telling me more facts about me than most of my real friends knew.

I wasn’t as scared or worried about how and why this person knew so much fact about me; I had thought maybe it was one of my friends playing an harmless prank and would soon confess to the prank, and decrease the fear that was ever so slowly escalating inside of me.

It wasn’t a prank. That fact hit me hard. I was desperate, like someone on drugs. I needed to know who was doing this and if it wasn’t my friends who would have done it. I tried reasoning with myself to calm my nerves; maybe my dairy was stole, maybe. Maybe. Each time I replayed that excuse in my head I started to believe in it less, until I found my dairy hidden underneath pile of clothes. That crushed any final hope I had.

 

Everyday felt as if someone was watching me, recoding every movement I mad, everything I say, the idea of this made me claustrophobic, even if I was in a room with open space, I felt as if someone was choking me my secrets; peeling it away from my life and leaving me bare and naked.

Everything I did became frigid and stiff, as if someone was forcing to move, my mind would freak out when someone stared at me longer than two second.

Is this the person?

Is this the stalker?

It was unreasonable for me to think that everyone that looked at me was the stalker but a little part of me felt comforted, thinking like that.

The idea of calling the police rang out at me not once; it had been constantly ringing in my head but I couldn’t, I didn’t need to call the police, I didn’t need to drag them into a problem that I was going to fix and even if I did call them they would find out things they shouldn’t know and I would mostly likely get in trouble with my parents.

 

Being at school didn’t ease the tension that was building up inside of me, it didn’t ease the fear that was eating at my mind and killing any little hope I had left. I sat still in my chair, my mind pacing around with thoughts and my eyes racing around the room. I had developed the habit of tapping my hand on the table to distract my thought. It didn’t work.

That feeling you get when you’re angry and your heart is pounding and that’s the only sound you can hear and you feel as if you’re going to erupt at any moment. I felt that now, sitting in my chair with people staring at me hesitantly only my anger was replaced with fear.

To my friends I must have seemed high on a drug, they were careful when they spoke, as if what they would say would set off the anger inside of me but in my term it would be fear. They were all staring at me now, wanting to say something but the words seemed to be stuck somewhere in there throat.

“I’m fine” I snapped, it’s as if they had all been in there own space because as soon as I snapped they snapped out of the reverie and jumped from their seats.

 

Right in the middle of class I left. Out into the hallway, left of the corridor, inside the library all the way at the back. That’s what the letter said.

 

As stupid as this was, it was the only information that would help me find out who was behind this, as much as I wanted to believe that this letter was real and genuine, a part of me now doubted the letter as I entered the library, but it was soon replaced by the fear that was waiting. I could feel it; I could feel it slowly worming its way into my mind again. My throat had become dry and my movements becoming more robotic with every movement. As much as I wanted to turn back and go to the class and pretend this letter was a joke, I couldn’t spot believing that this could be real and now that I was in the library, heading towards the back, my belief became a little less.

 

The pressure was building and the claustrophobic feeling was back and it did a god job in increasing the tension that was churning in my stomach. This was sort of the same feeling I got when I was about to get my gcse results; the fear of failing but also the feeling that you might have also passed.

My hands were shaking uncontrollably by my sides; I felt my insides go warm and cold then all over again. My breathing was tightened and hitched, compressed in my lungs and not wanting to come out.

The room was clammy and humid or maybe it was just me.

Sounds of footsteps inched closer heavy and dragging.

The figure stepped out from the bookshelves, leg first then whole body, my heart was beating furiously inside of me and my ears had increased in temperature. I moved to examine the person more clearly, I expected my heart to drop and to start shouting profanities and to attack the person in front of me.

 

 “James.”

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