"Stalking is a form of mental assault, in which the perpetrator repeatedly, unwantedly, and disruptively breaks into the life-world of the victim, with whom they have no relationship (or no longer have). Moreover, the separated acts that make up the intrusion cannot by themselves cause the mental abuse, but do taken together (cumulative effect)."
I tugged at my sleeve, peering at my wristwatch. Any minute now. Don't miss her. I kept my eyes fixed on the entrance. As if we have some telepathic connection, she walks in. No, scratch that. Nouvelle-Cordelia never walked. She sashays. She floats. Never walks.
"Jeanne! Come over here," Her friend calls from the other side of the room.
Jeanne? JEANNE? No, you idiot. Her name is Nouvelle-Cordelia! She's too pretty, too elegant for a normal name like Jeanne! Her long fingers flick her chestnut-brown wavy hair and she plasters on an award-winning smile before strutting over to her friends and seats herself at the head of the table. The Queen of Everything, always.
The first time I laid eyes on her was at the ice rink. She was practising for nationals, twirling and swirling all around the place. She had on the cutest red dress on with matching white boot-skates. The moment I saw her, I knew her name was Nouvelle-Cordelia. Her name just seemed to shine out from her. I just had to follow her. I couldn't help it. How can you not adore something so perfect?
I trailed her back to her big fancy house that day.
As I have been for the past few days. Just following, waiting, noting, admiring. I never got to hear her speak, always remembering to keep that safe distance.
But today is different. Today I have something to give her. The moment she rose, I followed. I have to tell her how much she dazzles me, I thought, trailing her across the little lanes and alleys. How much I think and fantasize about her. She will accept me, I know she will.
Wait, where the hell did she go? I'm sure she was just -
*Wham!* Luke swings the bat over his shoulder. "Whew! I guess you were right," Jeanne and her parade of friends stood peering uncertainly at the hooded figure on the pavement. "Err…well let's see who your admirer is, Jeanne," Luke got on his knees and unveiled the figure.
"Oh. My. Days," Luke whipped his head around.
"Jeanne, it's a girl."
*atm*
