Hostage

Today was horrible.

I arrived at the Library at 12:30 to do my assignments. I finished by 1. I had 2 more hours until my mother would give me a lift home, and although I love to read, I left all my books at home and didn’t want to start anything new. At around 1, a boy similar age to me sees me through the glass windows of the library. Like a zoo animal on display, he stared at me through the barrier. 5 minutes later, the chair closest to mind squeaks as somebody sits down. I turn to see the guy from before, directly and whole-hearty staring and examining me. From my awkwardness and uncomfortableness, I began to sweat. This is starting to sound like a freaky fanfiction, but I can assure you reader’s, anything I tell you today was a negative. 

I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every movement. He finally moved and inserted his eye phones in his ears. I swear he didn’t blink. All he would do was watch me type as I did meaningless adjustments to my edits. I turned up my music and dug my head more into my typing. I was so focused on ignoring him, it was making me focus on him even more. Time to time, I would text people useless texts, and inspect the room. By the room, I mean if this creep is still watching me. He was. Some of his friends walked by the zoo-windows, gawking at me. They stopped, just like him, and started to wave. I thought it was to him, but when I looked into their eyes they were trained on me. 

By 1:30 I knew I have in the midst of a panic attack. My main trait is trembling, and boy, was I ever. I should get a medal for it, or at least research into how many calories I’d lose from it a day. As I’m typing this in the shopping centre above the library, I paranoidly (knew word I made up because I have no internet and I can’t think of a better word) scan the halls if he is watching. 

After texting for the millionth time, I give up. It’s 2 now, and he’s still watching me. I turn up the music even more, and begin to bop in my seat (because I’m cool and can do that in public and have no regrets). After a minute or so, he does too. I look up and he starts doing it excessively. He uses his arms elaborately, waving them in my personal space. I flinch and continue to type. I refuse to make eye contact with this guy. The librarian walks by and he halts his movements, with a nonchalant, “Sup”. I plead for the librarian to leave, but she seemed a little creeped out as well. 

He shakes the table I’m resting on, and I stand my ground. I type as if my life relies on it. It’s 2:20 when he waves his hands around, over my belongings. I type. He shakes the table. I type. His hand, centimetres from my face, waves. I flinched, take out my eye phones and look at him incredulously. 

“Hi,” he says softly. 

“.. Hello,” I recently reply.

“So, what’s up?” He typically states.

I hate this question, this and “how’s it going?”. How are you supposed to reply to them, in a truthful demeanour. I was thinking this as he continues,” What are you studying for?”

I shortly reply,”Biology.”

In a mantra I repeat; I’m 15. Go away. I don’t want to talk. Leave me alone.

He get’s the hint, I must’ve been shaking enough. By this point, I can smell his disgusting odor reeking through the room. 

I had to leave the library 10 minutes later, and so I walked up to the ice cream store to get a treat. When I finally purchased something and turned back to where mt mum wanted to meet me, he was there. Keeping my head down, I rushed to the meeting spot of my mum. I didn’t see her there for 20 minutes. At least I didn’t see him again. But maybe he was watching me. 


the other one