Every Breath You Take...

It's funny how the reality of a situation can completely escape you when it's actually happening, and be so glaringly obviousr in hindsight.

I had a stalker and I didn't fully realize it.

I was afraid, sure, and I knew he was playing games with me, but I didn't slap the "stalker" label on it for another until months later. 

After the break-in/remote control games, I started hearing noises outside my window at night. Tiny clicks against the window that were loud enough to wake me up, but also soft enough to make me wonder if I was imagining things. I started to question my own sanity. 

I couldn't enjoy my freedom because I felt like there were eyes on me all the time. The bank I worked in was all glass windows -- top to bottom -- and there were moments I was convinced Javier was out there watching.

He called one of the direct numbers to the teller line one January night, asking for me. I'd already asked my co-workers to screen any calls that came in for me, so I didn't have to talk to him, but they told me it was him. I was agitated for the rest of the shift, and when we all left at seven that night, I was glad to be out of that fish-bowl of a bank building.

It was really cold that night, so most of us sat in our cars to let them warm up a little before driving. I was the last to leave -- but I didn't leave soon enough. The second I was alone in that parking lot, a car I didn't know turned in and sped toward me. I held my breath when it stopped right beside me, the driver's side right next to mine. The window came down, and there he was. Smiling at me, like we'd made plans to meet in a dark parking lot on a freezing cold night.

I asked him why he was there, and he said, "to see you, and to give you this." 

He handed me two greeting card envelopes. I looked at them, then back up at him. He was still smiling. 

What was his angle? What did he want from me? And why the hell was he bringing me greeting cards?

I opened the first one. There was some kind romantic picture on the front -- white roses with a soft-glow filter or something corny like that -- and a message that said, "Ever get the feeling that someone is thinking about you?" And on the inside, "Well, it's me."

He's sitting in that car watching me with that ridiculous fucking smile on his face, only his eyes had changed, and I had to fight the urge to vomit all over the inside of my car. I didn't open the second card -- I couldn't. I didn't want to know what fresh hell awaited me inside of it. The only thing I could do was tell him to leave me alone and drive away as fast as I could.

When I got home (sick, scared, and sad) the driveway was dark, but both my parents' cars were in their usual spaces. I didn't understand how they could forget to leave the garage and porch lights on for me, knowing I was coming home after dark. Furious, I marched into the house and started yelling. Didn't they know anyone could be out there waiting for me? Didn't they care about my safety?

They both looked at me like I'd grown two heads and shrugged. Nothing to worry about, we lived in a safe neighborhood, everything was fine.

No, I insisted, everything was not fine. Javier was out there, following me, watching me, calling me, playing games with me, and, now, showing up at my work. Still, I got the blank stares. Finally, I waved the cards at them, and said "now tell me I don't have anything to worry about."

I remember my mother's face when she was finished looking at the cards. There was regret in her eyes. Sorrow. And a little bit of fury.

I think my dad just went into ostrich mode. He didn't have a thing to say.

Once again, I was living in fear. I didn't want to go anywhere alone -- not even work. But I couldn't tell all of my co-workers that my crazy ex wouldn't leave me alone. I was embarrassed...and probably a little worried that by saying the words out loud, his behavior would only get worse. 

I finally had to admit how dangerous things had become when he called the house one night later that month. I guess I thought he wouldn't be that bold, given the chances my dad might answer the phone, but he was, and I was the lucky fool who answered.

Again, he acted like we were still together. Just a "hey, how's it going?" kind of call. Except this time, I had reached my breaking point. My mom and my sister happened to be in the room with me, looking on with curiosity and concern when I started crying, and then holding my hands when I started yelling. 

I told Javier this had to stop. He couldn't call me anymore, he couldn't show up at my job, and he absolutely could not bring me greeting cards or any other damn thing. He had to leave me alone. The relationship was over, and he had to stay out of my life.

It took so much energy to say those words, to stand -- literally -- on my own two feet and demand my life back. But I did it. And I thought he'd heard me. I thought we were in agreement.

But ground shook beneath me once more when he said, "okay, so when can we talk again?"