Perceive exactly what is happening here any way you like; I made the exact details in this a teensy bit vague on purpose because I like hearing other people's ideas. Also, I do not condone anything happening in this. I'm only writing about it. Just FYI.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Jessie.

At first, I was afraid.

Who wouldn't be in that situation? No matter what I did, where I went, you always seemed to be there, lurking somewhere in the shadows. Even as I walked between classes in school, alone yet not alone, I could feel your eyes upon me. Staring, always staring, though I was nothing to stare at.

I think I only managed to actually lay eyes on you maybe once or twice. You were always difficult to pick out in the crowd. Your presence was usually announced to me through the hairs on the back of my neck. To say it was unnerving in the least would be an understatement. I didn't know what you wanted, or why you were there. You never gave any hints as to what your goal was. You seemed content to simply observe me as I went about my daily life.

It frightened me. You frightened me.

Still, I tried my best to live as normally as possible. Perhaps if I was truly as boring as everyone else apparently thought I was, then you would lose interest and leave. Find someone who was actually worth watching. Instead, you surprised me by remaining. Two weeks, one month, two months…the entire time, you stayed. As far as I could tell, you rarely broke from your vigil. I wasn't certain whether to feel perplexed or dismayed. It appeared that no matter what I tried, you had your heart set on staying right where you were. It was both utterly terrifying and somewhat flattering.

I never told anyone about you. Of course, you already knew that. After all, who would believe the poor, confused ninth grader whose own family even thought he had issues? Who would suddenly bother to listen to the weird kid that everyone was so intent on ignoring before? No one, that's who. Not my sisters, who barely spoke to me anymore after that breakdown in eighth grade. Not my brother, who was too embarrassed to admit in public that I was his sibling. Not even my mother, who was trying so hard to figure out how to best deal with me (and failing). None of them would understand. None of them were willing to weather the storm with me. I was forced to brave it alone. Except, I was not alone – not truly, anyway.

Then, I grew curious.

What was it that you found so mesmerizing about me? I wasn't the least bit popular, social, talented, or even attractive. I was not special like my family (or anyone else I knew, for that matter). I never went anywhere intriguing, either – just from home to school and back. It had been that way since partway through my middle school years. Nothing spectacular or movie theater worthy. Yet, you almost seemed to treat it that way.

What made even less sense was your lack of action. It had been almost four months now. Why hadn't you done anything? If your intention was to eventually harm me, then surely you would have done it by now. You knew where I lived, but you never robbed me or my family. My schedule and route I took to school was not difficult to map out, but I was never kidnapped. Considering how long you had been watching me, I was fairly certain you knew quite a bit more – if not everything – about me, and yet, as far as I could tell, you never used any of it against me. I didn't know whether to be grateful or even more concerned – after all, what if you were still lying in wait for the right moment to pounce? And once that moment came, what exactly were you planning on doing with me? Kidnap for ransom? Torture? Murder? Rape? Several of those elements combined? The uncertainty was alarming, especially for someone like me who was used to knowing everything. Then again, there were many things happening lately that I didn't understand, so I supposed I couldn't rely on my own mind and intellect like I used to.

Nothing made sense anymore.

More time passed, and with it, my life continued to fall apart. The rift between me and my family widened, my grades were starting to drop, and now several of my peers were back to their old tricks again (such as leaving degrading notes in my textbooks while I wasn't looking, or tripping me as I walked between classes). In the meantime, you continued to watch me, like always. At this point I had grown accustomed to it, no longer bothered by your shadowing me. Perhaps it was comforting because you saw it – all the teasing, all the remnants of broken relationships – and never abused me for it. You were the mysterious, nonjudgmental presence looming over me, the silent witness to everything happening to me. And I almost loved you for it.

A few weeks later, you started leaving gifts.

It was never much – just an extra notebook to replace the one that someone had stolen from me or a novel from one of my favorite series – but they meant so much more. For the first time in quite a while, I mattered to someone. Someone actually, truly cared about me. I wasn't just some sort of inanimate object for others to step on anymore; I had value, at least in your eyes.

Even if you never said it directly to my face, I knew.

And I was happier than I ever thought possible.

For the next month or so, this routine endured. I would go to school, complete all my classes for the day, and at least once a week, find a present in my locker (for that was where you always put them), then go home. As long as I didn't run into too many people along the way, it worked for me. I found comfort in the monotonousness. I think you did, too, because it probably made it easier to track me. But as long as you still cared about me, I didn't mind. You could observe me all you wanted. It was more positive attention than anyone else was willing to give me. I just wished I could return all that affection somehow. What was the point of you knowing everything about me when I knew nothing about you? There was no reason to be shy anymore (though I could definitely understand the feeling). I wanted to meet you face to face, to personally thank you for letting me know I wasn't completely dead inside.

Soon after, my wish was granted.

Just not near in the style I imagined it would be.

It happened in the latter part of the school year. I was retrieving some text books from my locker before going home (like I did every school day) when a trio of sophomores approached me after everyone else had left the hallway. They were one of the more active groups that tended to participate in humiliating me, so I was nervous. (They, I believed, were also some friends of Luke's. I had seen them all hanging out together occasionally. I wondered if Luke was aware of their mistreating me, or if he even cared.) At first, it wasn't too bad. I was cussed at a bit (for what, I didn't know – I never did) and shoved against my locker by the largest male while the other two (another boy and one girl) laughed. They insulted me – not anymore than usual, but it still hurt, even though I tried to shut them out. If I didn't respond, I would take all the fun out of it, and they would eventually leave me alone since they really only did it so see my reactions. That was what would usually take place, anyway, but for some reason it only seemed to frustrate them more this time.

They grew increasingly violent, hurling more severe insults at me and even going so far as to actually spit in my face. When I still refused to say anything, the other guy came and twisted my wrist while the first boy held me in place. I might have screamed, I'm not sure. It was what occurred next that truly haunted me.

The boy was about to hit me again, but someone caught his wrist before he could and twisted him around. I think his wrist was badly sprained at least. I heard him start to yell, but it was cut off when his throat was slit. The girl screamed as his body hit the ground, and the other boy ran. I froze, unable to take my eyes off you or the glistening knife in your hand.

The other two were killed in a similar fashion to the first boy. I watched in horror as both the blood and the life left their bodies. When you approached me and held out a hand, I finally screamed and scrambled to get away. I was scared, even more so than when I first saw you. But you didn't hurt me like I thought you would. Instead, you just clicked your tongue and said almost fondly, "Don't be like that," and pulled me to my feet. I didn't get another chance to run away. You made sure of that as you shot a sour glance towards one of the boy's bodies, gave it one final kick, and muttered "Let's go," before leading me away. I had no choice but to follow; you were far taller and stronger than me. And so, we left, both covered in blood that wasn't our own, and somehow made it to your home unchallenged. I was alone with you in an unfamiliar neighborhood in an unfamiliar part of New York.

By the time we stepped into your house and you calmly set me on the bed, my mind had shut down from the shock, and I felt numb. You simply went into the bathroom and later came back clean and with a wash rag in hand. I flinched when you originally touched me, but otherwise remained motionless as you gently rubbed the dried blood and spit off of my face and arms. After that, you dressed me in clean clothes and made me lie down on the bed.

"Sleep," You ordered. But I didn't sleep. How could I? And how could you be so nonchalant after what had happened just a little while ago? The thought made me ill. While I was left frozen on the bed, you fell asleep on the couch, seemingly unconcerned about the lives you just took.

It made me sick.

If I didn't hate you before, I did then.

You made me sick.

And I would rather rot in Hell than fall prey to your toxic love anymore.

The next day, the police arrive at your house. No surprise there – after all, you were caught on the school's security cameras, and no doubt multiple people would have seen us leaving. Did you really believe you would get away with anything? Of course you won't. And I will make sure of that.

You haunted my steps, now I will haunt yours.

Oh, stop your crying. I haven't left you. Not really, anyway, though I wish I had. Either way, you are stuck with me now until you die, whether you wanted it or not. You will regret every second of it.

It isn't quite Hell, but it is close enough.

I can still hear your sobs. Even with all the blood, you're still holding me close, cradling my body as if that will bring me back. It won't.

I am going to make you feel as much pain as I did.

When you are finally arrested, you're inconsolable. The authorities have no choice but to sedate you after prying me out of your arms. It's only a temporary fix. By the time you wake up, it's already time for your court session. A lifelong sentence, with no chance of parole.

You weren't sane. Neither was I.

Even with counseling sessions, your sanity continues to further deteriorate. The prison staff members aren't certain what else to do except place you in solitary. That suits me just fine. Even in the deafening silence, you can still hear my voice.

Revenge is sweet.

No matter what you do, where you go, you still know I'm there, lurking somewhere in the shadows of your mind. Whispering to you, increasing your guilt and self-loathing all the more.

And when those whispers finally cause you to fashion your bed sheets into a noose, I won't stop you.

Revenge truly is sweet.

On that happy ending note, what did you think? I tried not to make it too gory, but hopefully it was creepy enough to pass as a horror fic, despite it being a little weird. I wrote it with my own idea of what was going on, but you're welcome to perceive what exactly was happening here any way you wish; I tried to make the exact details a little vague on purpose because I love hearing other peoples' opinions. ^^ My sister seemed to think it was pretty good despite not being much of a horror fan, but I would really like to see what all of you thought! Please R&R! Thank you! (Update: Whoops! I forgot to put this as complete! Not quite sure how I managed to miss that, but it's been fixed now. Wow, I make long author's notes. Maybe it's because I don't talk much in real life, so I'm getting my fill on here? Idk, whatever, most people probably don't read this far into my notes anyway. XD)

PS: I was listening to "Haunted" by Evanescence while writing a lot of this, so some of the credit goes to the band for inspiring this! If you like creepy sounding songs, then please go listen to it. It's not my favorite song of theirs, but it's still good. ;p Also, I really shouldn't have to specify this, but just in case someone misunderstands, any 'love' mentioned in this was not romantic – or real, for that matter. It was the product of an extremely unhealthy relationship. (Poor Ravi, I'm just torturing him in everything I write. '^^) Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go continue to work on some of my happier stories. Thanks again!

Oneshot word count (not including the author's notes): 2,099