The Worry Wart

Suspense Stories | May 29, 2014 | 32 min read
36 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
For as long as I can remember I have had the bad habit of worrying about things. Actually, that's probably the biggest understatement in the history of the world. I worry about everything. You name it and I have probably stressed about it. How I'm not eaten up with ulcers, a victim of high blood pressure, or suffered a major heart attack by now is beyond me (and yes, in case you were wondering, I have spent many a sleepless night worrying about my health).
I inherited the worry gene from my mother who is without a doubt the undisputed worry wart champion of the universe. She's one of those people who isn't happy unless she has something to fret over. Everyone in my family has at one time or the other witnessed my mother going out of her way to find something to worry about when things are going fine. Most people have hobbies such as collecting stamps or painting, but Mom's favorite past time activity is making herself sick with worry over every little thing.
When I was growing up my mother would always stress about me and my sister. She worried that we would miss the bus and be stranded at school so she gave us detailed plans on what to do if it ever happened. (It never did and I think that Mom may have been a little disappointed to be honest). If one of us sneezed she would rush us to the doctor because she was convinced that we had some dread disease and only had weeks to live. She worried that we'd be hit by a car while playing outside, that we'd break an arm or leg in gym class, or be kidnapped by some raving lunatic (Dad always joked that if someone ever snatched us they would be very quick to bring us home). If one of us was ever late getting home from a date or from a friend's house she would assume that we were laying dead in a ditch somewhere. If I ever have kids God help them because I know I will be exactly the same way.
Most of my school years were spent with me agonizing over pretty much everything under the sun. I constantly worried about failing a test or turning in a book report only to have it returned to be with a big "F" stamped across it in red ink. One of my biggest fears at the time was that I was going to do so badly in school that I would be held back a year. To me that was a fate worse than death, and I used to have this recurring nightmare where I was a grown man and was still having trouble passing the third grade.
When I was around nine or ten I started having a lot of trouble sleeping at night (I tried to hide this fact from my mom but she eventually found out about it and I was sent to the doctor of course to discover why I was suffering from insomnia). I would lay awake and think about a number of things a kid my age shouldn't have been concerned with. I would worry that my mom, dad or sister would be stricken with some fatal disease or that they would be involved in a terrible accident and be taken away from me. I would worry that my cat, Copy, would run away from home and I'd never see him again. I would also for some unknown reason worry that I would be drafted into the army when I turned eighteen (Of course the draft was no longer around then but I didn't know this). I was terrified that the very day I turned eighteen that war would break out and I would be shipped overseas. I had convinced myself that when this happened I would end up as a prisoner of war and would routinely have my teeth broken out and be set on fire by some evil foreign soldiers who couldn't speak English. I'll be the first one to admit it, I was a strange child.
When I got into high school my worry level was through the roof. I know that high school is a very stressful and unpleasant time for pretty much everyone, but it was particularly bad for me. I didn't worry about the same things that most of the kids my age did. I couldn't care less about being popular (Most of the in crowd at my school were obnoxious, brain dead sheep and I really didn't want to be any part of all that), and I wasn't concerned with dating the most beautiful cheerleader in school. I worried more about getting beaten up in the locker room by a group of jocks or about that weird kid Anthony in my Art class who may bring a gun to school at any given time and blow everyone away. I also had it in my head that one day someone would slip some mind-altering substance into my drink during lunch when I wasn't looking and I would have a bad trip that I would never recover from. I pictured myself being locked in an asylum and my classmates taking a moment at the graduation ceremony to remember "That poor guy that couldn't be here tonight because someone slipped LSD into his Dr. Pepper and he is going to be institutionalized for the rest of his life."
I had a lot of friends in high school but none of them knew the real me. Scott, who was my best friend from my sophomore year until graduation, was the only friend that knew about my tendency to worry. He was just as bad as I was (If not worse, he was diagnosed with having an ulcer at the age of fifteen) and understood where I was coming from. He was able to stop worrying about things as much our senior year when he started drinking like a fish and smoking pot like there was no tomorrow. He claimed that it helped him handle his stress and he didn't worry as much about things when he was piss drunk or stoned out of his mind. I would occasionally drink with him from time to time but it only seems to make things worse for me. Sure, it's hard to worry about things when you're so drunk that you can't walk without falling in the floor, but there comes a time when you have to sober up and you realize you have other things to worry about (What did I do when I was drunk last night? Did I really grab that girl's ass at the party? Did I make a total ass out of myself in front of everyone?). I never smoked pot with Scott because I personally always hated the smell of it (it makes me queasy) and I was afraid that I would get caught with it and would go to jail.
Scott found out a few years ago the hard way that alcohol and drugs weren't the answer to his problems. He was driving out driving along a country road after consuming enough beer to put half a dozen people in the hospital with alcohol poisoning when he lost control of his truck and was involved in a horrible accident. He hit a woman and her three-year old son head-on at over 100 miles an hour, killing both of them. He ended up being paralyzed for life from the neck down. The last time I spoke to him he told me that he wished that he'd died in the crash, and I don't blame him for thinking that. All he can do now is sit in his wheelchair and face his worries without his beloved alcohol and marijuana to help him deal with them.
Somehow I made it through high school without getting beaten up, drugged or shot (though Anthony did bring a gun to school the year after I graduated. He killed 3 teachers and a handful of students during his rampage, so I guess I had every right to worry about him). I started college after graduation and majored in English. I wanted to be a teacher (the main reason being that I would be off in the summer and get paid for it if you want to know the honest truth. Most people say that they want to be teachers to "mold young minds" and other such nonsense, but the truth is nine out of ten people go into teaching for the summer vacation. Trust me. You don't really think that the students are the only ones looking forward to summer, do you?).
My college days were some of the toughest years of my entire life. Not only was I constantly stressed out about my coursework and making sure I was maintaining passing grades in all of my classes, but there was also the fact that I lacked a significant other. It didn't bother me as much in high school because I figured I was young and had all the time in the world to find a girlfriend (Besides that, I knew that most high school relationships were a joke that ended after a few weeks anyway), but I was only in college a few months before my view drastically changed. All of my friends (as well as pretty much every person I knew) were dating someone, engaged, or even married, and there I was all alone without any prospects. I went on a few dates but nothing serious ever came from any of them. By the time I graduated I was still single and was pretty much convinced that I was going to be alone forever. I went through many lonely nights where I lay awake worrying about how depressing Christmas and other holidays would be when I was an old man who was living by himself.
Trying to find a teaching position after I graduated from college was also very stressful for me. You are always hearing about how there are teacher shortages everywhere. The media claims that schools across the country are desperate for teachers. There are even some schools that needed teachers so badly that they implemented an emergency certification program where any moron in the community can be certified to teach without have the four years of college. All I can say is that I must've been looking in the wrong places because I didn't see any of this when I was searching for a job. I was told in college by my education professors that I was one of the lucky ones because teachers would always be in demand and I would have no trouble at all finding a position. Boy, someone sure lied to me.
I had interviews at pretty much every school in the state (and even a few in neighboring states) and it was always the same thing. They would shake my hand at the conclusion of the interview, tell me they would call and let me know something in a few days and then I would never hear another word from them. I substituted at a few local schools for a year while I continued to search for a permanent position which caused me enough stress that I almost had a nervous breakdown one day while subbing a particularly horrible 6th grade Math class (I think I scared the Hell out of the little shits, so that was a positive). Then when I was convinced that I'd made a huge mistake and should've majored in something else in college I finally got a call back from one of my interviews and was offered a job. I was ecstatic! A wave of relief swept over me when I hung up the phone! I finally had a full-time teaching job and didn't have to worry about it anymore (which meant I was free to fret about other matters like the fact that I was still single and that I was rapidly becoming bald at a young age). It didn't take me long to figure out that the only reason they wanted me was because they couldn't find anyone else stupid enough to take the position.
Tate Hardin Middle School looked like any other school from the outside, but the inside told an entirely different story all together. I found out within moments of walking in the door on my first day that it had more in common with a correctional facility than it did an institute of learning. As I made my way to my classroom I had the privilege of assisting a fellow teacher in breaking up what would be the first of many fist fights during my tenure at Tate Hardin. After taking one of the offending 8th graders involved who looked like he was in his early twenties to the Assistant Principal's office (and being cursed at unmercifully the entire time) I couldn't help but notice that there was nothing but total chaos all around me. Some students were running down the hallways screaming and shoving each other. There was a couple making out by the lockers with such intensity that I was certain that they were minutes away from stripping down and having sex right then and there in front of everyone. Loud rap music was blaring from one classroom. A few students were standing outside the cafeteria smoking cigarettes and laughing. When I saw yet another fight break out I realized that I had probably made the biggest mistake in my life by accepting the position.
Needless to say my first (and only) year of teaching was a nightmare. I was stressed out constantly and it wasn't uncommon for me to throw up in the morning because I dreaded going to work so much. At first I told myself that things would get better but soon abandoned this thought when it was obvious that things were getting worse and worse each day. Things got so bad that I took to buying a twelve pack of beer every night on my way home from work to help me deal with all of my worry and stress (I‘m sure Scott would‘ve been proud of me had he known). On top of everything going on at work that I had to worry about I also started to wonder if I was becoming an alcoholic as well.
I think it was after the first month that I made the decision that teaching just wasn't for me. It's a very stressful profession and I honestly do salute the dedicated people that have no problem doing it every day. I tried to tough it out but I just couldn't do it. After a year of dealing with the students (who cussed me out, refused to listen to me and even threatened to hit me on a daily basis), their parents (who swore up and down at our meetings that their child never, ever did anything bad), the other teachers (most of whom were on drugs, having sex with the students or just total dregs of society in general), and the Principal (who stayed in his office all day because he was afraid of the students) I happily turned in my resignation.
Of course I was worried about money when I quit my job (as well as the fact that I basically flushed four years of college down the toilet) but I was pretty certain that I wouldn't have any trouble finding something. I was a college graduate after all. I was confident that having a degree would help me find a decent job in no time. I couldn't have been more wrong.
After months of searching for something (and since what little money I had in savings was quickly running out I was at the point where I would have taken anything) I finally got a position at a local call center. My job was to call randomly selected people and conduct phone surveys about a number of topics including what soft drink beverage they preferred and how many hours a day they spent watching television. The only problem was that most of the people I called didn't want to take the surveys so they either cussed me out or simply hung up on me. It was thankfully a relatively stress-free job but the pay was less than desirable. I was only working part-time and making less money than most teenagers who worked at McDonald's after school. When checked my bank account one afternoon and realized that I had less than $100 in my account I knew that I had to find something else.
When I wasn't working my shift at the call center I was busy trying to find something that paid better, but had no luck whatsoever. No one was hiring unless I wanted to work at a grocery store or a factory, and neither one sounded that appealing to me. I briefly thought about trying to go back to teaching but after remembering how miserable I was at Tate Hardin I decided that it would've been a bad idea. I had basically no money (I went 2 weeks with just $13.89 in my account) and my nerves were fried. I would go several nights without sleep because I would lay awake worrying about what I was going to do. My parents loaned me money to help me get by (it made me feel like a piece of shit taking it but I really didn't have much of a choice) and my sister spent most of her free time looking on the Internet and searching through want ads in the paper in hopes of finding me a job. She would call me a couple of times a week to check up on me because she knew how worried and stressed out I was (even though she never said it I think the main reason she called was to make sure that I hadn't committed suicide). One night when she called she suggested that I go to the doctor and look into being put on antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication.
I was totally against the idea at first (mainly because I knew that I wouldn't be able to drink beer anymore if I was taking pills) but she insisted that they would help me. She told me that she'd been taking them for years and that they had worked wonders for her, so I agreed to give them a try (just to get her off of my back about it more than anything). I begrudgingly got an appointment with my doctor and after I explained my problem to him he wrote me out a prescription for Zoloft and sent me on my merry way.
When I got back home from the pharmacy that day I stood in kitchen studying the bottle of what my sister called "Happy Pills" for almost an hour before I took my first dose. As I washed it down with water I thought to myself that taking the pills wouldn't help me in a million years. I think part of me didn't want them to work because subconsciously I enjoyed worrying and being stressed out all the time (plus I wanted to call my sister just to rub it in her face that the medication had no effect on me at all).
I couldn't tell any difference at all at first. I suppose I thought that they were some miracle cure and when I didn't feel better instantly I was ready to stop taking them (because I never wanted to take them at all in the first place). My sister made me promise to at least finish off the bottle I had before I gave up on them and I agreed even though I knew that I was just wasting my time. I didn't realize they were working until about a month later when I discovered that my bank account had been overdrawn. Normally I would've freaked out and then gotten very, very drunk but at the time it didn't really bother me at all. Sure, I wasn't happy about it but I wasn't ripping out what was left of my hair either.
It wasn't long after my incident at the bank that my life began to change drastically for the better thanks in part to the Zoloft. I didn't worry about the small things anymore like I had in the past and my stress level was at an all-time low. The people around me started to notice the changes as well (my sister especially) and I was told by more than one person that I seemed to be a lot happier and a lot less tense. I was feeling very good and as a result the quality of my work at the call center greatly improved. One night my supervisor pulled me to the side to commend me on what a great job I was doing and told me that a training position had just opened up with the company. He urged me to apply for the job and I took his advice and submitted my application and resume. I was shocked to learn a few days after my interview with the manager of the Training Department that the job was mine if I wanted it. Since I would be making more money than I'd ever made in my life I gladly accepted.
It was hard to believe that things were finally starting to look up for me. I had a job that I enjoyed, money, and was finally able to overcome all the stress in my life. The only thing that continued to bother me was the fact that I was still single. The Zoloft kept it from becoming a major issue but there were still nights that I would lay awake and worry that I would never have someone to share my life with. It was around this time that I met Hailey.
I think I fell in love with Hailey as soon as she walked in my classroom with the rest of the new hires in her group. She was quite stunning with her blonde hair, gorgeous green eyes and a smile that could light up a room. Her looks made her stand out from the others and the fact that she had an outgoing personality didn't hurt either. She was funny, witty, and intelligent, so naturally I assumed that she had to be taken. When I found out that she was single I think I was the happiest I had ever been in my entire life and I set out to make her mine.
During the course of her training we became close friends and while I was happy by this fact (just to know her was an honor to me), I wanted much more. Still, I couldn't help but worry that she wasn't interested in being anything more than friends and if I asked her out it would ruin what we had. I hate it when someone says "The worst thing that could happen is she could say no." While having her to tell you she isn't interested in a romantic relationship does indeed suck royally there are also things that are a lot worse that can usually happen. More often than not you end up losing them as a friend, and if that doesn't happen you find yourself feeling awkward around her because she rejected you and things are never quite the same between you again. I never in a million years wanted to lose Hailey (even if she was just a friend) so I kept from asking her out even though I wanted to more than anything in the world.
Every night during class we would flirt with each other and I always had the urge to ask her out but never had the nerve to go through with it. I knew that a few of the male trainees were interested in her and I was worried of course that one of them would make their move on her before I could. On the last night of class I knew that I had to do it then or I would never have another chance. As I handed her the gaudy certificate that meant that she had passed my class and our hands touched I couldn't help myself. Before I knew what I was doing I was asking her out in front of the rest of the class. Some of the trainees (mostly the females) smiled and clapped while the others (the males who had a crush on her as well) looked on in disgust. While it may not have been the most romantic (or professional, for that matter as I was later reprimanded for my actions) proposition Hailey had ever received in her life I must have done something right because she was more than happy to take me up on the offer.
While I was extremely happy I was still a total wreck the night of our date. I was so full of nervous energy that I almost vomited a few times before I left to pick her up. I was terrified that I was going to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, or do something very embarrassing like accidentally fart in front of her or something. I was so keyed up that doubled up on the Zoloft hoping that an extra one would make me a lot less worrisome and tense (it didn't help).
All the way to her apartment I couldn't help but worry that the entire date was going to be a disaster. I was terrified that things were going to somehow be different between us and the entire time together was going to be very awkward with a great deal of uncomfortable silence. By the time I pulled into the parking lot of her complex I almost had myself convinced that I should just go back home and call off the date completely. I told myself that I could call her when I got home and tell her that I'd come down with the flu or a sudden bad cold. The only thing that made me get out of the car and walk up to her front door was that I knew that I would end up regretting my decision later on when I got back home.
Hailey didn't live in what anyone would call the nicest of apartment complexes (then again neither did I for that matter, but at least I didn't have crack heads walking around like zombies in the parking lot like she did) and I was actually afraid that I might be shot before I got inside. A couple of young men who looked like they had just been paroled from prison (I nicknamed them Scuzz and Scuzzier in my head) eyed me suspiciously from the apartment next door as I pressed the doorbell and waited nervously for her to open the door. When there was no sign of her I waited a few more seconds and tried my luck again with the same results. I glanced over and saw Scuzz and Scuzzier muttering to each other and had a sinking feeling in my stomach that they were talking about me. This feeling was confirmed when Scuzz pointed at me, said something, and then they both started laughing hysterically as if they had just heard the funniest joke ever told. Since I knew that I was minutes away from being just another statistic of violence on the 11:00 news I pressed the doorbell again and prayed to myself silently that the third time would be the charm.
Once again she didn't come to the door and I suddenly got the horrible thought that she had stood me up. I also pictured her standing inside looking out through the peephole and laughing at me just as my new friends who were planning to mug and kill me within minutes were doing (I don't know if it was my imagination or not but it seemed to me that they had taken a few steps toward me). I pushed the doorbell one last time and when she didn't answer I turned and slowly started walking away. I'd taken just a couple of steps when her door opened and I heard her call my name.
It turned out that her doorbell only worked half the time and she'd only heard it the last time I pushed it. She asked if I thought that she'd ditched me and I told her that I didn't but I was pretty sure that she knew I was lying.
We chatted as we made our way to my car and I instantly started to feel better. There didn't seem to be any kind of awkwardness between us and I felt guilty that I even considered calling off the date. She looked more dazzling than I'd ever seen her before (she had styled her hair differently and was wearing a nice shirt and tight jeans that really showed off what a great body she had), and as we walked past my would-be muggers I didn't mind the fact that they were still staring at me. I wanted them to see that I had the most beautiful woman in the world at my side and couldn't help but wonder if they envied me a bit.
The date itself went better than I could've ever imagined. We had dinner at a very nice Chinese restaurant (her choice), and then went to see a low-budget horror film at the local cinema (my choice). The movie sucked out loud and the audience (made up mostly of annoying teenagers who kept yelling at the characters on the screen and talked through most of the movie as well as an old man who felt it necessary to keep farting and even lit up a cigar at one point) was even worse, but the fact that Hailey kept grabbing my hand during the scary parts made things a lot more bearable. We ended the night with a kiss at her front door and as I walked back to my car I didn't have a care in the world for probably the first time in my entire life.
It's hard to believe that six months have passed since our first date. Since that night a lot of things have happened. Hailey and I got pretty serious fairly quickly and before I knew it we were dating exclusively. We were madly in love with each other (so much so that we became one of those sickening couples that you see making out in public) and I was so happy that I even stopped taking the Zoloft. For a while Hailey was the only medicine that I needed to overcome my worrisome nature. We saw each other every single day and we were even considering moving in together (it was all my idea as I couldn't help but worry about her since she lived in the slums). I even started shopping for an engagement ring a few months ago because at the time I just knew that we would get married. I finally had everything that I wanted in life and for a while it seemed that I was going to get the happy ending that I always dreamed of. I should've known better.
Last month Hailey went to see her sister who lived out in the middle of nowhere. I had a migraine that night so I didn't go with her as all I wanted to do was lay on the couch with a damp cloth on my head and pray that my pain would be short-lived. I had taken a couple of aspirin and had fallen asleep for several hours until the phone woke me up around Midnight. I was pretty out of it and after fumbling around in the dark for a few minutes I was finally able to find the phone. I didn't recognize the man's deep voice on the other end and thought that it was just a wrong number. I was about to tell him that he'd misdialed so I could hang up and go back to sleep when he introduced himself as Officer Newton and told me in a serious tone that Hailey had been involved in an accident and was at the hospital. He continued to talk but I had no idea what else he said. He could've told me that I was going to be shot in the head if I left the house and I wouldn't have heard him. The only thing that registered was that something had happened to Hailey and I had to get to her as soon as possible. I hung up the phone while he was still talking and raced out to my car, wanting to get to the hospital as soon as humanly possible so I could make sure that she was OK.
It was only by the grace of God that I didn't have an accident myself as I sped to the hospital. Normally I'm a very good driver (I've had a few fender benders but none of them were my fault), but on that night I threw caution to the wind and drove like a maniac. The needle on my speedometer stayed buried like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand the entire way to the hospital and I'm pretty sure that I might've set a few new land speed records. As I weaved in and out of traffic and cursed at the few slower-moving vehicles I got stuck behind I just knew that when I finally got there Hailey was going to be badly injured or worse.
After what seemed like an eternity I pulled into the hospital parking lot (it was a good half-hour drive from my apartment but I'd gotten there in just a little over fifteen minutes) and ran inside. I was led back to the Emergency Room by a skinny, haggard, angry-looking nurse who obviously wanted to be somewhere else other than at the hospital talking to me. We walked down a hallway passing room after room with doctors inside attending to a kid that had fallen down a flight of stairs, a man who had shot himself in the foot while cleaning his gun, and a woman who appeared to just have a very bad cold and thought that it was an emergency situation. Of course Hailey was in the last room at the end of the hall and as we stepped inside I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and tried to prepare myself for the worse.
When I opened my eyes I saw Hailey on the exam table with a young doctor that looked like he was strung out on something (my guess is that he‘d been doing a little self- medicating) looking her over. She didn't look as nearly as bad as I had envisioned and when she saw me she jumped off of the table and greeted me with hugs and kisses. I didn't notice until I embraced here that the only injuries she had were a few scratches and what appeared to be some sort of large bite on her shoulder.
The attending doctor left us alone (presumably to hit the drug closet to snatch a few more Vicadins to get him through the night) and after covering me in hugs and kisses for a few more minutes Hailey told me what had happened. It turned out that she hadn't had a car accident at all. She'd been driving back home when her car started to overheat and she pulled it to the side of the road to check thing out. After she'd raised the hood to get a better look some sort of animal had attacked her from behind. It scratched her up pretty good and had taken a pretty nasty bite out of her shoulder, and most likely would've done a lot more if a couple of deer hunters hadn't happened along when they did. When they saw what was happening they wasted no time in stopping their truck and taking a few shots at the animal with their hunting rifles(They'd had no luck in bagging any deer so I am sure they were at the point where they would shoot just about anything, so when the opportunity arose they jumped on it). Hailey said that she knew for sure that they shot it at least twice but somehow it still managed to beat a hasty retreat into the woods.
The deer hunters were kind enough to drive her to the hospital and on the way Hailey said that they had a heated debate as to what kind of animal it had actually been. One argued that it was a wolf or a wild dog, but the other one said that it was too big to be either and claimed that he saw it walking around on its hind legs. I ask her if it could've been a bear and after giving me a look that suggested that I was either retarded or had a hand growing out of the top of my head she pointed out that it was unlikely unless one had escaped from the circus or something since there weren't any bears anywhere remotely close to the area (I foresaw one Hell of a lawsuit if there had been a circus in town and Bobo the juggling bear had gone missing but this wasn‘t the case). She said that it was obvious that the deer hunters had been drinking (what a great combination, fire arms and alcohol) so I just assumed that seeing it walking around on its hind legs was just a result of him having one too many beer. Luckily the less drunk one was the one that had been driving.
Dr. Feelgood wanted Hailey to stay overnight for observation but she refused as she just wanted to get home and put the whole incident behind her. After getting her wounds cleaned up, a tetanus shot and a series a very painful rabies shots she was ready to call it a night and go to sleep in her own bed. I stayed all night at her place to keep an eye on her in case she needed anything and couldn't help but notice how out of sorts she seemed as she climbed into bed. I know that she had just been mauled by some unknown animal, been taken to the hospital by a couple of drunken rednecks where she'd received no less than twenty injections to the abdomen so I didn't exactly expect her to start doing back flips though her apartment but I was still disturbed by how down she seemed. Little did I know at the time that this was just the beginning?
Looking back I guess I should've noticed how much she started to change after that night. She was a lot more irritable and seemed to stay in a bad mood on a constant basis. We hardly every disagreed over anything before and we were having more and more arguments, most of them ending with her storming out of the room in anger. It took very little to piss her off and once she was angry she became volatile. I was at her apartment one night when a telemarketer called and she unleashed a string of obscenities on the poor guy that would have made a sailor feel uncomfortable. I told her to calm down which made her slam the phone down and direct all of her rage at me. After she screamed at me for several minutes and stormed out of the room I left, wondering to myself on the drive home if she didn't have a mental problem that I hadn't been aware of.
Things soon went from bad to worse. We couldn't be in the same room together anymore without getting into an argument and I always had to be careful what I said around her because I didn't want to set her off. We started seeing less and less of each other and I couldn't help but worry that our relationship was coming to an end (though to be honest part of me was relieved because I was absolutely miserable being with her).
One night last week she called me around 1:00 in the morning. We'd had a particularly bad argument earlier that evening and I wasn't even sure we were even still a couple. She was incoherent when she called and I could barely make out what she was saying. She was crying hysterically and just kept repeating over and over that she'd done it again. I ask her several times what she was talking about but she refused to enlighten me. She ended up hanging up on me and I sat there with the phone in my hand for a few minutes almost in a trance as I tried unsuccessfully to try to make sense of it all. I tried frantically to call her back more than a dozen times and kept getting a busy signal so I ran to my car and made my way to her apartment.
Ever have the feeling that something bad was going to happen? That's the way I felt when I drove across town to her place. I didn't know what I was going to find once I got there but I just knew in my heart that it wasn't going to be anything good. I didn't think that she would ever attempt suicide but then again she'd done a lot of things in recent weeks that I never thought she would've done. The thought terrified me and I floored the gas pedal praying to God and anyone else that would listen that I would make it in time.
My heart was pounding in my chest as I bolted inside once I got there, not even taking the time to shut the door behind me. I started calling out her name and when there was no response and I started to panic. I checked the kitchen and the bathroom but there was no sign of her so I headed down the hall to her bedroom. The door was open and when I peeked inside what I saw made me stop dead in my tracks.
Stacked in a neat pile in the corner was a pile of various body parts. I saw a pair of hands. A severed foot still wearing a blood-stained Converse All-Star. There was even a headless torso with its limbs missing leaning up against the wall and I couldn't help but absently wonder if one of the various hands or feet belonged to the same body at one time. I turned to run back to the front door when I felt the burrito that I'd had for dinner coming back to haunt me and I was violently sick all over the bedroom floor.
As I was vomiting I remembered hearing about a rash of missing persons in the area. A woman had gone out to jog and was never seen again. An old man had walked to the store for a pack of smokes and never came home. There was a teenage boy who had disappeared off the face of the earth one night after playing basketball with some friends at the local gymnasium.
The police were baffled as to what had happened to all the missing people and there I was in Hailey's bedroom staring at some key evidence that might shed a little light on the case. Once I was sure I wasn't going to vomit again I stood up and made my way back up the hall, wanting very much to get the Hell out of there before some of my body parts found their way into the pile with the others.
I was almost to the front door when I heard the growling sound coming from behind me. As I turned around I saw a furry blur just as it lunged at me. It knocked me to the ground and was on top of me instantly. I felt its sharp claws penetrate the skin on my chest and cried out in pain. I instinctively started punching and kicking at it and connected with a lucky shot to its face that made it roar in agony and back away from me for a moment.
I got back to my feet and made a mad dash for the door. I heard movement behind me and made the mistake of glancing over my shoulder to take a look instead of just running away. When I got a good look at what it was that had attacked me I just stood there frozen in fear, unable to run even though I was more terrified than I had ever been in my life. I'd like to say that I went after it like a real man and took it on one-one-one with my fists but instead I just watched as it approached me and tried as hard as I could not to soil myself.
The beast making its way across the room toward me was something out of a nightmare. It was huge, clearly over six feet tall and covered with thick brown fur. Its head resembled some sort of animal (a wolf maybe?) and it had glowing red eyes as well as a mouthful of sharp teeth that glistened with drool. As it tackled me again I realized that it was the thing that had attacked Hailey and was most likely here to finish the job it started that night out on the country road. We rolled across the floor and I tried my best to avoid its snapping jaws as it was obvious it wanted nothing more than to take a huge chunk out of me. I tried to figure out how it was able to find its way to Hailey's apartment and why it had picked her bedroom as the place to discard the remains of its victims. I also couldn't help but wonder as it tried to dismember me where Hailey was. Had she gotten away? Was she even here when the thing came looking for her? Did some of the body parts in the bedroom belong to her?
My sparring partner pinned me to the ground and slashed me across the chest once again with its razor-like claws. The pain was blinding and there were a few seconds that I was almost certain I was going to pass out from the agony. It opened its mouth wide and prepared to rip my throat out with its teeth when I looked over and saw a pair of scissors on the coffee table (thank God Hailey never put anything back where it belonged). Moving faster than I ever thought possible I grabbed the scissors and plunged them into the beast's right eye in one fluid movement.
I pushed the blades in as deep as I could and it made a sickening wet sound that reminded me of a knife being shoved into a watermelon. Blood and sticky puss jetted out of its eye onto my hand and if there had been anything left in my stomach it would've certainly made a return appearance much like the burrito had minutes earlier.
A roar of pain that sounded remotely human erupted from the beast as it stood up and backed away from me, clawing desperately at the scissors that were imbedded in its eye socket. As I looked on in horror it staggered around the room for a few minutes like a drunken fraternity brother before it fell face-first on the ground. The impact shoved the scissors even deeper into its eye until the handles almost disappeared from sight.
I leaned back against the wall and waited for it to get back up so we could resume our dance but it never happened. Other than the occasional twitch it became pretty apparent that it was dead and my ordeal was over. I stood up slowly and promptly threw up again for good measure. Since my stomach was empty I stood there dry heaving until my abdomen muscles ached and my throat burned from the bile. I regained my composure and glanced over at the monster on the floor when I realized that something was happening to it.
Before my eyes is started to change into something else. As I looked on it began to take on a human form and even before it was done I saw the familiar blonde hair and began to weep.
I cried out in grief and despair when I looked down and saw Hailey on the floor where the monster had been only seconds earlier. I leaned down beside her and cradled her lifeless body in my arms as I tried to make myself believe that it was all just a dream. I tried to convince myself that I was really at home in bed and that any given moment I would wake up. When that didn't happen I just sat there on the floor holding her and sobbing to myself.
I cradled her against my chest for several moments until I heard the sound of people talking behind me at the front door. I gently lay Hailey back on the floor and turned around to see my old friends Scuzz and Scuzzier standing in the doorway looking on in shock. Both of them were beyond pale and Scuzz looked as if he was about to either pass out or start crying himself.
I yelled at them to leave us alone and they were more than happy to oblige. Scuzzier almost tripped over his own feet getting the Hell out of there but Scuzz only stood there for a few dazed minutes before he came to his senses and soon took off after his pal.
I'm not sure how long I sat there with Hailey's head in my lap before I heard the sirens approaching. I knew that the cops would be there any minute (I assume Scuzz and Scuzzier called the police, who knew they were such concerned citizens?) but I made no attempt to get up. A few minutes later a large, muscular black police officer with a no-nonsense look on his face and his partner, an obese bald man that looked like the wrestler King Kong Bundy came barreling into the apartment. Within minutes they had their weapons trained on me and were ordering me to lay face-down on the ground. For a brief moment or so I actually considered charging at them so they would open fire on me. Hailey was gone and I really had no reason to live anyway. The choice was taken from me as the black cop grabbed me by the shoulder and forcibly slammed me to the ground before I could react. He pinned me to the ground and made sure I stayed there by ramming his knee painfully in the small of my back as King Kong Bundy just stood there looking around nervously and probably trying to decide where he was going to eat later on.
I didn't resist at all as I was being handcuffed and read my rights. There just didn't seem to be any reason to proclaim my innocence. I was guilty of killing Hailey and deserved to be punished for it (though I already knew that there was nothing that the court system could do make me feel any worse than I already did). I didn't even bother giving them any sort of explanation for my actions as I knew it would just be a waste of my time. What was I going to say? "I killed her because she was this huge monster and she was trying to tear my guts out. It was self-defense, honestly!" It was so ridiculous that I was having trouble believing it myself, so I was pretty damn sure no one else would buy it either.
The tubby cop walked back toward the bedroom and within seconds I heard him add a contribution to my pile of vomit on the floor. He waddled back into the room a few minutes later with what appeared to be the remains of a sausage pizza caked to his chin babbling about the stack of body parts in the bedroom. He slumped against the wall sweating profusely and looking a little green and I couldn't help but think that it would probably be quite a while before he would be enjoying his next all-you-can-eat buffet. The black cop went and took a look himself and though it was obvious when he returned that he was thoroughly disgusted by what he'd seen he did a better job of hiding it than his plump companion did.
We attracted quite a crowd as I was led out of the apartment in handcuffs and placed in the back of the police cruiser. It seemed that every drug dealer, gang banger, and welfare recipient that lived in the complex came out to see me off on my voyage to the police station. I spotted Scuzz and Scuzzier standing outside their apartment talking to a couple of trashy girls who looked like they may have been hookers and imagined that they were telling them all about how they were the brave souls that called the cops on me. I felt a little consolation when I thought about how their "dates" would most likely give them Herpes, the Clap, or something even worse later.
As we drove away everything that had happened sunk in and I started bawling again. The two gentlemen kind enough to give me a ride to jail had little to no sympathy for my plight as they both threatened to beat the shit out of me if I didn't stop crying (actually only the black cop said this, the fat one only nodded in agreement and tried his best to look tough).
Now here I sit in jail, charged with Hailey's murder. They are also trying to pin the other murders on me as well; they are just waiting to hear back from the lab to see if there is enough evidence to connect me to the other victims. My trial begins next month and if I'm found guilty (which I'm pretty sure I will be) the best possible outcome is that it will be roughly fifty years before I see the outside of a penitentiary again.
Ironically I'm not worried about everything anymore. I'm not worried about my trial. I'm not worried that I could spend the rest of my natural life behind bars. I'm not even worried that there is a possibility of the death penalty if they decide that I killed those other people. The only thing that I am worried about now is that Hailey bit me the night that she attacked me. That and the fact that there is a full moon tonight.

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