The Misunderstanding

Chapter 1

I plopped onto the couch and kicked off my shoes. I had spent most of the day helping my sister move her things out and was exhausted. After years of us living together, she finally decided that it was time for her to “move on” and find “her own path” or whatever. It felt more like she was neglecting me rather than a peaceful departure and I was beyond annoyed. I was used to the familiarity of having someone in this big house with me. We found it for cheap on Craigslist and fixed it up into the wonderful place it was now. I loved every inch of this house. My sister, however, did not share my infatuation with it. For the past few years, she has complained about every little detail concerning this place and dropped numerous hints about wanting to move. When she gave me a backhand offer to join her, I happily declined. I would much rather stay in this wonderfully broken house than live in some posh neighborhood near people who stuck their noses up at me. She shrugged unbothered as she blew me a kiss and led her last suitcase out the front door.

Now flipping aimlessly through mountains of trash tv I could feel the silence around me. Gone were her loud clamor and heavy footsteps as she moved about in her room. Now it was just me and the endless episodes of Family Feud that seemed to never stop running. I was beginning to doze off when I jumped at the sound of loud banging on the door. I groaned as I stood up annoyed. My forgetful sister probably returned to get something she left behind. I pulled open the door with a glare.

“What did you forget?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

“Uhm, hello” chuckled a deep voice that stood before me.

“Ooh, I’m sorry I thought you were my sister” I apologized as I looked over the strange man standing on my doorstep. He was rather tall, still towering over me even though he was on the porch. His chestnut curly hair drooped a bit into his eyes which he flipped irritated out of the way with a brown hand. I could appreciate his good looks, from his thick lashes to his pouty lips that curled in an acknowledging smile. He was model material for sure. Despite how handsome this man was I was still annoyed with him for disturbing my sleep. “So…can I help you with something?”

“I just wanted to introduce myself, I am your neighbor, Stephen,” he told me as he stuck out his hand. I looked down at it. Neighbor? I did not have neighbors, at least not the kind where I can see them over the fence. The nearest house was almost a mile away. I mean I was not in the sticks, well, okay, I lived on the edge of town, but no one ever bothered to come to introduce themselves.

“Samara,” I replied as I shook his hand. He smiled again as I looked around awkwardly. “Did you just move in?”

“No,” he said simply. I raised my eyebrows; this guy was weird for sure. I slowly backed up more into the house.

“Okay, well, nice meeting you Stephen,” I told him as I closed the screen door, making sure to lock it.

“You too Samara,” he smiled as he stared at me for a moment before he turned and walked off the porch. I watched him as he turned at the end of my drive and disappeared out of my line of sight. I locked the door, checked the locks twice, and turned on the alarm.

Chapter 2

My bones cracked as I did my morning stretches. Lately, I was beginning to feel like I was sixty-two rather than twenty-two. My curly black hair fell into my brown eyes as I bent over and groaned. I really needed to invest in a new mattress. I have had it way too long; it was beginning to feel like sleeping on a sack of nickels. I yawned as I made my way downstairs. I was happy to see the alarm was still on and uninterrupted. I was examining the contents of the fridge when I heard a knock on the door. I glanced at the clock on the stove, ten o’clock on the dot. I walked to the front door and looked in the peephole. My brow furrowed; it was Stephen. What was with this guy?

“Yes, Stephen, can I help you?” I asked through the door.

“I brought you something,” he replied, holding up flowers into my line of view. I had to admit that those daylilies were beautiful and oddly my favorite, although I do not know how he would know that. I sighed and opened the door but stayed behind the locked screen.

“Thank you, Stephen. You can just leave them there” He placed them gently on the porch at his feet before he gave me a dazzling smile.

“Wow, you’re even more beautiful in the morning,” he complimented sweetly. I made a face; I had not even brushed my teeth yet and I knew my hair was probably wild and disheveled. He had to be joking but I did not see a hint of laughter on his face. God was he gorgeous.

“Uh, thanks. Guess I’ll see you later…” I trailed off as I started to close the door.

“Bye Samara,” He turned to walk off the porch.

“Bye Stephen,” I waited a couple minutes after he left to open the door. I turned the flowers at all angles to see if he did something to them. After seeing they were just a bouquet of flowers, I inhaled their sweet scent and smiled.

***

He returned every morning promptly at ten o’clock, usually bearing gifts. I had to admit that it was nice to be admired but his punctuality was off-putting even after the tenth time he arrived. Eventually, he no longer just wanted to say good morning and compliment me. He wanted a conversation. Feeling like I owed it to him, I decided one conversation through the screen door would not hurt. Today on visit number twelve, he was dressed differently. His usual jeans and a t-shirt were replaced with a suit. I could appreciate how the ensemble accentuated his tall muscular frame, but I was still hesitant about him. He seemed genuine but…weird.

“Samara?” he called, jolting me out of my thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Will you go on a date with me?”

“Stephen…”

“I know you don’t know me that well but just one date. That is all I ask. We can even have it here on the porch,” he suggested. I mean the front porch would be okay because it was the only alternative to me going somewhere with him. It would offer me a quick escape if he turned out to really be weird. I looked him over as I contemplated my answer. I mean I was tall, but I was sure he could easily bench press me and that would not work out in my favor if I had to fight him off. Still, my gut said he was okay enough for a porch date, so I agreed.

His green eyes sparkled as he smiled, “then I will see you tomorrow” He turned and ran off the porch. I hoped I was not making a bad decision.

Chapter 3

Much to my surprise, Stephen didn't return at his usual time the next day. I found myself constantly peeking through the peephole to see if he arrived yet. As much as his constant presence annoyed me, I couldn't help but feel a little bummed when the clock rolled past ten and he didn't arrive. He was unsettling but nice to look at. I shook my head, I clearly had mixed feelings.

I sat at the dining room table with my laptop, aimlessly scrolling through my newsfeed. Why was I so bummed about him not showing up? Was I actually excited to see him? I shuddered at the thought and shook my head. Why did he have to be so attractive? It would be easier to push him away if he wasn’t. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. I hopped up a little too quickly and looked through the peephole. Speak of the devil.

I opened to see a once again dapperly dressed Stephen who was holding a basket of items and a blanket. I unintentionally smiled when I saw him, causing his face to light up.

"Samara, are you happy to see me?" He teased with a smirk.

My smile dropped, "you're imagining things"

He chuckled as he stepped away from the door and looked at me. I bit my lip and stared at the screen for a minute debating if I should just bail and go back inside. Stephen's smile vanished as if he could read my mind.

"I'm not going to hurt you, you know"

My eyes flashed to his green eyes and held them for a moment. Was I crazy? Why is my heart fluttering right now? This is Stephen we're talking about! My annoyingly persistent neighbor. I continued to chew my lip and sighed as I opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Stephen smiled and walked to the side and laid out a picnic blanket for us to sit on. He motioned for me to sit as he pulled the basket in front of him.

"I didn't know what you liked so I got a bit of everything" he made known as he took everything out. I was happy to see that everything was store-bought and fully closed. Despite my growing attraction to him, I still didn't trust him enough to take any unwrapped food from him. I grabbed a sandwich and unwrapped it and took a bite. I looked around the yard as I ate, avoiding eye contact with him. I could feel his unnerving gaze as I sat there and ate.

"Aren't you going to eat?" I asked, glancing at him.

He shook his head, "no I'm not hungry"

I swallowed the last bit of food in my mouth and put my sandwich down.

"Why did you bring all of this food if you weren't hungry?" I questioned. I was annoyed, who doesn't eat at a picnic?

"As I said, I didn't know what you liked," he clarified. I rolled my eyes.

"Anyway, I'm sure you have a long list of questions so let's get to it"

The corners of his lips turned up, "I do actually" his eyes lowered as he tilted his head to the side, looking at me.

He went on to ask me trivial questions like my favorite color, movie, etc. You know the boring stuff. When I was tired of answering questions I switched it around on him. Much to my surprise, he was pretty forthcoming with whatever I wanted to know. He was in his late 20s and was an architect. Apparently, he worked for a fancy firm downtown. When I asked him how he could manage to visit me every morning and still be on time for work he just laughed it off. He was an only child and hadn't spoken to or seen his parents in over three years. That tidbit sparked my interest.

"Well, why not just talk to them?" I suggested. I could see his bright green eyes shadow over at the mention of them. It made me feel for him, I mean I wasn't the closest with my parents but not seeing them for three years? I could not even imagine that.

"It's complicated" his voice trailed off as he shifted uncomfortably. I shrugged my shoulders knowing this conversation wasn't going much further.

By now I was in dire need of a nap but I strangely didn't want to get up. He was interesting and sitting here with him like this made him seem less weird. He was still weird, don’t get me wrong, but not as much as before. Now I saw him in a better light. Who knows maybe we can be friends.

"I hate to say this but I think this date is now coming to a close" I stretched as I stood up. He stood up in front of me, smiling.

"You do?"

"Do what?"

"Hate to leave" He repeated his smile growing bigger.

"Well, I mean, I enjoyed myself. I won't lie," I admitted, sending him into a full-on grin.

"I'm glad. I had fun too" He told me as he gathered everything back into the basket.

"Samara? Can I see you tomorrow? I know I haven't really been asking. I'm sorry about that"

After spending an afternoon talking and seeing how handsome he looked in the sunlight, I agreed.

He returned each day bringing games, food, or books for us to enjoy on the porch. Days blended into weeks and weeks blended into months. I eventually found myself at ease with him. He had an odd sense of humor that made me smile so he cracked a joke every chance he could. He sat closer to me now, our hands almost touching. He grabbed a curl, tucking it behind my ear. I half expected him to kiss me by now and honestly, I would not protest in the least. He never did try though. The furthest he tried to go was when he tried to hold my hand. I don't know how I got here but I definitely had fallen for Stephen. I just hoped I wouldn't regret it.

Chapter 4

Now I haven’t been in many relationships before but what little I do know is that eventually, you are supposed to introduce them to your friends and family. I laughed at myself as I wondered how I got here. Months had gone by since he first arrived at my doorstep. Where I was once annoyed by his punctual arrival, I now was checking myself in the mirror before I opened the door each morning. I felt like a silly school girl as I unashamedly flirted with him day in and day out. I mean, who could blame me? He was attractive and so many other things I loved about a guy, like intelligent, funny, and punctilious.

I decided that he probably should meet my friends first as a test run before I let him meet my family. He was still rough around the edges but seemed to be improving socially as the days went by. I knew it would be odd to call up one of my friends to introduce him to someone, mainly because I sucked at keeping in contact with them. I racked my brain for a list of friends who might not necessarily mind meeting him and who would also forgive me for my lack of communication.

I was a writer so I could do my job pretty much anywhere, which meant I could be at home and avoid human contact whenever I wanted to. Before my sister moved out, I was going to the office until I got a lecture from my boss about “dressing the part of a writer” and “maintaining Prime Publishing’s image,” I made the switch back to my house. Now I looked over the material in my sweatsuits and sipped coffee in blissful silence. Excuse me if that leads me to forget to call or text people every now and then. Cell Phones work both ways.

I flipped through my contacts and landed on Ava. She was nice, upbeat, and very forgiving, in other words, she was perfect. I shot her a text and she almost immediately responded, agreeing to come to meet with Stephen and me. I was replying with a time for her to come to the house when a familiar knock rang through the entryway.

“Hello, beautiful,” he greeted with that smile I was beginning to love.

“Hey,” I smiled, stepping onto the porch. We settled into a couple of chairs and before he could even say anything, I sprang the news on him.

“I want you to meet my friend, Ava,” I told him. I explained how she agreed to come to the house tomorrow.

“Why do I have to meet her? You have never even mentioned her to me,” he replied slowly. My brow lowered. Did he not want to meet any of the people in my life?

“Because that’s what most couples do…” my voice trailed off as if it were obvious.

“We aren’t like most couples,” he pointed out.

“You’re right because you only want to come to me. We’ve never even been on a real date,” I snapped. I was getting annoyed. Why was he acting like this? I sighed heavily, rolling my eyes.

“You’re upset with me,” he stated as he analyzed me.

“Yes! You waste all of this time and effort getting me to like you. When I finally do, you don’t even want to meet my friends? Who does that?” I knew I was yelling but I honestly didn’t care. His relaxed nature was pissing me off by the second.

He turned in his chair to face me, “Samara, the last thing I want to do is make you upset.”

“Then don’t.”

“I just don’t want anyone to change your opinion about me,” he confessed. I looked at him, I mean really looked at him. He seemed like he was hiding something. Why would anyone a smidge as attractive as him be insecure about people not liking him? I just could not figure Stephen out, no matter how hard I tried. I looked away and stared at the clouds that loomed over the field across the street.

He nodded after a moment in defeat, “fine, I will meet her.”

I nodded, acknowledging what he said, and continued to stare at the clouds.

***

The next day Ava arrived, happy and peppy as ever. As much as her high energy was draining me, I stuck it out as we waited for Stephen to arrive. We talked as we waited, well more Ava talked, and I listened as she ranted on and on about her new apartment. When she finally stopped, she looked at the clock and pointed to it.

“Is he still coming?” I looked at the clock she was pointing to and immediately my blood began to boil. He was two hours late. This man has arrived at my house at the same time for months but the one time I need him to be punctual he’s late? I sighed heavily and shook my head. She shrugged and went back to talking. Another hour passed before I was too drained and too angry to continue listening to Ava rant on about how many settings her shower head had.

“Hey, didn’t you say you have work soon?” I mentioned in a sweet voice.

She glanced at the clock and jumped up, “oh man, I’m going to be late. We can meet up another time.” She rushed out of the house and into her car, speeding out of my driveway. I slammed the door shut. I distinctly remembered telling him to come at his usual time. The time that he once again has never missed, so where was he?

I remembered the reluctant way he agreed to come yesterday. He was just saying it to appease me and had no real intention of coming today. I sat at my kitchen bar and punched my sister’s number on the phone. I have been filling in Mara on the details surrounding us since the very beginning. She just kept warning me to be careful since she was no longer there to protect me. She loved rubbing her new place in my face, not that there was much to be jealous of in my eyes.

Now I was ranting on the phone about how inconsiderate Stephen was for not showing up. Mara affirmed my opinions and added some of her own as she listened. Suddenly a thought struck me.

“I’m going to his house,” I announced as I put on my black hoodie.

“Woah, let’s not get crazy here. You don’t even know if he is there.”

“I don’t care. I’ll leave a note if he is not,” I pressed on as I pulled on my shoes. Mara continued to list all of the reasons why she thought it was a bad idea and that I should just stay home.

“Stay on the phone with me if you’re so concerned.”

“You are so hard-headed, but alright.”

I backed out of the driveway and drove the way down to the nearest house. It was getting dark so I pulled in with my headlights facing the door and got out. The house looked shabby and unkempt. The porch was practically falling apart and there was a busted window on the top floor. Not exactly the type of place I imagined Stephen in. I could hear Mara breathing heavily over the phone as my boots crushed the leaves beneath me. I walked up the creaky stairs slowly, scared that they were going to cave in at any minute. I tried to look inside the window but the curtains were drawn. I peeked around the side of the porch before I went up to the front door. I banged on it a few times before I noticed a piece of paper on the door. It was a demolition and condemnation notice. It was vacant.

“Samara? Samara? Are you okay?” Mara asked as I made my way back to the car and locked the doors.

“So what happened?” she questioned impatiently.

“It’s vacant,” I told her as I sped out the driveway and back home.

“Well, are you sure that’s the right one? What about the other house on the other side of you?”

“It burned down before you left, remember?” I reminded her as I ran into the house, locking doors behind me.

“Oh,” was all she could say. I, on the other hand, had no words for this.

Chapter 5

I held the phone far from my ear as my boss yelled at me about the importance of a time table and how I should implement one. I nodded as if she could see me. I gave her my best impression of someone who was engaged in the conversation.

“Yes, I totally agree. I will get on it.” I told her before quickly hanging up. I slouched in my chair, my head dangling over the edge. I was behind schedule on my latest book plus my boss was a timely person, so those two did not mix. My latest work was a romance, which was one of the usual tales that I hated telling. I used to write murder mystery stories before my boss pushed me into this genre, telling me that “romance sells.” I had almost finished but I got caught up with Stephen and everything else went out the window.

I rolled my eyes at the events of last night. From his blatant lying about where he lived to him not showing up to meet Ava, it was enough to make me beyond pissed. I was so mad last night, and also afraid that I could not sleep. I stayed up the rest of the night, and now well into the early morning, writing. It always cleared my head, helped me think. Although writing in the dead of night after finding out something about your mysterious lover was ideal material, it was not the best therapy.

Still, I could not take my eyes off the clock as it slowly reached six in the morning. I wondered if Stephen would actually show. I shook my head, trying to clear out thoughts of him so I could get back to writing. I cracked my knuckles as I got back to it. My fingers were burning from use, plus a scene was just getting good when he knocked on the door. It seemed like he only appeared at my door when I stopped thinking about him and finally focused on my writing. I did not open the door, mainly because I was still mad and did not want to see him. He must have realized this because after I barked a hello through two doors, he started apologizing.

“Samara, please open the door. I said I was sorry,” he pleaded as he offered me lilies through the peephole.

“Sorry for what? Lying to me?” I snapped.

“I wanted to come, I really did, but I could not.”

“And why couldn’t you?”

He remained silent.

“You’ve been lying to me this entire relationship! I went to your house, it’s vacant. You don’t even live there!” I yelled. My face was burning with rage. I backed away from the door to give my eyes a break.

“Samara.”

“Who are you?” I have been asking myself that question ever since the first day he appeared. He told me only what he wanted me to know.

“Samara, please open the door so we can talk,” he begged.

“Tell me who you are first,” I demanded.

“I am Stephen, a man who is madly in love with the world’s most suspicious woman.”

I paused. Did Stephen just tell me that he loved me? This was the first I was hearing of this. “What did you just say?”

“I said, I love you.”

I rested my head against the door, “I love you too.”

“Now can you open the door, please?” he asked softly. I opened the doors only slightly grudgingly and stepped onto the porch. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. His lips were soft and full against mine. As he deepened the kiss, I felt myself getting light-headed. I tried to steady myself against the door. I would have slipped if his hands weren’t holding me to him. When he finally pulled away, I blinked a few times in a desperate attempt to regain my composure. He licked his lips and smiled. Boy, I was in trouble.

He went on to tell me about all of the things that went wrong with his day, thus causing him to not be able to make it. When I asked him about the house, he gave me a quick excuse about having moved a couple months ago and how he forgot to tell me. I wanted to protest but when I opened my mouth to speak, he silenced me with another kiss. I forgot what I was about to say.

After my mind cleared, we talked about possibly going on a date. I was giddy about the idea and told him where I wanted to go. There was a beautiful park in the middle of town with a waterfall in the center. We agreed to meet there at a specific time the next day and with another kiss, he left.

***

As I have become accustomed to, he did not show. I waited and waited, but he never showed up. I had a clear head now and began to think about the possibility of breaking things off with him. I had not seen any of my friends and family because of him and when I wanted to do things he never showed. He was selfish, misleading, and a habitual liar. So why do I love him? Was it just mere infatuation that I was feeling? Was I drawn to him because of the mystery surrounding him and as a writer and avid reader, I just had to see things through? Whatever it was, this relationship was not healthy. Unable to sleep, I finally finished my book and sent it to my boss. At least one of us would be happy tonight.

***

He appeared at my house the next day, of course. I immediately opened the door and let him have it. He stood there, eyes wide, as I yelled about how confused he was making me feel and how I could not do this anymore.

“Samara, don’t do this. I love you.”

“I love you too. I can’t do this anymore. I feel like I’m going crazy!”

“Listen, I’ll change. What do you want me to do? Just don’t do this,” he begged, his green eyes bright with tears.

“I’m sorry. Goodbye, Stephen.” I turned to go into the house but he grabbed my arm.

“Don’t leave Samara, please,” he begged, pulling me out of the doorway.

“Let me go!”

“Don’t do this to me,” he cried as he dragged me to the ground. I tried to kick him as he held down my legs. He flipped me over and mounted me as he pinned my arms to the porch.

“I love you, Samara,” he cried as he kissed my face.

“Get off of me!” I screeched as I wiggled underneath him.

“Samara, I love you,” he repeated as his tears stained my clothes. After a minute of trying, I managed to knee him in the groin and get to my feet. I kicked his arms away as he reached out to grab me. I ran inside and locked the door, slamming it in his face.

“Samara!” he yelled, banging on the door. “Samara!” I could hear his muffled crying as he shook the screen.

“Leave before I call the police!” I yelled as I grabbed a bat that I kept by the door in case of emergencies.

“Samara, I love you. I love you!” He continued screeching as he shook the door as hard as he could. He continued to sob against the door but after I threatened to call the police, he stopped shaking the door and his crying subsided. After a few minutes I looked out the window, he was gone.

Chapter 6

I was curled up in a ball in the corner of my room when the sun finally rose. I did not sleep a wink, terrified that Stephen would appear at any moment. My baseball bat was clutched to my chest as I tried to quiet my breathing so I could hear even the slightest sound from downstairs. The house was silent, apart from the usual sounds that an old house makes.

I tried to stand on my numb legs as my phone began to ring. I picked it up and rolled my eyes. It was my boss.

“Samara? Are you there?”

“Is there something wrong with the book?” I asked as I peeked through the blinds to get a glimpse of the outside.

“Well, yes. There are several things wrong. I asked for romance, Samara.”

“I’m not a romance writer,” I told her, stating the obvious.

“Yes, judging by this story, I am well aware. I need you to fix it,” she demanded. I could hear her nervously tapping a pen on her desk in the background.

I looked up at the ceiling and rolled my eyes, “I’ll try my best.”

“Please do because we are already behind schedule. I-”

“I will get on it right away,” I told her, cutting her off. She sighed and thanked me before she hung up the phone. I flopped on my bed, annoyed. She was asking too much from me. I hated writing romance with a passion, something that she very well knew. So what was she expecting from me? That I would all of a sudden turn into Nicholas Sparks?

I rolled onto my stomach and called my sister, Mara. She picked up on the third ring and I immediately told her everything.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asked, bewildered.

“I mean, I am sleep deprived and anxious but I guess yeah.” She offered to come to the house to stay with me but I turned her down. The last thing I wanted to do was put her in harm’s way. She agreed after a while but told me to text or call her every couple of hours so she could make sure I was still alive and okay. After I told her yes, we said I love you and hung up.

I went into my bathroom and took the world’s quickest shower. I had to be careful in case Stephen appeared at any moment. I quickly dressed and went downstairs to grab something to eat. I checked all of the doors and windows, ensuring that they were not tampered with overnight. Once I saw everything was fine, I made myself breakfast. I sat down at the dining room table with my food and laptop so I could work while I ate. I would take periodic breaks from typing to just listen to my surroundings.

My boss wanted romance and I would give her that. I just added a few extra things in there to spice it up a bit. In my opinion, a little suspense never hurt anybody, well except for my boss. She wanted fairytales, happily ever afters, but few people got those and even then it still wasn’t perfect. I forked some eggs into my mouth and scanned over the story. I added in the usual crap that romance has and was well into my edits by the time a few hours had passed.

Then there was a knock on the door.

My hands paused over the keyboard. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping I was just imagining the sound, but I was not. The knock came again but no one spoke. I was frozen in my chair as I scanned my thoughts on what to do. I was smart enough to bring my bat with me when I came downstairs but I knew it might not be enough. I stared at the door as the knocking became more aggressive and the handle jiggled in their attempt to open it.

My dining room wasn’t directly in the foyer but it was a straight shot from the door. It was too far for me to make it out the backdoor in a flash before they ran around the side of the house. I was trapped.

Now it sounded like they were using their entire fist to bang on the door repeatedly. I didn’t have to look through the peephole because I already knew who it was.

“Samara, open the door” Stephen called, still banging. I quietly grabbed my bat and slid under the dining room table, pulling the chair in front of me so I could stay out of sight.

“Samara!” he yelled as he kicked at the door. I was shaking from terror.

Then the banging stopped. My eyes bulged out of my head as I watched each lock slowly turn open. I pressed a hand to my mouth as I watched on in horror. The screen screeched and slammed into the door frame as a pair of thick black boots walked onto my carpet. The alarm was ringing loud and clear. I thought maybe I had a chance but then I heard him push a few buttons and the alarm disarmed. How did he know my code? How did he even know where the alarm pad was? He has never been to my house!

“Samara, my love, where are you?” he called sweetly as he walked around the living room and opened my office door. He moved on to the kitchen and looked in the pantry. He even went as far as to check the cabinets, as if I could fit under there. Tears streamed down my face as my knuckles turned white from how hard I was covering my mouth. He finally made it into the dining room, his black boots stopping in front of where I was sitting. His clothes rustled as he leaned forward to read what was on my laptop.

“You’re writing about me? Samara, I’m flattered,” he said, chuckling to himself. I inched away from his feet but accidentally bumped into a chair. He squatted to the floor, “there you are.” He offered me a hand but I vigorously shook my head. His smile disappeared. He threw the chair into the wall and dragged me from under the table by my arm. He stood me upright and pulled me into a hug.

“Why were you hiding?”

“Get away from me,” I cried, trying to pull away. Stephen's embrace tightened as he smelled my hair.

“You must have just got out of the shower. It smells like that cocoa butter shampoo you use” he complimented.

“How do you know what shampoo I use?” I asked, horrified.

“Samara, I know everything about you,” he told me in a low voice. He finally let me go so he could look me over. He ran his hands over my curly hair.

“What do you want, Stephen?” I cried.

“Shh, do not do that. Don’t cry,” he cooed as he wiped my tears. “I just want to be with you, that is all. You make it hard when you shut me out, Samara.”

“I don’t want-”

“You will,” he cut me off, “you just need time.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself more than he was me. I turned to run to the front door but did not make it far before he tackled me. I yelled, kicked, and twisted as I screamed for my life. When suddenly, everything faded to black.

Chapter 7

I woke up in a jail cell. My heart began to pound as I looked around, wondering how I got here. I turned my head and saw my sister rush over to the door.

“Oh my god, Samara. I’m so glad you’re awake,” she told me, smiling with tears in her eyes.

“Mara, what am I doing here?” I asked. She was about to tell me when an officer walked over and unlocked the door. He told us to follow him as he made his way down the hall and into a room. Mara and I sat down at a table across from him. He pulled out a notepad, a pen, and a recorder, sitting them in front of him on the table.

“This is officer Watkins, interviewing Samara and Mara Wilson. The date is July 15, 2016. Samara, do you know why you are here?” he asked, looking up at me over his glasses. I shook my head. “Speak for the recorder.”

“No”

“Last night, I received a distress call from your sister, Mara. She told us that you were being harassed by a young man by the name of,” he looked down at his pad, “Stephen. Is that correct?”

“Yes”

He went on to ask me the details of our relationship, taking notes here and there. He asked for a description and if I knew his address. When I told him that I had no clue where he lived, he made a note and said they would be able to look him up. He then asked me about what happened last night.

“I was home, writing, and he was banging on the door.” I went on to tell him about how he picked the lock and turned my alarm off. I mentioned how he found me and had tackled me when I tried to run. Officer Watkins and Mara exchanged glances.

“Around what time did this occur?” When I told officer Watkins the time, he put his pen down. “Ma’am, I don’t think that is correct. We were at your house at that time.”

“It was at that time. Stephen tackled me, then I blacked out,” I continued, looking between him and Mara.

Officer Watkins took off his glasses, “Samara, I and a few other people entered your home about the time you say Stephen broke in. Is it possible that you only thought he was there?”

“He was there! He turned off the code!”

“Samara, I turned off the code,” Mara told me with a furrowed brow. “We knocked on the door. You never came so, I unlocked the door and turned off the alarm. We found you hiding under a table. When Officer Watkins offered to help you out, you started kicking and screaming. They tried to hold you down so you wouldn’t injure anyone, then you passed out,” She explained.

I shook my head that couldn’t be right. Stephen was there. I know he was. I could hear his voice, feel him restraining me. This must be a mistake.

I tried to explain this to them but officer Watkins just shook his head and agreed with Mara. I shook my head. He was there but no one believed me.

“Well, nonetheless, we will look him up and let you know what we come up with. In the meantime, we want you to see a psychologist” He stood, handed me a card, and left the room.

I turned to face Mara, “you believe me don’t you?”

“I was there last night, Samara. I told you I would call the police if you stopped messaging me. I got worried. You really don’t remember me being there?”

I stared at the card, hoping I wasn’t going crazy, “no.”

***

A few days had passed. I was scheduled to have my first appointment with my psychologist. Her name was Doctor Warren. She was the best in her field, or at least that’s what Mara said.

I hadn’t seen Stephen in the past days but I chalked it up to Mara staying with me as the cause for him staying away. My boss was also upset since I still had not finished the edits that she claimed were causing her to “rip her hair out.” She left me countless emails and voice messages each day, each angrier after every unanswered phone call. I hadn’t written since the last time I saw Stephen. I was in no condition to do so right now. She could wait.

I slowly walked up to the receptionist’s desk and gave her my name. She told me to have a seat, that Doctor Warren would be with me in a second. I nodded and sat in an oddly comfortable chair as I looked around. Countless mental health posters were hanging on the walls promoting ideas of living a normal life despite whatever.

Had it really come to this? Was I now one of those women who lost their minds? And over a guy at that? I exhaled deeply, silently loathing myself for my ignorance. There were so many signs, so many red flags. Why didn’t I pay attention to them?

“Samara? You can go on back,” the receptionist told me, motioning toward the double doors. I stood and made my way down the cold hallway. I took a deep breath and walked into Doctor Warren’s office.

Chapter 8

I sat on an oddly comfortable couch across from Doctor Warren. In the past hour that I have been here, we discussed everything from my childhood to when I met Stephen. I was nervous, evident by the perspiration on my hands. I sat on them and looked up at her as she wrote something down.

“Do you love Stephen?” she asked quietly. I nodded. Love was not something you could turn off, even if that person turned out to be crazy. “So how are you handling all of this?”

“I do not know,” I told her honestly. My mind was all over the place and despite what Mara and officer Watkins said, I could not believe that he was not real. I went on to tell her how sweet he was and how much I liked spending time with him despite his odd quirks. She nodded every so often as her pen flew across her paper. I told her about all the red flags and signs that were there that I chose to ignore.

“If you knew they were there, then why ignore them?”

“I guess I wanted to see the good and ignore the bad. I thought maybe because of Stephen's situation with his parents, that was why he was so weird. I don’t know.” I sunk lower into the couch, hoping to be sucked into the cushions so I could disappear.

“What do you think would have happened if you chose not to ignore them?”

“I wouldn’t be here for one. I wouldn’t be paranoid of Stephen popping up every second. My sister wouldn’t think I was crazy,” I told her. I wanted to go home but this lady wasn’t going to let me go until we got to the bottom of the situation.

“Why do they think you are crazy?”

“I saw him and felt him attacking me. When I woke up, they told me it was them trying to help me,” I explained. Doctor Warren stood up and walked behind her desk, pulling out a manila folder. She walked back to her seat and sat down.

“Officer Watkins has finished the search for Stephen and asked me to look over it with you.” She flipped open the folder and took out the first paper. “When we researched Stephen by the last name you’d given us, we found that there is no one in this city or state for that matter that meets that description.”

My heart sank. Did Stephen lie about his name too? What was going on?

“When we tried a facial recognition software, we did come up with something,” she continued reading, “his face did have a match. That man is now well into his 70s.” She looked at me, putting the paper on the table beside her.

“Oh my god, I am crazy,” I realized. I shook my head as I began to cry. She handed me a tissue.

“It is safe to say that Stephen does not exist, Samara. Now, when you were talking, I heard some recurring themes that may be the root of your problem.”

“Yes.” She held up her folder so she could read, “I have made contact with your sister and asked her about your writing habits. She says that is pretty much all you do, is that correct?”

“Yes, it’s my job.”

“So, I did some digging and managed to get your manuscript from your laptop, courtesy of Mara. I read it.”

“And?”

“Mara, Stephen is a character in your book. The main love interest. Did you not notice that?”

“The main character’s name is Matthew,” I told her defensively.

“Yes, but your character’s last name is Stephens, Matthew Stephens. You told police that Stephen’s last name was Matthews. Stephen Matthews is the exact opposite.” I dropped my head into my hands. Oh my god.

“Upon further reading of your manuscript, I noticed similar patterns in your own life that you wrote. Everything from the way he introduced himself to you to the way he attacked you was all the opposite in there. He introduced himself at your house but in the story, the girl introduces herself at his house. They never go into each other’s houses, choosing to date elsewhere. There are no red flags or warnings. At the end of the story, they even ended up together.”

“That can’t be right.” She handed me the folder. As I skimmed through, I realized she was right. “Oh my god.”

“It appears that you have created Stephen. I recall you telling me that you used to write mystery/murder books. I believe that your subconscious added that background to the information in your book and created what you knew as Stephen.”

“He only ever appeared when you were writing. That is why when your friend came over, she could not meet him. That is why you guys never went on an actual date. The combination of your constant solidarity and instinctive desires to be social contributed to this. Now, in my professional history, I have never had this happened with a writer so I am unsure how to diagnose you.”

“So I have gone crazy?”

“In a sense of the word, yes. However, you can regain some level of control over it. You have to stop writing,” Doctor Warren suggested.

My eyes bulged out of my head, “stop writing? I can’t just stop writing. It’s my job.”

We began to discuss different alternatives that involved me giving up the only thing I loved doing in this world. When I explained that this never happened before I started writing romance. Doctor Warren agreed to allow me to continue writing. The only condition was that I don’t write romance. Afterward, we talked more and she gave me tips on being more social and getting out of the house more. She gave me a list of coping mechanisms and told me to schedule my next appointment before leaving. I was grateful that in the end, I could keep writing. My boss, however, was going to be pissed.

Epilogue

A couple of weeks have passed since I first saw Doctor Warren. Since then, I was back to writing my beloved mystery/murder stories. I was doing a lot better. I made an effort to hang out with friends and get out of the house more. Still, there wasn’t a day that has gone by that I did not miss Stephen. Knowing that he did not exist gave me some relief but at the same time, I still loved him. It was hard for me to let him go.

I was doing well until the other night when my boss called me. She begged me to rush through the edits so I could turn in the story. She gushed about how much better it was and how she loved it.

“The Misunderstanding is a huge hit with the board. You have to finish the touch-ups, Samara.”

When I told her I couldn’t, she pressured me into it with promises of a bonus. I eventually caved and agreed to do the edits. I was better prepared now and knew how to handle Stephen if he made a return. I knew Doctor Warren wouldn’t be happy about this but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt. Besides, Stephen wasn’t real so he couldn’t hurt me. As I got started on the edits, a familiar knock echoed on the door.

“Hello. I just wanted to introduce myself. I am your neighbor, Stephen,” Stephen told me as he stuck out his hand. I smiled and shook his hand. If he was just a figment of my imagination, that meant I had control over the story.

“Hi, Stephen. I am Samara. Let me tell you how this is going to go.”