The Notebook of Crap

Chapter 3- You're mine. I love you.

You know, I have guys that are almost stalkers... it is very strange. I had this one guy that e-mailed me off my site, and thought we were boyfriend and girlfriend. He then came to my house in London, I do not know how he found it.

Caprice Bourret

"Oh sorry! I just uh... Well I uh... heard you scream," A voice said from behind me. Turning around I see the face of a man. His eyes green with a balding head, his son (who looked around my age) stood beside him looking down at Ben's grave. He has this rude expression as he's looking at my brother's grave as if it's some kind of rat-infested sight, like he wants to get the hell away from it.

 My eyes shift over to the man. He's staring at me like I'm some kind of idiot who has nothing better to do than go to someone's grave and scream their head off. Narrowing my eyes at his son I don't put into care to what the man thinks about me. All I care about is the way his son is looking at Ben's grave. It's pissing me off to no end.

 The boys eyes find my face for the first time. His eyes the same green as his fathers, his hair a curly mess of brown. Standing up I prepared myself to do the one thing I know how to do best. Cause pain.

 I stop once I'm standing in front of the boy, and kick him right in the crotch. His reaction's quick and his hands almost immediately go right to where I kick him. Walking past them my heart is still pounding and tears are running down my face again. I start running the rest of the way to my car. I can't help myself from breaking down again. And this time, I don't want to be so open about it.

 "Hope..."

 Turning around I look back at the cemetery. No one's near me. No one at all. Just me, the car, and my tears. I turn back around and open the car door.

 "Stop being an idiot, Hopeless."

 Again I stop. I turn towards the cemetery again, looking to see if anyone's near me. I've heard that voice before. Three times to be exact. All of them after Ben's murder. I've never heard the voice twice in one day.

 I keep staring out at the cemetery waiting and hopping that I'll see some sort of movement to know that I'm hearing voices again, but I don't hear them anymore.

 Getting back into my dad's Audi, I start the car. Before backing out of the parking lot, I wipe the tears off my cheeks.

 ***************************************

 "I'm home!" I call as I open the door. I'm granted with no response. It's not like I was expecting one, but I'm already in the habit of making my presence known. The house looks as if my parents decided to bring three year-old quadruplets home and let them tear up the whole house. Dropping my coat on the floor, leaving it with the other mess. I slam the hard and loud. I wait a few seconds to hear if I there's any sound of movement.

 That's when I hear it. The first sound in the house since Ben's murder. It isn't dragging of feet, weeping, screaming, crying, or anything that's depressing, and it isn't my parents voices either. I start running up the stairs and burst through my parents bedroom with a loud BAM! And yet, they both don't even seem to notice that I'm alive.

 I step into the room, where my parents are huddled together watching the television. My dad is holding my mother, with one arm around her waist and the other, holding her hand. I notice my mother had my dad's hand in a death grip, barely any color left in his hand, yet he barely noticed it.

"We have a suspect in custody who has turned himself in. He has confessed that he did murder Benjamin Phoenix Atwoods. This case is now closed. Thank you." The news broadcast concluded. I got a glimpse of his gun as he walked away from the screen. Now a woman with dark hair and green eyes came into view. All seriousness showed in her face as she spoke, "There you have it folks. The FBI have confirmed the killer of Mr. Atwoods. We will be having an interview with his family later."

 Like scattered showers, the reporter was gone, and replaced with that weather man with the fake mustache telling us about today's weather. Today's going to be a nice, hot, sunny day here in Phoenix, Arizona.

 "The FBI came by yesterday and the reporter came by earlier today. But you weren't here when either of them came," my mother informed me. Looking down at her I expected to see the back of her blonde head, but instead all I saw were her big hazel eyes looking back up at me. My eyes widened. For the first time in a long time, my mother is actually looking at me, and it scared the shit out of me.

 *******************

 When the reporter and her crew came, it felt more like a movie instead of just an interview. It was the same reporter from the TV. She sat down on our single chair. Her hair was loose, but out of her face and her make up looked like it was just done only a few minutes earlier. She looked like a movie star. She made me look down at myself self consciously. Ripped jeans, black t-shirt, chipped nails and the hole in my sock. It's not that my parents are poor - they're actually wealthy - it's just that I stopped giving a damn about the way I looked a very long time ago.

 She asked me the first question. "So, Hope. I'm sorry about your brother and it must be very hard for you to get over it. How do you feel about the fact that the FBI has caught his killer?"

 She went for the personal question first. I thought about the question for a few seconds. How did I feel about it? "I guess you could say that, um... I'm uh... glad that they have caught him so now he can be sent to jail for killing my brother, Ben." I say fiddling with my fingers. I could tell that it pissed her off quite a bit.

 The interview ended about an hour later. I don't think I answered them the way she wanted me to, because when we were done she just got up and left. The crew trying to keep up with her.

 I ran up to my room, passing my parents room along the way. Ben's room was to the end of the hall, it's like a dead place now. No one ever goes there. Opening the door I slam it shut behind me. I go over to my bed and sit down, thinking about the interview. My phone starts vibrating indicating that I'd received a new text message. I take my phone out the front pocket of my jeans and look at the number, 555-987. A number I don't recognize, but I open the text anyway.

Message from: 555-9871

I love u Hope Atwoods. I love u so much. Will u marry me?

I slid the keyboard out and start texting a reply back.

To 555-9871:

k? Who is this?

Almost instantly after I sent my text, there was a reply.

Message from 555-987:

You said ok. Your mine. I love u.

I stare at my screen. Who the fuck was this?

Thanks for reading!