My Wattpad Stalker(A Love to Die For)

Chapter 1)Welcome to Wattpad

A/N Due to the interest this book is receiving from publishers, the name of the site the character uses has changed from Wattpad to ReadPad. 
Sorry in advance for the confusion!

~The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.~ H.P Lovecraft

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When passion meets inspiration, an obsession is born.
I thought writing this story would be easy. It should be. But maybe sometimes simplicity is not the way to fully explain how something horrific occurs. Maybe the best way to explain is to start at the beginning and not stop until reaching the ending, no matter how dark it becomes. This is not a love story, nor is it one of horror. It is a combination of both; a tale of tainted love and what someone is willing to do all in the name of it.
The very first morning I can recall as my beginning, my aqua eyes stared at the hard wood flooring beneath my bare feet, realizing it was too early in the day; I wouldn't be able to function properly until I had a strong cup of coffee. I set down my laptop beside me on my bed, shutting it closed.
A part of me strongly felt it should be considered a crime to hold a high school soccer practice at five in the morning. That meant my wakeup call was four fifteen. My varsity soccer team was currently training for state cup, mandatory practices have been held at five in the morning for the last few weeks. It wasn't as though we were committing to stellar training methods or over the top offensive or defensive tactics to be the best. We were only commanded to show up early for a warmup session of running sprints and then cooling down. It was supposed to prepare us for when we played in scrimmage matches or practiced later in the afternoon.
I don't even bother with a wake-up shower, knowing practice was just going to send me straight to the school showers before classes anyhow.
My blonde hair was a messy tangle for my sleeping with it in a half ponytail. I don't bother adding eye liner or eye shadow to my aqua eyes just yet, knowing it would just sweat off by the time I was at practice. I tuck the small pencils into my makeup bag and toss it into my much larger soccer bag. Brushing my slightly-past-shoulder-length hair into submission, I redid my ponytail, already anticipating I would be having a bad hair day. My golden hair had the unfortunate tendency to never be tamable after it had gone so long in a ponytail. I suppose it was just a sacrifice I had to make if I wanted to play soccer.
Pulling on a pair of soccer shorts and a baby-blue tee, I shoved on a pair of sneakers and grabbed my soccer bag and backpack. A hopeful feeling filled me as I descended the stairs. From how my father's incredibly large house is set up, I just needed to make it past the hallway passing the large kitchen before I was in the clear. It's just a few more steps until I'm out of the house and free from talking with my dad today. I would be in school all day and then I'd be headed out to my mother's home across town. A triumphant grin slowly spread across my face as I reached for the doorknob, my heart beating excitedly.
"Belle, before you go, we should talk some more about your options," my father announced, suddenly walking into view.
I nearly jumped from the surprise of hearing his voice. Part of me strongly suspected he was waiting to ambush me. I closed my eyes, a defeated feeling taking over. Releasing a defeated sigh, I turned to face him. My father was fully dressed for the day. He had his usual corporate attire on with his hair slicked back in a very Donald type of way. As I spotted his briefcase by the door, I soon realized he was probably headed to Europe again to talk negotiations. Being the founder of a multi-million-dollar air-blower company, he traveled a lot due to the job. Lately, he's been traveling to London to help set up for the European sister company. I thought for sure my extra early wake-up call due to soccer would get me out of the house before we had a chance to speak. He almost never was up for the day before five.
Mentally I started to kick myself for not waking up sooner.
Walking into the kitchen behind my dad, I grabbed myself an apple to munch on while I inwardly prepared myself for the lecture about to unfold.
Sighing, my father straightened his stance. He turned to face me, his hands clasped in front of him and I imagined this was one his stances he used to appear friendly to individuals he worked with. "Belle...I really believe you should consider attending a school closer to home," he said, setting a large pile of college acceptance letters down on the dining room table.
My eyes fluttered close as I yet again mentally groaned. My dad obviously found my college entry letters. "You went in my room," I accused bitterly.
"You intentionally hid these," he accused back.
I know exactly what I want to do for college; I have had my heart set on becoming a North Western wildcat ever since I attended their soccer camp two years ago. After a nail-biting wait, I not only got accepted, but received a full soccer scholarship as well after a scout saw me play. Granted, due to my father's wealth there wasn't truly a need for a scholarship, but I learned enough at the ripe old age of seventeen it's better to pave your own way rather than wind up stuck owing another individual. If there was one thing Robert Black was good at, it was throwing you for a guilt trip when he paid for something. I was still having to hear him boast about how he bought my first car two years ago, not to mention the piano lessons when I was ten.

"So which home are you referring to, yours or moms?" I played dumb, knowing perfectly well my father was just leading into another rousing game of which parent do you love more?!
My life has been a constant game of tug-a-war between my parents ever since their divorce a solid decade ago. They would fight about the dumbest of things and their attitudes onlyworsened the older I became.
Which private school should Belle attend?
Where should Belle spend Christmas?
What about Easter?! Where will Belle be??
What about Thanksgiving, or her birthday?!
Who should decide what Belle wears for her college interview...?
Strangely enough, I always doubted my dad cared as much about me as much as he cared about getting even with my mother. For why he did this, I was not entirely sure. After all, he was the one who cheated, he destroyed his own marriage to the once-famed model Cora Milano. Nowadays, I was merely an overgrown ball used in a ping-pong match between the two divorcees.
"You're a smart girl, I think you're wasting your talents going to a school just to play a sport," my dad sighed, his brown brows knitting together. They were so bushy, they almost resembled two caterpillars attempting to kiss.
I slowly released a scowl. Instead of forgoing an education to run off to become a hooker or aspire to unrealistic dreams I couldn't possibly achieve, I was determined to go to college. I always received decent grades, and I've never been considered a problem child that either of my folks have had to worry about. My crime that inspired my dad to give a lecture every time we were in a room together was quite sad. It was because I had no intention of attending an Ivy league school. If we were both honest, I strongly suspected he also disliked my career choice. More than anything, I want to become a writer. Not just any writer, but someone who could bring happiness to the lives of others just by creating an interesting story for people to read. But my father's will has always been for me to choose something more practical.
My step-mother Blair suddenly strutted into the room, her paper-thin heels heard clicking against the hardwood floor in a rather annoying fashion. Click-clock. Click-clock. Like a perfect show pony gearing up for her time in the spotlight. It was typical to me that Blair had to come shove herself in a discussion she didn't belong in. This was nothing new for it happened quite often in the Black household.
"Your father's right," Blair nodded dutifully, coming to join my dad in what I personally felt was their tag-team effort. "You're a very smart and special individual, Belle. You should pick a school that helps further your academic success." She beamed as my dad pulled her in for a warm side hug.
A good majority of the time, these two make me feel that they rehearse their lectures before they unleashed them. They just seemed too perfectly scripted. But Robert didn't seem to be able to stick to their perfect monologue.
"I mean for Gods sake Elizabelle, you were accepted to Princeton," he said dramatically, his eyes looking at me in a pleading way. It was as though he felt if he watched me with his forty-seven-year-old puppy dog stare long enough, I would magically change my mind and attend a college he deemed appropriate.
Before I even had a moment to remark, he started speaking again. "You don't need to worry about your mother not planning ahead to pay for your education. I'm more than capable of providing for my own child..."
It was this comment alone that made me nearly roll my eyes. He always had to make a petty swipe at my mother for not having as much money as he does. Once the tumultuous end to their marriage arrived, Robert had been the one to get the better divorce attorney then Cora had. All my mother had come out with was monthly child support payments, although she could have fought for more given there was no prenup signed when they first married.
Why couldn't I have a parent that was simply happy my soccer talents got me noticed enough for a school to want me? I would have my education paid for, and I was lucky enough to already know what I wanted to pursue career wise. Was it too much to hope that my own dad could just give me a slap on the back and say well done?
I couldn't keep my thoughts hidden. "You know, instead of worrying about my future, the two of you could and should spend a little more time worrying about Blair's boys." Even though my dad had been riding my personal choices for the last two weeks, Blair's children have escaped such scrutiny. Granted, I was the very best of friends with Blair's daughter, but her sons were absolutely hopeless in regards to their education.
Her eldest son Michael dropped out of college a few months previously. He's now a twenty-one-year-old guy who lives on the third floor of the Black mansion. I rarely see him unless it's the weekend or a family function where everyone had to be present. As for Blair's younger son Will, I'm personally surprised the freshmen hasn't been expelled from Crestview Prep on account of how atrocious his grades are.
Blair sighed gently, shaking her head. "Now, Belle, I understand that you're feeling pressured, but that isn't reason to try and down your brothers for their disadvantages in life," she simpered, shaking her head in disapproval. "You're redirecting."
I really had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Blair and my dad dated for a few months and then only married a few years ago. Just because I was stuck living with him and his brand-new family every now and then didn't suddenly make Blair's children my family. I loved Blair's daughter dearly, but just because Kim's mom married my dad doesn't suddenly mean we're sisters.
There was no joy in having a child psychologist as a stepmother. Along with trying to explain away any negative feelings I may ever have, every discussion with Blair ended up where she had to try and break it down into shrink mode.
How do you feel about that...How does that make you feel...What are your thoughts...Should we get the puppets out...?
I always hated the puppets. You could never use sarcasm without Blair claiming that I was using humor to suppress 'issues'. It was always hard restraining myself stating where I felt was a proper place for where she could shove both her opinion and her puppets. I knew it was always best to keep my mouth shut, but today I couldn't stop my sarcasm from rolling out of my mouth due to my lack of coffee that morning.
"Disadvantages? Is that what's it's called when your younger son is suspended from school for smoking weed in the bathroom?" I challenged with an innocent tone. Despite the tone, Blair's mouth falls agape, her expression filled with surprise.
Apparently, it's not fun nagging someone in order to score points with the hubby when the snot stepdaughter throws your own children's mistakes back in your face. As Blair hurriedly exits the room, my father sends me an almighty glare that might've spooked me if I hadn't already known the man doesn't hold a disciplinary bone in his body.
"Do not disrespect your mother like that!"
Biting my inner cheek, I lightly shrugged. "Well, considering my mother isn't even here, I guess I didn't," I replied innocently, causing my father's face to turn beet red.
"She has been more motherly to you than your own mother."
Now, I ignored him as his words started molding into the same broken record that's been spun many times before. My dad holds such strong feelings of loathing for my mom, part of me feels he hates her solely because she divorced him after he cheated. As I walked away from the table to grab my bag, I thought of one last thing to say to him before he left town.
"How hard is it just to accept me for the way I am, and for the things that I want? I don't want the same things as you. I don't want to go to Princeton. I don't want to go to law school. I don't want you touching any bit of my life with a two-foot pole. Dad, I love you, but you're suffocating me."
I was about to leave before one last thing hit me regarding what to say. "You don't have to try and buy me for my affections, dad. You never had to."
For a moment, I thought perhaps my small speech held some sort of an impact with him. Maybe, just maybe, it was enough to make him realize I loved him and my mom equally and they didn't have to compete for my affections. My dad's eyes softened.
"Did Cora tell you to say that?"
Instead of continuing an argument where I had no chance of moving past his ego, I said nothing in response before simply leaving for school.

Soccer practice was spent trying hard to mentally ignore my typical family drama. Practice went exceptionally well minus the fact that every member of the team felt like catty brats for having to be up so early in the morning. Coach Kline seemed tired as well for he didn't really contribute much coaching wise. Other than scrimmaging, the varsity girls of Crestview prep really did nothing new in preparation for next weekend's games.
After a quick shower and blow drying my hair, I changed into my tremendously dorky school uniform of a plaid skirt and a crisp white polo. I made it to first period before the first bell of the day rang, and quickly found my two best friends awaiting my arrival. As soon as I took a seat,
Kim Kessler leaned over to my desk. "Heard you guys fighting this morning..." she trails off, obviously looking for the scoop regarding what happened.
She and I were probably two of the most unique best friends you could ever encounter. My dad and her mom cheated on their spouses with each other, so, this left us stuck having each other's parents as our new stepparents.
Instead of taking a dislike to each other for our parent's mistakes, Kim and I bonded instead. We both knew what it was like to have one parent who was the cheater and the other the cheated, while Kim could also relate to being thrust into the murky area of having divorced parents. If there was anything worth gaining for me after my parent's messy split, it was that I gained a best friend for life in the aftermath of my parent's crash-and-burn relationship.
"The usual," I sighed. "I'm throwing away my life by going to a school I love."
"Dang...He's still on you about goin' to Princeton?" Myles Lowe asked from the seat in front of me, raising his dark brows in surprise.
"Yep, he's even got Blair tag-teaming with him now."
"Of course," said Kim with a scowl. "Instead of paying attention to my idiot brothers, she's too busy trying to score points with your dad." Myles gave a quizzical look, inspiring Kim to continue. "She's been worried Robert's cheating on her, so she's taken to agreeing to everything he has to say lately," she whispered before adding in a dramatic roll of eyes.
Myles looks to me with his eyebrows raised comically higher, almost looking for complete clarification on this before I nodded in agreement. "Seriously Belle, she is so anal," complained Kim. "Which is funny...She cheats on my dad, and now she lives in constant fear her hubby's gonna do the same," Kim shakes her head.
She wasn't wrong, it truly was comical. My dad and Blair always seem suspicious of one another whenever the other leaves for work or heads out with friends. Strangely, it seems to be the other is always worried they're going to be cheated on. I suppose it was universal karma for their infidelity. Constantly living in fear the same would happen to you that you did to someone else.
"Movie night at the house tonight?" said Kim before flipping to a page in her English book.
I frowned in disappointment. "Can't, I promised my mom I'd stay with her this weekend. I'm sorry!"
"Yeah, I understand," Kim said with a sigh and a half-hearted shrug. "I'll be headed to my dad's on Sunday. So, if I don't see you before I leave, your butt is chilling in my room when I get back to watch The Bachelor," she grinned.
Myles sighed, tilting his dark head backwards. "Good God, I need to get me some new friends." "What? We're not making you watch with us," I said, gently flicking his head.
Myles turned to throw me a sly grin. "Yet," he winked.
"Um...Well, if you're not busy, we could still watch some movies at our house," Kim offered, playing with a loose strand of her light brown hair.
"Oh, I've got plans tonight," he said mildly before turning back around to face Mr. Evans up at the front of the room.
As Kim's excitement deflated slightly, I sadly realized my bubbly friend still wasn't over her little crush on Myles. While he and I had been the best of friends since elementary school, Kim only advanced our duo to a trio within the last year and a half. This was mostly due to Myles holding a firm belief that Kim was very annoying with her loquacious nature.
"Alright guys, let's pretend all of you care about what I have to say for the next hour, and then you'll be on your way," said Mr. Evans brightly, taking a piece of chalk to scrawl on the board behind him.
My fellow classmates and I resisted a laugh. There was no disliking Mr. Ryan Evans. He was a great teacher who took an interest in all his students. If even one student wasn't understanding something as simple as fiction VS non-fiction, the guy didn't chastise anyone for it like a lot of teachers would be prone to doing. Instead, Evans makes his teaching a fun experience that not only helps you learn what you were missing, but also have great time learning it as well.
"Alright guys, short stories! I have the assignment sheets, I'll pass them out and then I'll hand out our assignment sheet for the weekend that covers the essay you guys have to hand in by Monday..."
Nearly everyone gave a groan of protest at this news. "Hey now!" Mr. Evans scolded, shaking his head in fake surprise. "Guys, it's an assignment where you get to write an essay on why you hate homework," he explained with a coy smile.
Loud claps and a wolf-whistle replaced the groans easily. Mr. Evans smirked, obviously pleased with the reversal of attitudes. "I'm not sure who'll have the most fun on this; you guys writing, or me reading."
The rest of the class passed by too quickly where I could feel just about everyone in the room felt disappointed when it was over. "M'kay, see you guys at lunch!" Kim called before she headed out the door for her Chemistry class.
"She's growing on me a tad," murmured Myles as soon as she was out of earshot. "I no longer have to put headphones on when she drones on about secondhand gossip," he mused almost thoughtfully.
"You're a jerk," I laughed, tossing my book into my bag.
Myles nodded as if agreeing. "An honest jerk, though." He winked before frowning at me. "You realize you could just ask me to open your locker for you so you don't have to carry all that, right?"
I glance down at my bag. I've had to carry around my five books and individual notepads solely because my locker hates me. Every time I felt I mastered the art of getting the combination with adding in a light hit of the center of it, it would surprise me by remaining locked tight.
"I feel bad asking," I sheepishly admitted while causing Myles to laugh.
"Okay, here's what we'll do. Since the next time we see each other is lunch, we'll meet by your locker beforehand so you're not carrying your entire life on your shoulders like a hobo."

"Deal," I sighed, realizing that although carrying all my school stuff is a decent work out, my shoulder was going to be killing me by this afternoon. Before I had a chance to walk out with Myles, Mr. Evans calls me back into the room.
"So, we got the scores back on the interstate poetry reading," the young thirty-something teacher began, holding a frown. His look caused me to feel I must have scored horribly. I could feel my face falling in disappointment.
Mr. Evans sighed. "Good news and bad news. Good news: you got first place and you're on the path to becoming a fine writer one day. Bad news, I can't even take credit for it by saying it's from my amazing ability to teach. It was all on your talent," he said with another dramatic sigh, suddenly grinning to show he was merely kidding. He produced a manila-colored paper from his desk drawer. I found a congratulations paper to a Ms. Elizabelle Black.

"I got FIRSTPLACE?!" I yelped, slightly spooking a sophomore that's come to sit in theroom. I had entered an inner-state poetry contest last year, first place prizewas to get their poem published by the national poetry foundation. This was ahuge accomplishment to put on my college application to Northwestern.
"That you did. Can't wait to see what you bring for that short story." Mr.Evans smiled before he checked his laptop screen. "Darn, my favorite bookhasn't updated."
As he turned back to me to see I have a questioning expression on my face, heshrugged. "Wattpad troubles." He shook his head. "It'sunfortunate when you get so invested in forty-eight chapters only for the nextchapter to take over three weeks to update." He said with a sigh, playingaround with his computer.
"What's Wattpad?"
Mr. Evans face pulled into a heavy look of surprise as if I might as well havetold him I had never heard what the internet was. "You don't know what Wattpadis??"
As I shook my head, his look of surprise didn't evaporate. "Well, it'sthis amazing online community that allows you to read the works or articles ofmany different writers. In fact, it even allows you to write your own stories.Articles, short stories, fanfiction, poetry, advice...It's truly amazing."He nodded. maneuvering his computer toshow me a page.
"My profile page," he explained with a chuckle. "Check out thebottom of it."
It was impressive. He had over two-hundred books in his library altogether."How have I never heard of this?" I ask quietly, as Mr. Evansscrolled to a little button labeled discover.
"Because Belle, your generation is mostly interested in twitting, andhashsnagging nowadays."
As I notice a pimply-faced sophomore raise his hand in the air, Mr. Evans wavedhim off without looking towards the boys direction. "Yes, Mr. Stevens, I'maware the actual terms are tweeting and hash-tagging...However, I prefer my ownvocab instead." He grinned, causing him and two other sophomores to chuckle.
Mr. Evans looks towards his laptop again, and then back towards me. "Youknow Belle, you should really consider starting your own page," he said."Not only is it a great way to get noticed as an author, it's also veryhelpful in regard to keeping your writing talents full-scale."
That had me intrigued. "How much is it a month?"
"It's free. All you need to do is provide a valid email account and you'regood to go."
Inwardly I felt as though he was a good walking and talking add for this site Ihad never heard of previously. "Seriously?"
He nodded. "I really believe you should do it. I have a feeling your lovefor writing's going to take you far in life."
I could feel my face blush from the way he smiled at me.
"Is writing gonna take me far, Mr. E?" said a boy in classwith a snicker.
"No, Jimmy, no it's not," replied Mr. Evans, causing the kids to laughagain. As he turned his attention back to me, I gently shrugged.
"I don't know..."
"Ohh c'mon, it's joining an online reading site," he chastised playfully."What's the worst that could happen?"
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