Prom Date

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I sat there, huddled in the dark, contemplating my impending doom. Oh how this was irony, oh how this was bittersweet. Well, he was finally about to get his victory, the glory he had been destroying me for so many years for. And it was all because I was stupid enough to make that one simple mistake. Just one.

I suppose I'd best begin to explain myself.

It was four years ago today. He was my boyfriend. I knew he was unstable, I knew he was at his limit, but I was seventeen, stupid, I didn't care. All I cared about was exceeding all others in beauty at the prom. Oh that wretched, wretched prom. He called my cell phone so many times I couldn't count, but I was so busy. Ironing my dress, doing my hair, putting on my face.

When I finally answered one of the voicemails, I could hear he was crying. I was so superficial. I thought, "He's probably only lost his watch or something, he's such a wimp."

Then my mind began to run. "I can't take him to the prom like this, he'll ruin my time, I'll never be queen."

The only thing I could think of.

So instead of picking him up in the limo as planned, I had the driver go right past his house. There would be plenty of boys to dance with at the prom, no one would notice my singularity.

I danced away, I had a good time, until the prom ended.

As I was driven home by the limousine, I began to regain my nagging conscience. How could I have done that to him?

It really began as I lay in bed that night.

It was approaching two in the morning as my cell phone rang yet again. It was his number on the caller ID.

"Hi, sorry about tonight, I told the driver to pick you up, he wouldn't listen," I said nervously into the phone. No answer. "Hello?"

Nothing.

Then I hear breathing. Deep, horror film style breathing.

Then a click, and the call was over. I was slightly worried, but not atrociously.

But then it happened again. Every night.

A month later, I changed my number, but that was when the stalking began. Everywhere I went he was over my shoulder, me, playing the mouse in this game, lingering dangerously just beyond his reach.

Then it got scarier.

I woke up one morning to find my house had been broken into.

Nothing was missing, but a dead rose was left in front of my bedroom door.

This continued until a dozen dead roses had been layed.

We called the police, but as average policemen were, they did nothing.

Next, I awoke to find the prom dress that was now gathering dust in my closet had had a million tiny holes cut into it.

Now I was really scared, because someone had crossed the boundaries of the hall into my bedroom.

Then I began to awaken missing locks of hair, as if someone had taken scissors and cut them from my head.

The police had still not done their job, and now I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life.

Odd occurances such as these had become regular.

I was slowly driven mad.

He was playing games with my head, and I was losing my mind.

Everyday, he made sure he haunted me to the fullest extent.

And this all leads to my apartment, where we are now.

He's here, I know he is.

I'm hiding in my bedroom, I know he'll be here soon.

My phone is ringing.

"Hello?"

"Lila, I finally got a hold of you. Michael's dead. He's been dead for about two years. I knew you took him to the prom, and I thought you'd want to know."

That was his sister.

My door opens....

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