If I was tumor-free, I would have been much more driven in day-to-day life. When the doctors told me that I had a brain tumor, I was initially unsure how to react. My mom wailed her sorrows through the house. My dad spent longer hours at the office, whether to avoid me or my mother, I have never been quite sure. My sister remained locked in her room for a few days, drowning the cries of my mom with her music. Me? I had sat in silence for long hours on the couch, reflecting on things: my life, my relationships, my recent ex. When I wasn’t doing that, I was walking outside, in the fresh air to clear my mind.
Anyway, during one of my checkups, which I had regularly after I had received the news, the doctor noticed a tiny lesion in my brain. “Nothing to be too concerned about, Alex,” he reassured. I knew it was a farce. There was no way anybody could remain unconcerned about a brain lesion. That was absolutely ridiculous.
However, the past few weeks have been especially difficult for me. The entire incident has left me quite…paranoid. This uneasiness occurred mostly when I was in public and during my walks; I always felt as though I was being watched. By whom, I could not at first tell. Then, on this same crisp autumn day, it hit me. I didn’t know why it had escaped me before, time after time after time. It had to be Kelsey who was following me. Of course! I had broken her heart after a year and a half of dating, which was a very long relationship for a sixteen year old to maintain.
I had been so stupid! Of course the break up would have devastated her, on top of the news of my tumor, to the point of wanting some sort of revenge. I knew Kelsey was after me and it seemed that she had become keen at hiding herself in plain sight. She dressed as my mother sometimes, especially when she talked in her sweet, soothing voice, reminding me that everything will be okay. She was trying to let my guard down so she could attack. Or was it just to torment me? To mess with my head?
She sometimes dressed as my sister, even managing to pull off the same physical ailments, like the mole on the left shoulder. How? That was near impossible to copy! Especially after I had just seen her as my mother not two seconds ago. When did she become such a quick change artist? How long had she been practicing? Was this really all over a stupid breakup?
The scariest was that Kelsey could even dress as my dad, mimicking his voice and mannerisms in a most uncanny fashion. I really shouldn’t have been surprised though. He would be the easiest to copy, since he only ever stayed the night. Other than that, he would be at the office, giving Kelsey the time to change back into my mom or sister. It got to the point where I thought she began mimicking everyone in the neighborhood. Just the other day, when I was walking, I saw Mrs. Peterson in her yard working on her garden. She looked up, smiled and waved to me. But she waved with her right hand. She had always waved with her left hand. That’s how I knew it was Kelsey. She had slipped up. That one mistake cost her the element of surprise. Still, she was convincing. Even the way she looked at me was similar to Mrs. Peterson. But I knew it was Kelsey.
I write this now with the gun next to me, one bullet in the chamber. I cannot stand it anymore. Kelsey has tormented me for long enough. Someone knocked. “Alex,” the voice said. “Alex, it’s your mother.” I know this is a lie. I now, with the gun raised to my head say this: Kelsey, I hope you burn in hell for the torment you’ve caused me. Goodbye.