I don’t have much left in me. I have been running for at least a mile and I’m not sure how much more I can take. The air is cold and crisp, the red ombre leaves have just started to fall. Next thing I know I’m hitting the ground, I must have tripped on a branch. I quickly look up and see that he is right behind me. He pulls back his fist and I turn my head as one last attempt to get away.

My back is drenched in sweat. Another nightmare; the fifth one this week. I think about calling up my psychiatrist, but then I am reminded of how all of the sessions go. I can’t be told that I’m crazy anymore. I look over at my phone to see that it’s 5:27 am and I am surprised I slept in that late. I decide to get up and take a shower, so I walk over to my bathroom, peel off my baggy t-shirt and turn the water on. I step in and the hot water feels nice against my sore back muscles; working outside has caught up to me, but I refuse to hire someone to help. I think about all of my chores I need to do before work and I can feel my muscles tense up even more than before. I finish washing my hair, dry off, and I go get dressed for the day. I put on a white t-shirt, some old blue jeans, and I tie my hair back in a bun. I do some work around the house and before I know it, it’s 10:15 and I leave for work. I listen to music as I drive the 20 minutes into town, and I can’t help but think about my horrible nightmare. I feel my face get hot as I think about the psychiatrist tell me ‘I’m paranoid’ and how the cops say ‘We can’t help you if there is no evidence of a break in’. When I start thinking like this I begin to question if I am just overreacting. But then I remind myself of the times I see him watching me, standing in the back trees behind my house at night, when it’s too dark to see features but still light enough to see his silhouette. Or the times that my back door is open and my things are put in different places, just subtle enough to only be noticed by me. Or maybe I am just crazy.

My work day is long and I feel drained by the end of it. I turn off all the lights and take the elevator down to the parking garage. It is around 7:00 pm and just light enough to not need a flashlight yet. I get in my car and as I look in my mirror to reverse, I see a silver Honda accord parked in the spot about 20 feet away from me. The windows are tinted, including the windshield, so I can’t see anything but the slight outline of someone sitting in the driver's seat. Then I notice the big dent on the hood. I can feel the anxiety ripple down my spine and the back of my legs until it reaches to bottom of my feet. I feel like a heavy sheet being placed over the front of my chest, making it hard to breathe. I try to reason with myself and imagine that the person has just finished their shift at work and are simply going home after a long day, just like me. I turn on my lights and pull out of the parking garage. I drive down to the main road and see that the car is not behind me. I feel a sense of relief fall over my body.

“How dumb am I to be so paranoid about a car in the parking garage? It’s a parking garage!” I say out loud, almost laughing. I turn up my music and continue my ride home. I turn onto Applegate Road, which leads to a gravel path to my house about five miles in. I look around at the dark green trees surrounded by the grey sky. All of a sudden, I see a car speed up behind me and slow down just before they are about to hit my bumper. Then I realize it’s the car from the parking garage; with the same tinted windows and dent on the hood. I speed up and the car turns off onto a side road that leads up to a few barns. Once I reach my house I jump out of my car, lock the doors, and bolt inside. Once I set my stuff down I run all around the house and check that every window and door is locked. Then I double and triple check. An hour passes and there is still no sign of anything so I begin to make some food and turn on the tv. I finish my mediocre sandwich and go put on a baggy shirt to sleep in, assuming that I’ll be able to sleep. I grab my copy of To Kill A Mockingbird from the coffee table and walk to my room. I huddle up in my white duvet and a soft blanket and try to relax. I get through the first couple of sentences then I hear a crash in the kitchen. I get up and lock my bedroom door as quietly as possible. I run to my bed and throw all of the blankets off at an attempt to find my phone; but it is nowhere to be found. It is then that it occurs to me that I left it on the couch. About an hour passes and I hear nothing but the sound of wind blowing tree branches. I make up scenarios of what it could have been; maybe I left my plate on the edge of the counter, or maybe it was in my head. I think to myself how tired I am of being scared, and how this one person has altered my life. I decide to just face whatever is out there. I slowly open my door and walk out to the living room. I turn my body toward the couch and see that my phone is missing. I walk over to the kitchen counter and see that my plate has fallen and smashed into tiny, jagged pieces all over the floor. I need to get out of here. I run to grab my car keys and notice that they are missing too, so I sprint to my back door and decide to make a run for it. If I run fast enough I will eventually make it to my nearest neighbor in about 20 minutes. I quickly throw on the first pair of shoes I see; a pair birkenstocks. Despite having on terrible shoes to run in, I race out the back door because I know I have limited time to get away. Just as I start running through the dark, eerie forest I hear the crunch of the autumn leaves and I realise they are coming from behind me. I whip my head around to see a tall, slender outline of a man running after me. As I’m looking back I trip over a rock and hit the ground like a ton of bricks. The man catches up to me and comes to an abrupt stop just before it seems like he is going to run right over me. Now that he is close, I can see his face and smell the sweat coming from him. I can see he is still wearing the silver ring I got him, and terror fills my whole body. I knew it.

“Why are you doing this!” I scream, but you can hear the shiver in my voice. “You know why,” He says. “You were the one who left me with nothing, and you know how I feel about people who don’t listen to me.”

I flashback in my head to four years ago, when I finally got the courage to leave my terribly abusive partner. I remember how he said we would always be together and how if I tried to leave he would find me. I remind myself that he is the main reason I don't live in town. I’m scared of him.

“You are a terrible person… you… you… you ruined my life,” I say, barely able to get the words out.

Just as I finish that sentence I see the rage come over his face and I get the same sick feeling that I would get every time he was angry. He pulls his arm back and just before he swings I think to myself, maybe now they will believe me.