Why do bad things always happen to me?

Fourth grade, third week of school; we were introduced to our very own class pet. A lizard if I remember correctly, more scaly than anything I’d ever seen before. We named it Mr. Bean, only due to how tiny it was in its eggshells.

We all loved Mr. Bean. I’d once even stolen a bag of corn from our pantry to feed it. But I learned that lizards preferred insects, and so I went on a little hunt to find the perfect meal.

Then I found the right candidate after days of searching. A spider big enough for Mr. Bean to digest. Come to find out, the spider was poisonous, and Mr. Bean died later that day.

I killed Mr. Bean. Word spread throughout the entire grade of my little crime, and soon everyone began looking at me a little differently.

That was only the prelude. In sixth grade, I had a crush on a boy named Justin. He was class president, the leader whose example we were all encouraged to follow. I’m certain I wasn’t the only one who had a thing for him, and yet I was the only one who he felt the need to humiliate. Told the entire class of my love confession. It was hell on earth the rest of the school year.

There also was that time in ninth grade when I accidentally destroyed the sound system. Tripped over the cords and smashed it all to bits. Due to that accident, our spring dance was postponed, and since they couldn’t replace the system in time, the dance was ultimately called off.

All that to say, I really am the most unluckiest loser.

“Can you give me a hand with the bag?”

I don’t know if I’m breathing or not. I’ve heard of lucid dreaming, maybe this is one of those. I’ve also heard that to break free of lucid dreaming, one has to obstruct their body in some way. So I pinch myself. Again, and again, and again. But why can’t I wake up?

“I asked you a question.”

Maybe if I close my eyes . . . I do so, and when I open them again, I’m still greeted by that gut wrenching sight. Blood. So much of it. And it’s coming from a body. I’m sure it’s dead but I don’t want to admit it. There’s a gash in the woman’s chest, and another one far more gruesome on her neck. Eyes open, mouth wide, tears in solid streams.

My stomach begins lurching every which direction. I think I’m gonna—

“Hey.”

I steer my eyes towards him.

“Hand me the bag.” He points at the trash bag besides my feet. He wants me to hand it to him.

This can’t really be happening. There’s a high chance that I’m hallucinating. When you work so many hours during the week, you tend to lose out on sleep, and doing so means inevitable insanity. Yes, that must be it. I’ve gone crazy. I just . . . I just need to regain my senses.

The machete slips from his hands and hits the ground hard – so hard that it startles the little life out of me. And that’s when my body begins moving on its own. God, how do I make it stop?

Before I know it, I’ve grabbed the bag and given it to this man that looks a lot like Colt Bradshaw. He smiles when I do so, and even wider when he sees me trembling. Then he does the unspeakable. He retrieves his phone from his pocket and takes a picture of me.

“There. Now you’re an accomplice.”

An accomplice?

“Let’s keep this one a secret, partner.”

My head goes spinning, and soon I’m cheated out of all my strength, visiting a world where my life isn’t so shitty.

__

I’m on my feet the following morning. I brush my teeth, shower, fix my hair, the usual. Then I’m heading down the street to meet up with Jenny at our breakfast spot. The weather today is as soothing, the sun warm and tender and kissing me just on the right spot. God, I love the sun. What would we do without the sun?

I spot Jenny outside the café, as effortlessly pretty as ever. “Oh, Jennifer.” I give her a solid hug, with strength that I never knew I could muster. “I swear I’m never taking life for granted again.”

She struggles out of my arms, laughing. “What’s up with you today?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

I can tell she still finds me suspicious, but she pursues the matter no further. I don't blame her, though. It's like I've been given a second chance at life. A new beginning. I almost want to take that pilates class I've been contemplating, or visit a roller skating rink without fear of embarrassing myself.

"Anyway, guess who wants to make it official? Option number two. I swear, they always get too attached." Jenny continues. We're under an umbrella in the shop's patio, which is necessary because the sun has grown twice as harsh in the span it took to get breakfast.

"Why don't you just give him a chance? Who knows, you might fall in love."

She looks at me as if I've grown two heads. And I just might have. I'm not sure why I said that. "You have to always keep your options open, Dalia," she tells me. "Love is for foolish people."

Classic Jennifer. "So you have no plans for marriage?"

"I do, in the future. But I'll be foolish enough then."

I've been foolish my entire life, and where has that gotten me? Absolutely nowhere. Which is why I've learned my lesson. Maybe love is for the foolish.

I take the fourth bite out of my breakfast sandwich and wash it down with a bottle of orange juice. And that's when I spot him in the near distance. Colt Bradshaw. He's with his usual clique in their own corner, surrounded by more admirers pandering for their attention. Yet, he keeps his eyes on me.

I have no clue how long he's been watching me. His eyes . . . they look so hollow. So empty. So devoid of anything feeling. I can't help the goosebumps down my back. He looks at me as if I'm trivial, as if I were nothing more than mice to a trap. How can someone look so frigid?

The goosebumps soon turn to tremors, because the fear has hijacked my body. I have to get out of here.

"Dalia?"

I look towards the direction of the call. That's right. Jenny.

"What's wrong?" She asks again. "You've grown stiff."

"I think the juice turned bad. Let's just leave." Soon, we're heading down the street, far away from the unfeeling eyes of Colt Bradshaw.

If only I knew this was only the beginning.

___

Things don't get any better for me the rest of the day. It happens during Accounting, the one class I share with him. I made sure to lose myself within the hordes of students, even going as far as changing my clothes, hiding my face — all to avoid him.

But he finds me anyway.

And he plops down right next to me. "You wouldn't happen to be avoiding me, would you?"

I swallow down saliva. Though, at this point, I'm sure it's terror. "No . . ."

"Good." He smiles, the same charming smile he gives the rest of his fans. "Meet me behind the same shop at eleven."

The same shop . . . So it really was all real. Everything. The blood, the machete, the gash wounds. Colt Bradshaw.

That was no nighmare. I witnessed a murder last night, and the perpetrator is right here next to me.

Why do bad things always happen to me?

"I have work." I manage under the weight of his suffocating stare.

"Then you should probably call off."

I'm sure he saw my face fall, because his smile brightens. He must get off on seeing me this restless. It must soothe him. I've always wondered how the mechanics behind an evil mind works. I've just gotten a personal view.

"Remember," Colt tells me. "Eleven." Then he returns to the slideshow on his computer.

We don't speak after that, and that's when I realize that the silence between us is as bad, if not worse, than any threat he could ever make.

I go about my day completely anxious. No lunch, no dinner. Nothing to bring my mind peace. Because once the hour of eleven strikes, I will have to face the devil.

And I meet him where he wants, right on time, no seconds more or less. He's no longer in the school's varsity jacket, but in baggy sweats. With a plastic bag even bigger.

No acknowledgement or regard thrown my way. He ignores me entirely and only gives his attention to the bag full of what I suspect must be instruments of torture.

The silence is once again painful. I steel my heart and start the interrogation. "How did I wind up back at my apartment?"

Colt still doesn't spare me a look. "Your keys were in your pocket."

"That doesn't explain how you knew where I lived."

Again, he ignores me. Doesn't even dignify me with a response. I should be horrified by the fact that he knows where I live, but he somehow gives me a better reason to be frightened.

"Follow me."

Oh . . . He's leading me to my doom, isn't he? He wants me to follow him at this hour of the day, when the only witness I have is the moon. My chest is about ready to detonate. Maybe that would be a better solution to this crappy bind.

But I end up following Colt because only one of us is a murderer, and only one of us is scared shitless. We end our journey in the middle of the woods. In the middle of nowhere.

"Please," I plead, my voice shaky. "Please let me go. I won't tell a soul, I promise."

But he doesn't respond. Instead, he throws me a shovel from his plastic bag.

The panic travels straight to my brain, thieving my senses in the process. "No . . . no, I can't bury a body."

Colt rolls his eyes, as if he's more than had it with my bitching. "I'm not stupid enough to bury a body in the woods. I'm digging up my equipment."

He has equipment buried in the woods? What sort of equipment? God, he's going to kill me after all. He's going to kill me and frame me. And then he's going to get away with it, after making a scapegoat out of me. I can't believe this. My life is over.

The tears begin welling before I know it, and soon I'm full-on sobbing. I don't know what it is, but all the pent-up frustration I managed to cap up have slid their way through. These tears are long overdue. There have been days almost as dreadful as this very moment, when I could hardly tell if life was going to get any better — or if it was always going to be this bleak. This shitty night just happened to be the icing on the cake.

I slide down against the tree behind me, bury my head between my arms, and weep so hard that my own voice becomes unrecognizable. "I didn’t even ask to be born. I didn’t ask to be here. Why do I have to do this? This is so unfair. I haven't even done anything wrong. Gosh, I hate my life. I hate it so much."

Colt gives me a weird look. "When you’re done, start digging." Then he goes right back to the cleared path before him.

Somehow, his indifference makes me cry harder. How truly, truly pitiful. There's no one here for me, no one to fight off this psychopath if he so decided to turn that shovel against me. I know solitude isn't a foreign concept in my life, but this is the first time I've ever truly felt alone.

Loneliness . . . It does not feel at all good.

As I sit there in my own pool of misery, I'm surrounded by a life of peril, a world that has forsaken me, and a murderer who just keeps digging.