Night Swim

He made me scared. The way he would watch me while trying not to be seen. The way he would following, and hope I couldn't tell. I could tell, every single time.

It was obvious that he wanted me dead, or maybe to take me somewhere isolated. Perhaps he never had the guts, and his cowardice only allowed him to watch.

There was never a hair harmed on my head, but his eyes make me want to rip my hair out. That's why I invited his prying eyes into my home that evening.

I treated it like having any other friend over, giving him an abundance of drinks and making small talk.

Not longer after, his words were slurred when he asked where the bathroom was. I got up and walked him to it.

The bathtub was already filled and plugged up, so when I opened the door and shoved his head into water, the nice shirt I was wearing got soaked.

Of course he struggled. His arms tried to bend back to scratch him, and his attempt to lift his head failed as I refused to remove my hand from his hair.

Even after he stopped struggling, I kept his limp head under the water for five more minutes until I checked his non-existent pulse.

I left him floating face down in my bathroom, and went to change.