It was the Tuesday of the week of my senior year of college, and I had already worked myself into a stress-coma. You know, when you’re so stressed that even the thought of having to do a minute of work makes you want to cry. So, rather than do anything at all productive, you stare blankly into space, hoping that all of your stressors will disappear.

I was sitting at the circulation desk of the library I work at when I saw him for the first time. He was tall and rather gangly, with messy, jet black hair that hung over his eyebrows. I probably wouldn’t have noticed him, but he was wearing a shirt that I found quite odd.

“We’re watching,” it declared, in offensively bright, red lettering.

I had always been drawn to oddities, and spent much of my life imagining and reading about conspiracy theories that somehow explained the many injustices of the world. In fact, earlier just that day, I had ready a theory about ‘them.’ They were the elite of the world, who secretly controlled every aspect of every human beings’ lives. One of the main features of the theory was that they were always watching.

When I saw the man with the black hair’s shirt, my mind was instantly drawn back to what I had read. It was simply too obvious — within hours of stumbling upon this conspiracy theory, a man shows up with a shirt reading “we’re watching.” A coincidence? Yeah, right.

The rest of the day was uneventful, at least, in the external world. My mind was in hyperdrive. I had deleted all internet browsing history (even though it was probably far too late), and erased every shred of data about myself that I had access to (though that Myspace page from middle school had to stay, because I had forgotten the password).

On one hand, I felt like I was being paranoid. Was I overreacting? It had just been a shirt. Just some weird-o in a weird shirt.

But what if… What if it wasn’t a coincidence? What if I was right? He could have been sent to watch me — no, track me — like the theory said they did when someone was onto them.

On Wednesday, I saw him again, waiting outside the door of one of my classes. It was starting to get really bizarre.

As soon as I walked out of the door, he was there. I knew he was tall, but I hadn’t realized just how tall he was until that moment. Perhaps it was because he was towering over the basketball player famous for his height, but the man with the black hair was enormous.

He seemed to be following me with his cold, dark eyes. If I moved left, so did they. I took off down the hallway, trying to just get away. As I glanced backwards, I noticed he was gone. Where had he gone? He had been behind me not 10 seconds ago, and now he was nowhere to be seen.

My mind was made up. He was coming for me. All I could do was stay in the safety of others’ eyes. I knew that the moment I was alone, he would get me.

When I arrived home that evening, my roommate Jane was sitting with three textbooks and an array of papers strung across the kitchen table. Jane studied some kind of science, though I wasn’t really sure what type, as scientific facts never interested me much.

“Hey,” Jane said as I walked through the door. “How was your day?”

I sighed, unsure of if I should tell Jane that I thought I was being stalked.

“What are you so caught up with?” She asked at my lack of reply.

“Has anyone ever, like… followed you?”

Jane rolled her eyes and said, “Is someone following you again?”

Jane had reacted exactly as I had expected. Of course she hadn’t believed me. Whenever anything in my life went wrong, it was apparently a figment of my imagination.

“No,” I replied, and went upstairs to my room.

The following day, I spotted him no less than four times. He was outside every one of the three classes I had that day. I went to work in the evening, and began to read about how to protect myself from them. No less than 10 minutes later, I caught him lurking in the stacks at the library. He thought I couldn’t see him — but I did.

This time, instead of turning away, I stared back from my desk, through the small gap between the rows of books, and my eyes met his black holes. He looked away instantaneously, turned around, and walked to the back of the library, as nonchalantly as if he hadn’t been caught stalking me.

I couldn’t suppress my fears anymore, so I ran to the bathroom, and vomited in the toilet.

As I walked back to the desk, I whipped my head from side to side, trying to locate the man, but he was nowhere to be found. I was sure that he was hiding between bookshelves, just waiting to pop out and take me to some abandoned factory, where he would tie me up, question me, and kill me.

But the man had seemingly vanished into thin air.

Everyday after that was filled with more and more of the man with the black hair. He was always waiting for me after classes, and he seemed to follow me everywhere I went. Every time I turned a corner, I would glance behind me to check if he was there.

Everyone began resembling him. Since when did so many people have that mop of black hair?! Maybe there were more than one of them. Maybe they were all waiting until the moment they could catch me alone.

I lived in a state of constant paranoia. Every sound I heard made me jump. I no longer slept at night, because I knew the moment that I closed my eyes, they would take me away.

I finally decided I should talk to someone about the situation. I hadn’t wanted to mention it to Jane, because of my supposed “highly active imagination,” and she usually dismissed my problems. But this time was different. This time, something was actually happening. Half a week’s worth of stalking had to be enough to convince her it wasn’t just all in my head.

“Jane,” I said quietly, “can I talk to you about something?”

Her nose was in a textbook, and, even though she looked utterly absorbed, she made a slight mm-hmm, then looked up.

“Well,” I began, hesitating slightly. “I, uh . . . I think someone is following me.”

“You told me this. Remember?” she sighed. “Anyway, you always think someone is following you.”

“It’s different this time. I know someone is following me. I found out some information, and they don’t like it. I’ve seen him outside of nearly all of my classes, and he comes into work every single day. He’s everywhere, Jane. It’s really starting to freak me out. I haven’t slept in nearly a week. I’m so tired, Jane, and I don’t know what to do.” Puddles started to blur my vision, and before I knew it, I was sobbing.

“Oh, honey, calm down. You’re just exhausted! You said it yourself. You need to sleep. You’re just fine, I promise. Whatever you think you discovered is nothing. No one is coming for you,” she said, in her most reassuring voice.

Even though I knew she was wrong, she had made me feel a bit better. “Jane,” I sniffled, “would you mind sleeping in my bed tonight?”

She sighed, but agreed, commenting, “you know, I do enjoy sleeping in my own bed occasionally. You’re going to have to get used to sleeping alone eventually.”

My dreams were filled with black haired men trying to snatch me. I ran down a long hallway, frantically searching for a door, but I could not find one. I could only keep going forward. There was no escape route, only straight ahead, and the hallway seemed to never end. At times, it seemed like there was a door on a wall in front of me, but after awhile, that door always disappeared and the hallway continued reaching further and further on.

I awoke more tired than I had been before I slept. I stumbled into the kitchen, carelessly poured some coffee into a filter, then began to get around for the day. After an hour and a half, I stepped out the door, looking almost back to my usual self, despite the enormous bags under my eyes.

As I took a seat on the bus, sipping my coffee, I glanced out the window. Shit — there he was! I hadn’t even noticed him, sitting inside the bus stop shelter. Less than five seconds ago, I had to have been standing directly beside him, and didn’t even notice.

My heart was racing. As I reminded myself that, at the very least, he hadn’t gotten on the bus, I glanced towards the entry door, to make sure he wasn’t boarding. When I didn’t see him, I looked back to the shelter, and, sure enough — he was gone. Again. How could he manage to disappear in mere seconds?

That day, I sighted him exactly ten times. Every building I entered, so did he. He was always there, just waiting for me. Was I losing my mind? Could anyone else see the man? I headed home for the day, and caught Jane walking into our apartment.

“Let’s go for a walk,” I said, hoping the man would follow, and I could point him out to Jane.

After a couple blocks with no sight of him, I began feeling disheartened. Why hadn’t he showed up? He always did.

“So? Where is he?” Jane asked.

I quietly shook my head, and we walked back home. Just as Jane opened the front door, I saw him. I forcefully grabbed her arm, and pointed at him, but it was too late.

“What?!” she cried exasperatedly. “There’s nothing there, Lola! Grow up and face your problems! Quit running from them! It’s been a year, and you need to move on already,” she screamed, and stormed off to her room, shutting the door rather loudly.

I had to admit, Jane had a point. I needed to face this man. He was going to kill me one way or the other, so, I thought, I might as well get it over with. I decided it was time to start developing a plan of action.

I spent the entire weekend locked in my apartment, refusing to leave. I had brainstormed every possible solution, but the outlook was grim. Eventually, I would have to face this man.

The safest option seemed to be to catch him when he was vulnerable and not expecting it. On Monday, I would begin following him. I needed to learn his routine, so I could pick the opportune time for the confrontation.

Before I knew it, Monday had arrived. The plan was to skip all classes that day, and spend the day tracking his every movement. I had to look different, somehow, so that he would not know it was me. The easiest way to do this was obvious — I needed to cut off my hair.

After I awoke, I washed my hair for the last day, taking extra time to savor the feeling of the shampoo cleansing my roots, and the conditioner softening my ends. Once my hair had dried, I did it. I shaved my head bald. He would never be able to identify bald me — I looked like a man!

I dressed in a relatively androgynous outfit, and stepped outside, looking every which way to see if I could spot him, but to my disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He was never around when I needed him, but always around when I didn’t want him!

After an hour of aimless wandering on the sidewalks that littered campus, I was beginning to lose hope. How had I not seen him yet? He was always there. What if he knew I was looking for him?

I glanced over my shoulder, toward the building I would normally be entering for class. There he was! I ducked down, hiding behind the bush I was standing beside, watching him every second, so that he couldn’t slip away again. He was walking straight towards me! This was it – I would finally confront him! Best of all, there were too many people around for him to hurt me. He was finally trapped!

Did he cut his hair, too? I was feeling very confused, because it didn’t look quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on what had changed. He continued towards me, and it wasn’t until the man walked straight past the bush that I realized — it wasn’t even him.

My brain felt as if it were going to implode. I was so sure it had been him, but the man I just saw had blonde hair. Why had it looked black?

Still crouching behind the bush, I realized people were beginning to stare. Strangely enough, they didn’t look interested at the fact that someone was hiding behind a bush, in the middle of the busiest sidewalk on campus — they looked completely apathetic, devoid of all emotion.

Were they in on it, too? How many of them had been sent to track me?!

I jumped out of the bush, and sprinted home as fast as I could. I was running out of safe places. The bus wasn’t safe. Classes and the library weren’t safe. The only safety resided in my home — the one place that was, thus far, impenetrable. As I flung the door open, I darted in as quickly as I could, and slammed it shut.

Jane sighed, “Hello, Lola. What is it now?”

“Jane, please. You have to believe me,” I began, taking a breath. “He’s. Coming. For. Me.”

“No, he isn’t. It’s in your head. No one is going to hurt you anymore. It’s over. It ended a year ago. Please, Lola, see reason.”

I stormed out of the room. Of course she didn’t believe me. She never did. She always said it was in my head.

What if it was, though? What if the man with the jet black hair wasn’t real? Could he be a figment of my imagination? And, for the life of me, I could not figure out what she meant by, “it ended a year ago.” What ended?

I went upstairs to my room, and laid on my bed. I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight; just as one would enter through my left ear, it would no sooner be shoved out through the right, just to make room for the next. I knew this man was real, regardless of what Jane thought. They were after me, not her. Of course he hadn’t allowed her to see him! That would ruin his entire plan!

Suddenly, I had an overwhelming suspicion that I was being watched. I could feel him near me. I looked from side to side, but no one was in my bedroom. I could sense the fear rising, and, as adrenaline pumped through my veins, I sprinted downstairs.

“He’s here,” I panted, as I tore through the house searching for him. I ransacked the kitchen, flinging open every cupboard door, checking behind the empty milk cartons in the refrigerator, and underneath the kitchen table.

“I KNOW YOU’RE HERE SOMEWHERE!” I screamed, moving onto the bathroom. Could he be in the shower, just waiting for the opportune moment? I ripped the shower curtain from its’ rod, just to be sure. I heard Jane in the background talking to someone.

“It’s happening again, Mrs. Brauer. I think you should come.”

I knew it! Jane had been in on it! She had to have been reporting to her boss. It couldn’t have been anymore obvious! How did I miss it?!

I glanced around, looking in every direction for Jane. If she was a part of this conspiracy, I had to get out of the house, and I had to do it fast. I wouldn’t have time to go upstairs and grab any of my things — I needed to get out, and I needed to do it now.

Jane was in the living room, still on the phone with whomever ‘Mrs. Brauer’ was. It was now or never. Either I escaped and spent the rest of my days in hiding, or I would die — here, and now. Mrs Brauer was coming, and surely she would be the one to finish the job.

I made a run for it, whipping open and flying out the front door. I had to find somewhere to hide. If I couldn’t trust Jane, I couldn’t trust anyone. My jaw dropped to the ground when I saw him — the man with the jet black hair was standing outside my house.

I was speechless for a moment, overcome with both fear and anger. I was torn between wanting to confront him to finally learn the truth, and wanting to run.

But, as I already knew the truth, I ran.

I heard a deep voice yell, “Wait!”

I spun around. The only person it could have came from was the man. I was petrified with fear.

“What?! What do you want from me?! You’ve been following me for a week! Every day, you’re there. Outside of my classes, at my work. Just kill me, already! Just get it over with!” I screamed, but my voice broke off, as I mumbled, “I’m just so tired…”

He looked bewildered. “Kill you? What are you talking about?”

“Please, just end it. Just get it over with!” I started sobbing. “I’m too tired to fight anymore.”

“I’m Theodore?” he said, as if it was a question. “I saw you on the first day of classes, and thought you were really beautiful. I just couldn’t get up the nerve to ask you out for coffee, so I ended up following you. I was only going to do it a day or so, until I had worked up my courage, but I just couldn’t. I guess that wasn’t really the right approach, huh?” He laughed. “What happened to your hair?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He wanted to ask me for coffee? No one ever asked me out, except for that one time…

My entire body trembled, as I threw the thought from my brain; if I look back, I am lost.

“So? Your hair?”

“Oh… Uh… Does it really matter?” I asked, still shaken, but beginning to calm down.

“No, it doesn’t. I just really liked your hair,” he said, stumbling over his words. “Well, anyway, you pull off the bald look.”

We chatted outside for an hour, as he explained how sorry he was for frightening me, and told me about himself.

I told him that I spent a lot of time reading conspiracy theories, and that sometimes I got confused between reality and my imagination.

“I thought you were trying to kill me. I read about this group of elite people, and, supposedly when they find out that you’re onto them, they send someone to kill you,” I mumbled, feeling more stupid as every word came out.

“God, I wish my life was that interesting,” he chucked.

I couldn’t believe I had actually thought that some secret society of people was coming to kill me. The entire situation seemed so incredibly absurd now.

Just as we were about to leave for coffee, an older woman with shaggy, grey hair arrived. She looked quite familiar, but I couldn’t figure out where I had seen her before.

“Hello, Lola,” she said, gently. She turned to Theodore, and asked, “Will you excuse us just a moment, please?”

Theodore raised an eyebrow at me, but said that he would take a walk around the block when I gave him a nod.

I turned towards the old woman, and asked, “Do I know you?”

A tear sparkled on her lower eyelid as she forced a smile. “Yes, Lola, you do. Think hard.”

She looked so familiar, but where had I met her before? I just couldn’t place it. I knew she was important for some reason, but I was drawing a complete blank. I shook my head from side to side, and looked embarrassedly at my shoes.

“Come here, sweetie. You’re confused. You went through a lot last year. Zane wasn’t good to you,” she sighed, as she ran her fingers over a scar on my forehead.

My forehead twinged when her fingers touched it. My brain became very foggy and my skull felt cramped. Suddenly, every memory came rushing back as a wave of clarity slapped me in the face. I had spent the last year of my life in a constant state of paranoia, but it wasn’t unfounded paranoia. Finally, everything made sense.

I looked at the woman, and said one word, “Mom.”

She nodded her head, and embraced me.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was getting bad again, dear?” she asked concernedly.

“I didn’t realize it was. Everything was so confused. I couldn’t even remember who you were.”

“Next time, you need to call me sooner,” she said strictly. “I’m just glad that you’re okay.”

As Theodore rounded the block and was heading back in our direction, our conversation came to an end, with one final question on my part: “Do I tell him?”

Rather than replying, my mother entered her car, and drove away with — if I wasn’t mistaken — a small smile on her wrinkled face.

“So, are you ready to finally get that coffee?” Theodore asked, pushing that messy black mop of hair out of his eyes.

And, for the first time in a very long while, I went on a date.