"You don't recognize me, do you? That's alright, I'm not very noticeable. But I noticed you. Every day on the subway, I would see you. Sometimes, you'd be reading a book, something intelligent but not uptight, like the Bell Jar or The Handmaid's Tale, a book that shows character and integrity but not dogmatism. You'd be dressed professionally in a navy colored ladies' suit and thin but sensible pumps. You wear your hair simply and without pretension but in a way that commands attention. Your deep red lips pursed slightly as you go from page to page.
I would always feel shabby and unworthy then, with my stained jeans and Sports Illustrated.
Other times, you'd be in jogging gear, Lululemon, Roots, something like that. Your hair pulled back in a simple and effective ponytail. The light blue accenting your shape and the slight of your breasts as you were still exhaling a little too hard. Your iPod on just loud enough to faintly hear 'like a virgin' or something much like it.
Still others you are on a date. A simple but radiating black one piece with simple red flats, hair in a bun and lips a much subtle shade of pink that is very inviting. The man, unaware of either visual or verbal cues you are making, is staring at your breasts when he thinks you aren't looking. You are. I laugh to myself as you catch him each and every time and he pretends to be looking at your mouth instead. I know he will never be worthy of you or your efforts. But I am.
It was seeing one of these dates that went so sourly that I failed to find the humor any longer. Why not declare my own feelings to you, so you could understand the depths of my emotion? You grow to see how devoted I was and how pure my intentions really were. I dreamed of a wedding, outside, you radiant in a dress of purest white while I bask in the beauty of it.
Once I had this realization, I quickly went to work. I bought a new suit, discount and a little big, but definitely slimming. I wore a pork pie hat to cover the balding. I looked, to my mind, dark and intense and smoldering. The moment had come to present myself to you. You were on the subway, as usual, and I made an attempt to approach you and confess my true feelings to you. Unfortunately, when I was almost upon you, the trained lurched unexpectedly and I went flying in the bar. My head thudded heavily into it, and for a second there was absolutely no sound. Then I heard laughter. Or rather, intense rapid giggling. I looked around woozily to determine where it was come from and suddenly stopped cold. It was you. You were in hysterics, holding your sides and eyes shut. Having the time your life.
It was more than I could bear. I rushed from the train, spewing tears of frustration and rage, my head throbbing. I would make you suffer for this humiliation.
You never knew I was following you, although I suspect you knew something was up. I had to learn where you would be and when and how I would strike. You have very predictable patterns, you know. Off to the library on Sunday, the gym on Wednesdays and Fridays, Saturdays with the girls. I planned to strike on a Saturday evening, when no one would expect you anywhere until Monday.
When I broke in, I decided to test the Rohypnol on your cat, Madam. I gave her a little milk with the roofie mixed in and she was out like a light. It was perfect. So I slid the rest into the milk and waited. I knew you always had a glass and a cookie before bed. I did my research.
You came home, changed into your pajamas with the puppies on them (I like them better than the ones with teddy bears) and went for your nightly milk and cookies. In 20 minutes you were out like a light.
And now you wake up here. We're a long way from where you were, and you'd better be good to me, and NOT LAUGH, or else I'll teach you a real lesson about respect."
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