• Obsession.
    I watched her ever since we were little girls playing on the playground, laughing on the swings. Well, I was. Lucy sat in the corner of the field and watched everyone while she sketched their persons so beautifully in her notebook. She rarely spoke. All of the children were terrified of her, but I was intrigued. She was lovely! And I didn’t understand how I could be so drawn to another person so heavily, to another girl in fact.
    I never told anyone about my affection for this strange girl. I had friends that I trusted, but this was my secret and mine alone. I didn’t need everyone to know I was in love with someone like Lucy. And of course I didn’t want her to know. I was content with my watching. Until I was about fifteen, that is. I began to get a little more curious. I was older, more passionate, and she was still little Lucy who sat away from everyone and drew them in her sketch book. Things changed about her, of course. She became taller, though she was still short. Her hair got blacker, but she always kept it in the same fashion; tied back in two perfect pigtails. She became more female too; her chest got larger, her stomach was thinner, her face thinned out. And her sketches became even more advanced.
    She was still terrifying. But that didn’t stop the boys from beginning to look at her. They peeked over their shoulders once and awhile to see her glittering eyes dart back and forth around the room and then return down to her notebook. When she started writing, it was still the same. She was always inspired by the hundreds of people around her. And that was all she did, write and sketch portraits of everyone in the school. Teachers, class pets; they weren’t even safe from this girl.
    I always wondered if she logged them or something like that. I wondered if she kept tabs on everyone behind their backs. And truly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had. It would have been so easy for her to get any information she wanted. No one cared what Lucy knew. Lucy never spoke, so she could never disclose a secret.
    But she didn’t. She just watched us. She watched each and every one of us like I watched her. She listened to our conversations; she observed our movements, our laughter, our sadness, and our lives. But she never did anything with what she knew. She, like me, was content with just watching and learning. She didn’t have to tell anyone of her findings. People one day, maybe she thought, would find out themselves.
    I watched her more intently after we entered the high school. It was a point in our lives where we could do whatever we wanted. She always did whatever she wanted, though. She could get away with it.
    I wanted to know everything about Lucy. I wanted to know her height, her weight, her last name. I wanted her address, her phone number, her family. But most of all, I wanted to know her thoughts; her feelings, her attitude, her emotions! She never let anyone in! I wished for her every night and every day. I wished for Lucy, I wished for to know Lucy.
    I started to follow her wherever she went; I took pictures when the opportunities arose. I became obsessed with the girl. I wrote down Lucy’s life in my journal. I found out all of the things I was curious about. Except for her thoughts, I still had no idea what she was thinking! And I became enraged that the one thing I’ve ever truly wanted was so far out of my reach. I would scream her name when I was alone in my room, I would cry afterwards for her. I needed her.
    I still can’t believe I did what I did, and to her of all people too. But I was so desperate to get inside her head that I wasn’t thinking. I did something bad. We were in physical education class and I was the only one in the locker rooms. I swiped her notebook with all of her little sketches and poems and stories in it. As soon as I took it, a wave of guilt swept over me. I hurt Lucy.
    I couldn’t believe my eyes when I flipped through the pages of that book! The faces that she drew, they looked so real that I recognized the people. They were almost like black and white photographs. There was barely any part of the page that she left white. I was in awe. Lucy was even more fantastic than I always imagined her. And I thought this before I read through the writings and excerpts that were sprayed across the pages in terrific handwriting.
    The vocabulary that such a quiet girl used was amazing. It was delicate and emotional. She chose the perfect letters for everything she wrote. I wondered if she spoke in the same way. I read through most of the pages. She wrote a lot about students at our school. But she also wrote a lot about love and death. She was very deep in her beliefs.
    I was locked away in the bathroom of the school after classes ended while I read the notebook. I didn’t notice when the door opened and closed; I was too overtaken by the neat, little doorway through which I could have a small peek at Lucy’s mind.
    But when short cries started trilling against the walls of the stall, I looked up. I could ignore footsteps and flushes, but not such a sweet sob. It was quiet and high pitched. I looked over and imagined the person in the stall beside me. I imagined her to be Lucy, and I blushed. I imagined Lucy with sparkling drops running down her nose. I imagined Lucy all broken and in pain. And I smiled. I couldn’t help but want to see her like that.
    But I realized soon that it probably wasn’t Lucy; she never showed emotion. Of course I was still curious about the girl who sat in the restroom with me. I sat still. And when she stopped crying and unlatched her door, I was there waiting for her. I would comfort her maybe.
    Shocked was I when none other than little Lucy stepped out of the stall. Her hair was down and her eyes were red. She looked different. At first when she stood and looked at me, I felt a wave of pure pleasure run over myself. She was focused on simply me.
    When she saw the notebook in my arms, her face went from white to bright pink. She began to reach out for it, but then her arm pulled back. I could tell that she wanted it, but that she didn’t want to show that she wanted it. Her face conflicted back and forth from stoic to yearning. She was like a stubborn child. After I had had my fill of taking in her tear glossed face and eyes, I slowly handed her the book. Her expression lit up like a light bulb. I couldn’t believe my eyes when the corners of her mouth turned up into a little smile. I could feel my heart going so fast, yet, at the same time, it felt like it was about to stop.
    She did a little bow to thank me before walking away. I don’t know what happened in that instant, but something clicked. Something went very wrong inside my head. I grabbed her shoulder in a tight grip and punched her square in the nose. It began to bleed and she tumbled back and onto the ground.
    Her red-circled eyes looked up at me in a helpless way. She moved back and away from me. I couldn’t help but feel strangely happy. I was the only one who would get to see Lucy in such a vulnerable state. I felt it in my arms, my fingers; from my toes and up into the inside of my thighs. I felt it in my stomach and chest. I felt power over Lucy, and it made me happy. I could see things no one else would ever see.
    “What are you doing?” Her voice trilled in my ears. It rang in sweet syllables against the walls. I stepped closer and filled the space between us. She shrieked and I kicked her hard in the side. She rolled over and laid up against the wall.
    “Cry for me, Lucy.” I was overtaken by some sort of monster. “Cry for me! Because I love you!” I crouched down beside her and she looked up at me. I was surprised at how fragile this girl was despite how I always imagined her. In my dreams, she was strong, powerful, and invincible. But here she was on the floor all bruised and bloody. She was absolutely horrified of me.
    “Anna, please stop,” she pleaded in a high-pitched squeal. I could’ve just died then. She had said my name out loud, something I longed for many sleepless nights. My brain was shouting at me, stop! But for some reason, my heart was commanding me to go on. I continued to beat down on her and tear her apart. I was insane. I knew that, of course I did. I knew that for years as I stalked her.
    But I just kept hitting her, and she kept yelping for someone to rescue her from the monster I was. And soon her cries became softer and softer. Her screaming ceased and she laid there and took it. She’d given up. Her eyes were tightly closed and tears ran down her nose just like the ones I wanted to see. But along with them ran blood. My rising sun was falling in my hands. Painted red, Lucy stopped moving all together. Her eyes loosened. I leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips before standing up.
    That was about the time that the door to the bathroom opened and in walked a tall girl whom I recognized vaguely. She screamed and my mind snapped back to reality. I looked at the girl and down at Lucy. My hands began to shake violently. She was dead; I knew it. I had killed her.
    I don’t remember much that happened after that. I was too preoccupied with the immense guilt. Not only had I stolen the life of such a fantastic person, but I lost everything that was ever really important to me. And along with her losing her life, I lost mine. I was locked away forever for what I did. They called me insane. They said I was a freak. I agreed with them wholeheartedly.
    And to Lucy, if you’re out there, reading over my shoulder as I write, please forgive me. Please know that in my heart I’ll always love you. I still have your notebook, and I read it every night. I will never forget you, Lucy. I’m sorry.