Little Stalker by Erica Pike Page A

all perky and ready to rumble when I’m by myself. That’s another reason why I’m
    afraid to go and see a doctor...in case he tells me this isn’t a medical condition.
    “No, you need to go,” I say, raising my upper body, I push her back toward the edge
    of the bed.
    She pulls the covers around herself as she slides off to the floor, landing hard on her
    ass. The harsh bump makes me cringe.
    “What the hell?” she yells.
    “I said you need to go.” I fold my arms in front of my bare chest, trying to look
    confident with a piercing headache and stomach content threatening to come out.
    “It’s not even seven AM,” she yells, voice rising into a pitch, spiking my headache.
    I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Just how much did I drink last night,
    and why didn’t Ray stop me before it got to this point – again?
    “Just because you have a problem with your penis doesn’t mean –”
    “I don’t have a problem with my penis!” I yell, just barely managing to swallow down
    the sour liquid that came up. I clench my fists, and my body breaks out in cold shivers as I try
    to calm my stomach. But no matter what, I feel like I’m about to spew my guts out.
    She stands on the floor like a perched owl, just staring.

    “Go,” I urge harshly, pointing to the door.
    “Well, fuck you,” she spits, her small face scrunching up in a grimace. “They said you
    were a jerk, but –”
    “I don’t fucking care what they said,” I yell, but my throat clogs up at the thought of
    them talking about me. What exactly are they saying; and who exactly are ‘they’? Is it all of them? Is there an I-Hate-Coby club out there with all my ex-lays gossiping about my broken
    manhood?
    The slightest movement sends a series of sharp stings behind my eyes, so I close them
    and very, very slowly slide back under the covers. Once I’m settled, I finally hear her yank up
    her clothes, stomp towards the door and slam it shut behind her. I stay still until I hear the
    outer door slam shut as well.
    Easing onto my back, I rub my face with a groan. Ray was supposed to make sure I
    didn’t do anything stupid last night. I should call him just to wake him up.
    As I reach for my mobile, it rings loudly, sending another onslaught of needles
    through my brain.
    “What?” I growl as I pinch the bridge of my nose.
    “Morning sunshine. Had fun last night?”
    “Ray,” I grunt and settle back on my soft pillow.
    “Is she gone?”
    I give a grunt of a response, flailing a hand around my nightstand for a glass of water.
    In a drawer, I find a couple of painkillers and swallow them down with a slurp of week -old
    liquid. As I move, I rustle the sheets and the smell of sex wafts to my nose. My stomach turns
    again. I’ll have to change them ASAP.
    “God damn it, Ray, I told you not to let me get this drunk again.”
    “Hey, I told you to stop several times, but you just kept drinking. I even tried to stop
    you from leaving with that girl. You know, you have some serious problems with alcohol – to
    the point of alcoholism.”
    “Shut up. I’m young and in college. I’m supposed to go crazy with alcohol,” I say,
    glancing toward the window again. He’s right, though. I do have trouble stopping once I start,
    but I can’t allow myself to think about the reason why .
    “Yeah? Well, then stop blaming me for your drinking.”
    “Mmh,” is my non-existent retort because my mind shifts to the guy outside. I tumble
    out of bed, one arm clamped over my stomach and drag myself toward the window. “What

    are you doing up so early?” He was always an early riser, but anything before ten AM on a
    weekend is an ungodly hour – I’ve told him that before.
    “Got an early practice,” he says around a crunching mouthful of cereal. “Whatcha
    doin’?”
    “Watching my stalker,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face as I watch the boy slide
    his small hands roughly up and down his arms. Maybe I should just invite him in and