Lunchtime. I dropped my chopsticks and opened my mouth, but Christian passed by without a word coming out of my lips. Just the sight of him makes me giddy, he was the only one that always reminded me that I am a woman.
I followed him and noticed that he had a new pencil stuck at the back of his ears. Damn it. I stole his pencil the other day after training with the intention of using it start a communication with him.
I pulled the pencil out of my pocket and crushed in under my foot. Useless thing.
Two women come running after him. One of them glanced at me with a mocking smile. She was Sahara, my complete opposite. She was 5’7″ tall, red-brown skinned, tough, square face with a softly shaped jaw, a hooked nose, defined cheekbones and thin lips. She has long arms, a heavy torso, a straight waist, bony hips, and strong legs
Our only thing in common was large brown eyes and neat eyebrows, which if I say so myself suits my petite self better. But damn it, every one likes her and no one seem to notice me but her.
“Wimp,” Sahara mouthed as she and her friend speed up to catch up with Christian.
I hate her.
I came from a long line of military generation, so it only made sense for me to be here. I hated MCT. Why do I have to train for something I have zero interest? As Sahara said. I’m a wimp because I had no power to break the tradition. I can only suffer and faint a couple of times.
Christian was the first man to notice my condition. He pulled me away and told me to rest secretly.
I spend the next month getting to know him. I followed him everywhere possible, studied the books he likes, the brand of perfume he preferred, anything. Now, I know him. I know what his favorites and even the size of his underwear because I’ll be buying them for him when we get married.
A week later, after field training, probably due to lack of sleep and extreme exhaustion I find myself sneaking to Christian’s sleeping quarter.
Everyone was asleep. Perfect.
My heart drummed at the thought of sleeping next to my future husband—even if he doesn’t know it yet.
I tiptoed through the line-up bunked beds and my feet froze in place three feet away from Christian’s bed.
Sahara was on top of him, touching him in places I want. His hand was in areas of her body that should be on me. They were kissing and only stopped when they felt my presence.
In the dimmed light coming from the light outside of the barrack, I saw Sahara’s ashen face. Christian placed a finger on his lips. I nodded. He was so charming, but when Sahara heave a sigh of relief and let her arm down to her side, the bed creak and a pencil rolled to my feet.
The devil woke up inside me. “I will forgive my future husband but there’s no way in hell you’re getting away from touching him!” I picked up the pencil and throw it with great precision. The pencil flew straight into Sahara’s eye. An animalistic scream escaped her as blood gushed out of the socket while I laughed with great satisfaction.
Christian did nothing to help as I was dragged off to prison. He just let them take me away and even witnessed against me.
I pulled Christian’s picture out of my pocket. I always had it with me. I raise the photo to my face and studied his stoic and handsome face. “Thanks for nothing darling,” I said, but I have no regrets. Someday I will be out of prison and when that time comes, I’ll come to Christian with a box of pencil. I’ll follow him everywhere until he realize that he’s mine, because no one knows him better.
Thanks for reading!
This story was written for the prompt challenge from Mathew.
- Genre: Military
- Character: A Stalker
- Object: A Pencil
- Sentence: “Thanks for nothing”
Bonus: Your character is imprisoned
Mathew welcome everyone to contribute their own story idea using this prompt. His story can be found HERE and I greatly recommends it.
PS: Image above is not my best sketch, my pen tablet is acting up :(