Faded Boxers

I envisioned the confrontation differently. I had it all planned in my head.

I was gonna have her sent to my office. She was going to enter the room all nervous, and I’d have my back to her to add to the suspense. I would probably be smoking a pipe. I would slowly swivel my chair to face her while stroking my beard. (I had a beard in my daydream.) I’d give her a chance to explain herself. She’d deny everything. I’d call her a liar. She’d whip out her sword, and we’d have an epic battle that would level the whole village.

As the dust settled, I’d come out of the wreckage victorious with my shirt conveniently gone, displaying my abs and rock hard pecs in full glory (I had a different body in my daydream).

Everyone would cheer the demise of one psycho bitch, and all the pretty ladies in our village would all line up to feed me cake (I am not a diabetic in my daydream).

—

In reality it didn’t go down like that at all. There was no swordfight. I didn’t have a beard (not for lack of trying mind you). And if I eat cake, my foot would fall off.

All there was was a scared girl, and an even more scared guy (me) explaining their respective sides of the story.

She said that she felt sorry for me given my condition, and only wanted to befriend me. Since she didn’t have the guts to walk up to me personally and express her sympathy, she pretended to be somebody else and systematically insult and threaten me and everyone I hold dear.

The funny thing is, as we were talking, she looked and acted like a normal person.

My stalker was an insensitive and callous bitch who would regularly kick me in the teeth during my most vulnerable moments. My stalker had a demented mind that was able to concoct a story that placed her in Chicago for 6 years because she wanted to forget something that I had supposedly done to her in the past. My stalker was resourceful enough to keep 3 different sim cards so as to make it seem like there were several different people stalking me.

The girl that faced me this afternoon was none of that. She was just a scared, lonely girl who was about to lose her job as well as a friend that she never had.

At the beginning of this ordeal, I always thought that once I found out who my stalker was; I would take all the things that she said about me, Rach and my family, roll them up to a fist, and bring it crashing down on her face until she is no longer recognizeable.

But the sight of her deflated and humiliated by the admission of what she had done had drained me the desire for retribution. In the end, after hearing all her pleas for forgiveness, it was decided that letting her go was still the best course of action.