I live by myself on Main Street in a small town in rural Kansas. I moved here two years ago to stalk the man who used to bully me in high school. His name is Steve. Every night, I watch Steve enter the Bad Horse Bar & Grill. I live across the street in a studio apartment above an old hardware store.
When I first moved here, I signed a month-to-month lease. I figured it would only be a few months before I pulled the trigger. But I soon signed up for a full two-year lease after I discovered how exhilarating it was to have Steve in my sight every night and not kill him. I realized the power I held over Steve would evaporate as soon as I went through with it.
And that’s really what Steve took from me during those dreadfully drawn out years of secondary education. My power.
I never stood up to him.
Still haven’t, technically.
But his life is in my hands.
From what I have observed, Steve is attempting the slow, slow suicide of the bottle.
He thinks he’s taking his own life, one boozy night at a time.
But my lease is up at the end of the month.
And I’m finally tired of living in rural Kansas.