Our routine starts at night. Some nights he lays beside me in my bed. When I face the wall he whispers in my ear that someone or something is going to break in and kill me. When I face my room he softly croons that now I get to see my attacker's face before I die. Some nights he sits at my desk and makes creepy shadows in the light, whispering about the demons and vermin that could sneak into my window and dismember me. My night light seems to tone his ramblings down a little, but not by much. Sometimes my white noise maker just barely drowns him out, but most nights his quiet whispers feel more like he is screaming in my ears.
I trudge through the hallways at school, each step heavier than the next. As always he walks on my right side, always a step behind, like a loyal pet. My tormentor is invisible, but attached to me. His lips were always at my ear whispering things, planting seeds of doubt into my mind. In English class as I stared at the insurmountable number of assignments due for the week he reached down and crossed my legs, then he took my right foot in his hand and began jiggling it up and down. His ministrations got more and more aggressive until the adhesive in my shoe gave up, and pieces of my sneaker decorated the floor. In my science class as I struggled to figure out what the hell we were supposed to be learning, he took my finger and twirled it around my hair. Feeling the edges of my split ends along my fingertips. Faster and faster until my hair was twirled around my hand like spaghetti, and then he yanked it out of my head. It all fell onto the ground like cell confetti. In my history class he took my pinky finger into his hand and raised it to my lips. In slow movements he peeled away the dead skin with my nail, until my lips were raw and bleeding. During my history test he raised my mechanical pencil up to my mouth to chew on it until my teeth broke against the plastic and the eraser was gone. He stared at my test with me, as if he could help me figure out some of the answers, but the things he whispered in my ear had the opposite effect, making me doubt my right answers. You should change this answer. He whispered, his voice a seductive wave in the breeze, barely audible. Of course, he got the question wrong.
I tried to fight him many times, but even the smallest of victories exhausted me. In class one time when he grabbed my leg I yanked it upward out of his grasp and rested it on my opposite thigh. He did not try to force me to move it physically, instead he whispered sweet nothings into my brain: a constant pressure. Doesn't it feel good to bounce your leg? Doesn't it relieve your anxiety? Come on, I know you want to... The feeling builds and builds, buzzing into my skull like a power drill until I can ignore it no longer. His words scratch and grate in the back of my mind. The yearning becomes too much to bear and this time my foot is bouncing of own accord. It is euphoria, but it does not last. His delighted laugh at my weakness makes my head feel thicker than a comforter.
I make my way to the bathroom before my next class and splash some water onto my face. For the first time today he is silent. I take a few shakey deep breaths and then turn to the mirror, almost expecting to see a humanoid shape leering next to me. I wave my hand over my right shoulder, but all it comes in contact with is air. I'm being ridiculous. Monsters don't exist. I stare at the bags under my eyes, the stress-fueled acne that litters my face, and my oozing upper lip. I squeeze my eyes closed and then open them really fast, glancing back over my right shoulder as if I could take him by surprise. Nothing. I look back into the mirror but the only thing reflecting back is me.