Obligatory Disclaimer: The people in this story are real, but their names have been changed. This is a work of fiction; I wrote it to purge myself of an unhealthy obsession. While there is sexual content, I view this as therapeutic writing first and foremost; I'm indulging a fantasy and letting go of it at the same time. The title and final lines of this story are taken from the song "Fever" by the band Starsailor.
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For over a year, I'd been dealing with a very serious addiction. It wasn't drugs, alcohol, or sex; it was a deep, sick obsession with a person who certainly did not remember ever knowing me. I couldn't tell him how attracted I was to him, how utterly perfect he was. Instead, I performed your basic childish activities, such as calling his apartment and hanging up, driving by his home, calling his workplace to see if he'd answer, etc. I did other things: I knocked over his trashcan to see what he'd thrown away. I wrote down his license plate number and emailed it to him. I sent various insane sexual emails. I sent anonymous email-cards on Halloween and his birthday. I left flowers on his car.
He was a graduate teaching assistant in the Philosophy department at my University; I had been his student over a year earlier. He wasn't that much older than me; I was 20 at the time, and he was 27, but he looked a little younger than that. He had dark blue eyes, dark blonde hair, and the sweetest smile imaginable. The moment I realized he was the TA for my class, I was in love. I participated a lot in class; I went to his office hours 4 times. I got an "A" for the course, and that would have been the end of it, but I couldn't let go, and I couldn't tell him how incredibly attracted I was to him. So a year passed, and still I was stalking him, without him having any idea who was leaving him strange gifts and sending him bizarre emails.
To make my stalking even easier, he just so happened to live one street away from me; I could walk to his apartment in 8 minutes. I also spent a lot of time in the building on campus where the Philosophy TA office was, sot here were frequent encounters which I was aware of, but he was not. He just thought I was another student sitting on the bench; he had no idea I would sit there for hours waiting to see him pass by. He apparently did not recognize me as a former student; I could do as I wished without being noticed.
There was a coffee shop less than a block from his apartment (and since I lived one street away from him, the coffee shop was within easy walking distance for me, as well). I had quite a penchant for mochas, so I spent a lot of time at the coffee shop. I would order a large mocha, and sit down to read, write, or people watch. I usually sat by the window, because then I could see if his car left his street, or if he was driving home from campus.
One summer, just a little over a year after I'd taken his class, I was sitting in the coffee shop on a particularly hot and nasty afternoon. I was drinking an extra large iced mocha and writing poetry in my notebook. For once, I was not paying attention to the cars driving outside; I was feeling rather pensive, and my only desire was to create something of worth from the weighty solitude clouding my head.
As I furiously scrawled some random lines about unrequited love, I heard a voice above me: "Excuse me; I'm sorry to bother you, but you look really familiar."
I jerked my head up in alarm, but felt no surprise, because I had recognized his voice. It was Eric, the target of my secret affections. I stared at him for a moment, stuck somewhere between fascinated adoration and frozen terror. I didn't know how to respond; I couldn't breathe. I ended up sitting at my table in silence, staring up at him with large eyes.
"I didn't mean for that to sound like pick-up line; sorry. You really do look familiar," he said with an air of embarrassment. He turned to leave.
"Wait," I whispered, my voice cracking. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but I couldn't let him walk away, not after all the time I'd spent covertly pursuing him."
"Yes?"
"Maybe I look familiar from campus," I sputtered. "Do you go to XSU?"
As if I didn't know the answer.
"I do," he smiled. "I'm a graduate student, but you look sort of young to be in graduate school. I teach in the Philosophy department, though; were you ever my student?"
My face grew extremely warm as I tried to decide how to answer his simple, innocent question. I didn't want to admit to having been his student; in one of the anonymous emails I had sent him, I told him that his stalker was one of his former students. On the other hand, if he actually did remember me being in his class, and I denied it, he would catch me in a lie. And why would I lie about having been his student unless I had something to hide?
I looked at him for a moment; there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes. He was not trying to trap me into admitting anything; he was asking an honest, genuine question.
"No, I haven't taken any Philosophy classes yet," I lied quickly, before he could notice how much thought I had put into my answer.
He smiled. "That's not really surprising; most students aren't very eager to take Philosophy classes."
"I like Philosophy," I said, desperate to please him (and it wasn't a lie, either; I planned to declare a major in Philosophy eventually, for reasons that had nothing to do with him).
Eric smiled again, and there was an uncomfortable pause. I was still sitting in my chair, notebook open, iced mocha partially gone. Eric stood across the table from me, a fruit smoothie in his hand. I took a deep breath...
"Do you want to sit down?" I asked meekly.
Such a beautiful smile! "Thank you." He sat down across from me.
Another awkward moment of silence. I forced myself to drink a sip of my mocha, despite the butterflies assaulting my entrails. Eric played with the straw in his glass for what seemed like centuries, before breaking the silence.
"My name's Eric."
It was hard not to laugh at how utterly unaware he was.
"I'm Sophie."
"From there, our conversation grew warm and friendly. We talked about life at XSU, future career goals, movies, literature, and social issues. I couldn't believe this was happening; I was having coffee and talking with the TA I'd been stalking for over a year, and he had no idea who I was. I was in Heaven.
A couple of hours later, silence fell upon us again. Eric leaned across the table a little, his voice even quieter than usual; his words melted my insides.
"I don't usually do things like this, but my apartment is right across the street. Do you want to come over?"
I stifled a giggle; the irony and pathos of this whole sorry mess was truly laughable. Obviously, I wanted nothing more than to go home with him. However, I had been stalking him for quite some time now, and he had no idea that I was the guilty party. To sleep with him (which was clearly what he was implying), without him knowing that I was the one who had been more or less terrorizing him, would be so dishonest, so evil... But I couldn't say no.
"Okay," I whispered.
We left the coffee shop, and I had to pretend not to know which car was his. The 3 minute drive to his apartment felt like 3 hours. Neither of us said much on the way; I can't remember a word of it. I was too focused on the tense feeling between my thighs and the guilty feeling in my soul.
