The Comfort of Danger

The door creaked open I knew it was him. I first met him when he came up to me in the park screaming “Jamie! Jamie!” “Excuse me, I don’t know you,” I had said, “and my name is Mya. You must have me confused.” “No! Jamie, it’s me. They just want you to think you’re Mya.” He looked desperate and I was nervous of what he might do next. He continued, “We love each other.” He had begged that I just listen for a few minutes. For a reason unknown to myself, I sat down to listen. We spent the next hour talking. He told me all the specific details about Jamie. He tried to tell me that it was an experiment and I had been brainwashed. I felt this nag of longing, longing to believe this man. And soon later I did.
I don’t remember much about my past, but I remember him so vividly. He’s a tall, dark haired man, his skin was the color of pure copper, and beautiful cat-like green eyes that seemed to pierce through you. He had told me he was 20. He followed me ever since that day.

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