I hadn’t seen him in ten years, but everything about him was the same, even his startling ice-cold eyes. There was something about them that gave you the impression that he secretly knew something less-than-savory about you.

Sometimes it seemed like he was reading my mind when he looked at me. Judging me somehow, constantly sizing me up. It was unsettling.

And after what happened, I couldn’t stand thinking about him, but his blue eyes followed me everywhere I went. His old tennis shoes and his green sweatshirt went in the trash, but I could still smell the scent of him on my clothes.

He was gone, and yet, he lingered.

I’m older now, but as I look at him more closely, I realize the corners of him mouth are still upturned – he looks as though he’s constantly sneering at the world. Sometimes I’m sure he is.

I hadn’t seen him in ten years, and yet, here he stands at the foot of my bed. A cold sweat breaks out all over my body.

“You can’t be here,” I whisper. “You’re dead. I killed you…”