That constant feeling you're being watched. Or maybe you're just lonely.

So it arrived this morning.

I woke up with a start, trying not to think about how many times I’d snoozed the alarm, wishing I could shove my foot up my ass for being such a lazy fuck.

And then I saw it.

I wasn’t scared. I didn’t panic. For some strange reason, I was almost expecting it to be there.  It looked at me in the eye, sitting calm and still in the corner of the room, not moving, not saying a word. It just stared.

It followed me out of my room, and I wondered whether it would follow me into the bathroom. I wouldn’t have liked that at all. I’d spent a good five minutes in bed trying to get used to it, but I still wasn’t comfortable with it watching me undress and bathe. However, it was polite enough to wait outside while I bathed.

It didn’t do anything while I got dressed for work. It didn’t do anything as I found the bread that was supposed to be my breakfast covered in mould. It didn’t do anything as I double checked my pockets for my phone and keys and locked my room.

Its weight as it rode behind me on my bike seemed to be making my journey longer than the ten minutes it usually takes me to get to work. Turning and manoeuvring around the traffic felt like an hour’s workout. Almost lost my balance a couple of times. When I finally reached, I glanced at my watch. I wasn’t late. It really did take me just ten minutes.

It sat next to me at my desk, still staring, as I worked through the day, giving me company during the lunch break too. It never left my side.

As I got used to its constant presence being around me, I found myself starting to get used to it. Found myself being glad it was around. Glad for the company it gave, I guess. Maybe it felt the same way too. I certainly didn’t see why it wouldn’t like to be around me all the time. I like to think I’m that nice a guy.

I brought it back home with me, along with a chicken shawarma I planned to have for my dinner. (The shawarma was good. A little dry, and would’ve tasted better if the Persian guy down the road that made it had used pita bread instead of a roti, but all in all a good shawarma.) It didn’t complain or ask for a shawarma for itself. It just watched me eat. It didn’t seem too hungry anyway.

I got into bed and tucked myself in. I turned around to say goodnight to it, but I couldn’t see it. It was gone.

I figured it just needed to be around someone for the day to make itself feel better about, well, itself.

I rolled back into a comfortable sleeping position, one that was just close enough to the wall touching my bed so that I wouldn’t fall off (as I used to frequently when I was a kid, therefore leaving me with a life-long fear of “falling off the edge”, something that still torments me with sleepless nights through nightmares) but far enough give me room to stretch and roll and kick in my sleep in the night (as a friend of mine very rudely found out last Saturday when I kicked him in the face several times in the night), said quietly, “Goodnight, you piece of shit,” and dozed off almost immediately after.