I woke up at seven thirty this morning to the sound of my cell phone chirping on the window sill. Groggy, forcing sleep from my eyes, after having only fallen asleep around three, I said,

“Yes?”

The other line was quiet for a second, then a familiar voice; “Hey Katie.”

“Kyle?”

“Yes.”

“Kyle, what’s going on? Everything alright?” Rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“Just fine. I thought I’d call you back about the project.”

My brain was scrambling. The feeling made me sick. “Project?”

“My philosophy final project.”

The one he’d called me about a week or two ago. “You needed to call me about it at seven thirty?”

He was quiet for a moment, an uncomfortable quiet, one I wished I could see from the other end of the phone. His voice sounded different too. Tired likely, but a bit too flat.

“Yes. I wanted to start as soon as possible.”

I swiveled on the couch and planted my feet on the carpet, rubbing some life into my face. I wanted to be frustrated, but the truth was that rude awakenings were becoming commonplace, fazing me less and less each time, and this was a relief to be someone I knew and liked instead of something else.

“Alright, fine, whatever. What’s the plan then?”

Another one of those awkward pauses, the kind that go just too long, as if the other was gathering his thoughts slowly, or there was some kind of delay in the transfer. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

I shook my head. “Yes. But I’m up now, it’s fine.”

“Sure?”

“Please, yeah.”

A kind of static was gradually growing on the other end of the line, a sound like wind against the speaker, threatening to muffle his voice, but oddly as the sound increased his voice remained as clear as ever, a sure connection.

“You know I wanted to play with reality. Reality itself being subjective, getting into epistemology with a phenomenological approach. Equal treatment, the head blended with the environment, all being fair. How you know what you know?”

I nodded and hummed an “mmhm,” just wanting him to continue, despite his words falling on my deaf ears.

“You’re new to Colorado. You see this place differently. I want to study that.”

“You want to study me?”

“Yes. You’re dealing with intense grief, after the loss of your parents, the odd occurrences you’re having around your home. A lot there is very applicable if we put the right spin on it.”

“Put the right spin… What… are you?” I was shocked. Beyond words. I couldn’t form thoughts. I’d never talked to Kyle about my parents, the odd things happening – the odd things? Had Kyle figured out what happened, gotten a read on my situation? Done research? Had he been behind these strange late night happenings? It made sense. “You son of a bitch.”

He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I want you to record what you’re experiencing. Your thoughts and perspectives, how you cope and handle. I don’t care what’s in your head, what’s not, what might seem supernatural, what might seem hyperreal, just record it all.”

“Are you insane?” My fists clenched, my face was turning red.

“I know you’ve been here for a month and that will undoubtedly influence the results, not being brand new anymore. But I think you’ll still prove interesting.”

I finally found my voice. “How dare you, Kyle! I trusted you! I trusted our friendship. I thought you were here to help me, be my friend, not manipulate me and study me like a fucking lab rat. You’d go sneaking around my house at all hours of the morning and fuck with my mind like that? How DARE YOU!” I was running out of curses in my mind, still wanting to scream at him. Instead I took my phone away from my ear and pressed END.

I went into my bedroom and slammed my door closed behind me. My door… So it was all a hoax, a lie. There really was a rational explanation for all of it and, as I’d thought earlier, one I’d never expected to see coming.

Unbelievable. How much did he know? The sound of his grin on the other end of the line when he suggested recording my thoughts and actions, how he’d lost a month but thought he could still make do. Does he know about this blog, do you think? He couldn’t have found it. There’s not enough information about it to find it. For his intents and purposes it doesn’t exist. I don’t exist, not for the last month.

All that I’ve gone through these last few weeks, my pain manipulated, my loneliness a farce. It made me not even want to write this entry, to stop bothering with the whole thing. If he’s going to study my ‘reality,’ my ‘perspective,’ my ‘phenomenology,’ fuck him! Is that all this blog is to you guys? Just studying a lab rat through her maze? What happens when you take her cheese away and prod with sticks? Is this just a story to you?

Relax, Katie, relax. It’s not that big a deal. He’s just a prick.

Of course it’s just a story. That’s what each of us is to another. We’re stories. We’re whole collections of stories, most just aren’t going anywhere, one turn after another after an afternoon watching bad soap operas after a week of forty five hours in a cubicle after a nice dinner on the weekend.

It’s not the story that bothers me, I suppose. It’s not that he wanted to watch me and see how I’d react. It wasn’t far off from how I first noticed him, watching he alike as the rest of the complex came and went, me behind the security of my front window, studying their stories. No, it wasn’t that. It was the manipulation, the betrayal of my trust… all for nothing.

I suppose it should have come as a relief that my dealings for the last week haven’t been… supernatural. But instead it’s angered me. I feel violated. And that’s the feeling that’s stayed with me.