On this page, I write my last confession. Once this is penned, he and I will be long gone. Whether we die in the line of fire, or we make it out alive with new identities, we will be gone. Izzy and Jake will be no more, and that’s the way I want it to be. This is my confession, my truth, and how it began; read it well, as I will never speak of it again.
Although I’ve only known Jake 7 out of my 32 years, it feels as though he’s always been a part of me. I love him. His crooked smile, his brown locks, the funny way he pronounces things…every inch of him, every part of his soul is perfection to me. I don’t believe in a God, but if He existed he molded Jake just for me, to give my existence meaning, and to fit into the broken pieces of my heart. Jake is mine, and I am his.
I remember the day I met Jake, because I remember never feeling love so intensely. I kissed him that first day, and it was natural, him in my arms. I immediately belonged to him. Jake was a dream. Sure, he could get loud, and I would yell back. Sometimes he’d hurt me unintentionally. A bite here, a scratch there. I’d respond, twisting his arm, hitting him. But I did love him, you can count on that. He had my heart, and I think even when bruised and banged up he did love me too. No. I know he loved me. He had to.
But after two years or so he was gone. He was no longer mine to have and to hold. I was told I’d never kiss him again. But I love him. He belongs to me, and I refuse to let him be gone. About a year after he was gone, as if by fate (and a little internet stalking) I found him online. He was in the arms of a new woman. She was trashy; red lips, curls in her hair, one of those Stepford wives smiles.
At first I hated her. Stephanie. Of course it was Stephanie. It’s always a Stephanie, or a Cynthia, or an Abigail. It’s always one of those prissy names stealing the boys our heart long for. I painted pictures of her dead. I cringed at the name, and spent long hours at my desktop on her Facebook page. Stephanie, and her perfect fucking smile, holding my Jake. Stealing my love.
After staring for a while, I started obsessing over her. Work came to realize instead of filing away their precious paper work I spent company times looking over her page, tracking her location. A few coworkers started to notice my brand new red lips and curls. Obsession became trying to become her; after all isn’t she what Jake wanted? With obsession came me being fired from the company. But that was fine by me, it gave me more time to find Jake and win him back.
I spent weeks prior to the morning I got Jake back making a plan; building a hideout in the woods where no one could find us, planning the drive to get away quickly (3 hours to Waterville from my apartment, 2 hours to the hideout after leaving Waterville), making sure we had enough supplies to survive at the hideout, and where we’d go once we were off the radar. I followed their schedule, and learned it to the best of my ability (it wasn’t very hard to do, with Stephanie tracking her every move so publicly online). Every morning Jake and Stephanie would go to the park. She’d say online she liked to have her morning coffee there, and was happy to keep Jake company. The plan was simple. I’d walk up to her, Jake would see me, and come back. The gun in the waist of my jeans was just for insurance.
The moment was here; I always pictured the sun to be shinning the day I pulled up to the park, and I expected more people, but it was just Stephanie and Jake, the sky was overcast, and they were alone on the grassy knoll. I was a little bothered by my picture perfect image being shattered, but there he was. Jake. Smiling, happy, wind in his brown locks. He was even more handsome than I imagined. I walked straight to them, smiling, unable to speak.
Stephanie tilted her head to me, with a can I help you? Her voice made me cringe. “Jake.” I managed to get out. At this point Stephanie was clearly terrified, pulling on Jake to leave. “Jake, wait, it’s me.” Stephanie was abandoning her belongings, trying to pull Jake to her to run. Jake stood still.
“Who are you?” he asks.
My heart shatters. Stephanie is still urging him to leave. I pull out the gun, and the bullet hits her in the head, and she drops down like a doll. Lucky shot too; I only had one bullet, and I’ve never shot a gun.
Which leads me to where we are now. In our little hideout, four mornings after Jake came back to me. We have to leave sooner than expected; I can hear the dogs in the woods looking for us, and sometimes I can hear an officer or two. I think I even heard a search party, actively shouting Jake’s name. We have to flee, and he still doesn’t even know who I am. He looks at me like a monster. He doesn’t see it. He doesn’t see that Stephanie was the monster. He doesn’t see how horrible she was to make him forget our love.
But you people, you disgusting pieces of actual human shit. You’re the real monsters for making a mother a stranger in her sons eyes.