This is not fiction. Everything you are about to read, and everything you will ever read on this fanfic is completely real. I have changed all of the names in order to protect my friends, but people need to realize that crazy stuff like this is happening. Those who know me know what I'm talking about.

I do not own Criminal Minds.

The Story of My Life

I guess it all started when we were in grade 9. You can go farther back if you want to get technical – but I've got some bad memories locked in that cellar and won't be going with you. Ninth grade seems to be the best place to start analyzing. Good year 200(insert # here), winter was short, I was top of my class, had lots of friends

And I got stalked by Brody Macklin.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that that was the downside.

Strange fellow, Macklin. Fit in like Scooby Doo at a rave. He was one of those tall, gangly, overgrown twelve year old sorts; One who you'd expect to start talking game boy at the first opportunity. Which he did, if you ever gave him the chance. Nobody at school really liked Brody at all, obviously, so he spent a lot of time laughing nervously at himself.

I admit it; I was never really nice to Brody. I was never out and out mean either – I actually felt kind of sorry for him on a theoretical level – I have a cousin with a map of the world of Zelda on his bedroom wall.

So, reminded vividly of Cole whenever Brody raked up enough courage to say 'hi' in the hallway (always preluded by an almost robotic 'ha ha' sound), I would smile back or be his badminton partner when no one else would. But even Cole couldn't stop me from snorting when Brody tripped over his own racket and dented the standard with his face (or dented his face with the standard, take your pick) every once in a while. I tolerated the guy on a sort of moral standard of not mocking geeks.

But being nice simply cannot go unrewarded, it seems, and with every badminton match, the somewhat normal situation started to crawl up the creepy scale.

I began to realize that Brody stared at me. A lot. Across the class mostly, and in the cafeteria, and the parking lot, and the grocery store, and while walking past my house. I don't know if I just got more aware of him, if I was seeing things, or if he really was following me… but he seemed to be everywhere.

Braver with time, Macklin started to walk right behind me in the crowded hallways, inch his desk closer to mine, and 'casually' stand beside my locker when I got my books. There wasn't a moment's peace. So finally, after 2 months of frequent and sudden detours to the girls' toilet, I got up the nerve to confront this Brody Macklin. No one had the right to play with my head like that.

I sped out of the bathrooms, ready to scour the entire building for him if I had to. But of course there was no need – he was standing directly outside of the lavatory entrance.

"Brody, can I talk to you?" I demanded in my 'polite' voice.

"Ha ha yeah sure ok." He stuttered in his 'totally collected' voice.

"Brody," I shoved my hands into my hoodie, trying very hard not to threaten him, yet still make my message clear, " I'm sure you're a nice guy and everything," not! "But I can't help but notice that lately you've been trying to get really close." I looked him in the eye steadily, hoping he was getting my 'quit following me' vibes.

His eyes narrowed. His back slowly straightened. His shoulders squared, and I swear that his hand twitched. Towards me.

One question had me staring at a completely different Brody.

"What do you mean by 'close'?"