I keep telling myself that I'm not some creep that spies on girls, but I can't help it with Harper. She just draws me in, leaves me guessing. After that first time that I saw her, I couldn't get her out of my head. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. All that I could think about was her. So I decided to search the internet. No harm, no foul, right? I mean, you can look up practically anything on the internet. It's just an endless fountain of information. Well, maybe endless is the wrong word.

It didn't take me long to find her last name. The Bellevue Bugle provides a directory of all their employees and, as it happens, the list is available to the public. Who knew it would be so easy to stalk someone? At least, that's what I thought. After hours of scanning and clicking, I still couldn't find anything about Harper Torres. There was no Facebook profile or a blog about her life. She didn't have an Instagram account or a Twitter. Mysterious as she was, it only made me want her more. Maybe it's the chase or maybe I'm just a fucking psychopath, but all I know is that I want to know everything about her. Every. Single. Thing.

By the time I'd found something about Harper it had been almost six hours. One lone article sat on my computer screen.

Ithaca Family In Disastrous Car Accident

And then I saw her for the second time. She was a much younger version of the woman I met, maybe 17 or 18 years old. There were photos of a mangled car and two more pictures accompanied Harper's, Ben and Marie Torres. She was a spitting image of her mother and Ben, who I assumed was her brother, looked nothing like either of them. Maybe he looks like their father? There was no mention of a father in the article, nor was I able to find any information about him online.

After reading the piece over and over and leeching it of information, I had learned tons of information about Harper Torres. The most obvious bits being that she, her mother and her brother were in a car accident. At the time, they were living in Ithaca, New York. I wondered what brought her to Bellevue, Washington, all the way from New York. Maybe something happened after the accident and she just needed to get out of there. Maybe it was the work at The Bugle that brought her here. Maybe she'd had a falling out with her family. No matter the reason, I was determined to find out what it was.

The writer for this particular article was subpar, if you ask me. To this day, I have a copy of it saved onto my computer. I've rewritten the piece countless times. Don't ask me why. But every time I rewrite it, I put myself in Harper's shoes. She's a teenage girl who just got her learner's permit from the DMV. She's absolutely elated to be driving a car for the first time. Her mother, although apprehensive, is exceedingly proud of her. Her annoying little brother pesters her from the back seat, distracting her. Before she knows it, the 73' Dodge Polara is wrapped around an oak tree. Ben was in critical condition for weeks and Marie has been paralyzed from the waist down ever since.

Imagine having a weight like that on your shoulders. For the rest of her life, she has to carry that regret. And all I want to do is help take away that pain, even if for a moment. I can't be that bad of a person, right? Anyone that wants to help someone has to be somewhat good. Right?