Stalker

I lifted my left arm up as high as I could and waved to Georgia as she made her way up the hill at the entrance of our school.
A “cool” girl looked at me and asked in a ‘what-the-hell-you-weirdo’ tone: “What's with your hand?”
I looked at her, opened my mouth to tell her but froze.
She wouldn’t understand – she’s too cool.
I closed my mouth, shook my head and smirked.
“Don’t worry, it’s a long story.”

I never fully mentally recovered from the attack. Even after some months, I still feared to read messages, whether they be text or on msn, when they came.
When I walked down the same alley, I still feared that a car was going to stop and come guy with a knife will come out and chase me.
I feared that someone was watching me; I froze every time someone called my name.
I knew that in that topic I was paranoid, and I accepted it. I understood that it would be a long time for me to get over it fully, if I ever did.
Physical recovering was a different story. Everything healed back together perfectly, I was able to run around as much as I could before, but my stabbed arm was the worst.
I could hardly lift it any higher than my waist and moving and rotating it at the shoulder pained me like crazy. Sometimes, randomly, it would scream with pain or even the slightest wrong movement caused tears to spring to my eyes.
It took me more than five months to recover from but even after that, some of the movement in it was limited.
When I was stabbed there, the knife ripped some of my muscles and damaged them permanently, while the other ones healed.
I came out of the hospital a different person. The incident, the stabbing, it scarred me for life.
At school, I stayed the same but when I walked down the street, I was different.
Strangers that came near me, I backed away from.
Nice looking guys, I was suspicious off.
And I never, ever, judged a person by what he looked like anymore.
Yes, my ranking did drop, but by only a bit.
I almost never told anyone the real story, so hardly anyone knew.
When people asked why I couldn’t lift up my left arm higher than my waist, I said that I ripped a muscle whilst playing some sport and it now won't heal properly. And people believed that story. It was reasonable. It wasn’t like someone was going to believe the real one…I had to give it to them, they were close-minded, didn’t think outside the box, couldn’t imagine what I went through and let it go just as a simple made up thing.
But I knew what happened, I was there.
I experienced it all.