I walk past them and his eyes follow me with a carefully trained precision. It's his outright blatantness that bothers me; some of the other guys sneak furtive glances now and again, but I know I never have to worry about them. Whenever I give them a direct look they avert their eyes instantly. But Paul just can't be fought. It's as though he doesn't even have a brain. He's just a drooling corpse with moving eyes.

He watches me as I walk into the kitchen, everyone else remaining focused on the computer screen. I just want to walk over and punch him in the face, or scream at him to fuck off, but I know neither would help because I've tried both. Just the act of making a sandwich takes on a sickening sexual quality, simple actions like raising my arm to open the cupboard or leaning over to reach for the bread filling me with an uneasy sense of self-awareness. If this keeps up I'm going to have to find some way to get him. I don't know how exactly, but I'll make him hate me so much that he won't be able to look at me without feeling angry. If he hated me, if he just wanted to kill me, I could deal with that. Then I'd be on some kind of platform to fight him, because if it came down the crunch I know that I could kill him first. The way it is now, I don't know what to do. The best I can hope is that maybe he'll get hit by a truck, or be blinded in some random accident.

I take a bite from my sandwich and look at him through the open doorway. His eyes eventually move from my breasts to my eyes, and we spend a moment staring at each other as I slowly chew my food. No understanding is passed between us; I can't even imagine what's going on in his mind. Probably nothing more than a vague wish that I'll spontaneously pull off my shirt.

A couple of years ago I got the idea that if I actually gave him what he wanted, it might scare him off. My brother had gone out to pick someone up, so Paul and I were alone in the house. I was going to be slow and cool about it, but I was too anxious to put my plan into effect. I walked over to him and slung my arms around his neck, looked him straight in the eyes and whispered, "You'd like to see me naked, wouldn't you?" It was completely tactless, but it still would have gotten a reaction out of pretty much anybody. All Paul did was stare at me, with his same old look...

A sudden anger exploded in me, and I smashed him in the face as hard as I could, nearly tipping his chair over backwards, but he still didn't make a sound. As I stormed away I realized that he was probably watching my ass, and I wished more than ever that there were some way I could just make him stop. If he could see himself from my perspective for just one second, I'm sure that he'd kill himself. If he could just understand how absolutely worthless his entire life is, how pointless it is for him to carry on...

But I guess he's just stupid, pathetically content with who he is. He's got some kind of job, but I don't know what it is. He spends all his free time just hanging around with my brother, passing time while he waits for me to walk past. I finish my sandwich and give him another few seconds of my most piercing stare before walking upstairs, knowing that he's staring at me the entire time.

I really need to take a shower, just to relax. I gather up some clothes and lock the bathroom door, leaning against it for a moment to calm down. I pull off my shirt and hang it on the door handle, over the keyhole. I can't believe my bad luck that our house is actually old enough to have keyholes; just another aspect of my life that I've got to constantly play watchdog over.

I finish undressing and toss my clothes into the corner, then reach down to take off my watch. As I'm pulling at the strap I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and walk over to take a closer look. This happens sometimes; I'll start staring at myself for a few moments and find that I can't seem to stop. The force inherent in seeing my own face holds me there. I maneuver a bit closer, staring directly into my own eyes, then down to the tip of my nose and across the line of my jaw. A couple of minutes pass as I think about things, my mind wandering slowly, thoughts connecting to each other and wandering off on their own.

A soreness in my arm brings my focus back to the present, and I realize that I'm still pulling on my watch strap, but I don't move. I keep going over the lines of my face, absorbing the beauty of it, which has nothing to do with my youth – It's the way the muscles around my eyes are set, the way my eyebrows move, the way my thoughts are projected through every motion of my face. I wish that I could somehow carry this image with me into the rest of the world, into my day to day life outside of the mirror. If I could just remember these eyes, this mouth, everything would be alright. I could deal with anyone, I could never be hurt, if I could just remember the exact details of this face...

I step away from the mirror and finish taking off my watch, the exact details of my appearance eluding me instantly. I fight a small urge to look back at the mirror as I drop my watch next to the sink. Then I step into the shower and slide the glass door closed behind me.

I test the water before turning it up to full pressure, letting the liquid spray into my hands for a moment before I step forward. The water coats my hair and runs down my body, and it feels great. I stand still, letting it flow over me; I love this feeling so much that I can never seem to get out of the shower before the hot water runs out completely. It's an escape, really, a little prison for me to hide in for a while where nobody can get me.

I reach for the soap and make a token effort to clean myself, but I don't really have any interest in the activity. I close my eyes, concentrating of the feel of the water, and imagine that I'm in the rainforest. Not the real rainforest with the animals and the bugs, but a totally empty one, just me, the trees and the dirt. I pretend that the shower is really rain, and I lie down in the warm mud and relax, feeling safe and enclosed under the dark sky.

In a few minutes I open my eyes and find myself still in the shower, curled up on the floor. The water continues to beat down pleasantly as I stare at the side of the bathtub. I concentrate closely on its texture, losing myself in its whiteness, using an arm to shield my eyes from the spray of water. After a while I close my eyes again.

I had a dream a few days ago, about me and a man who I was in love with. We were sitting in the grass next to a stream; I leaned across his back, my arms hanging gently around his neck, smiling. He told me things I had never heard anyone say about me, but that I knew were true the moment he said them. I can't remember exactly what they were, but it made me so happy to finally have someone identify them, the things that were right there, but that no one had the foundation to notice.

Later in the dream we were together in my bedroom. I was wearing a pair of pajamas, and I felt like an embarrassed child. I was even holding a teddy bear at first, but it got lost in the flow of the dream. He stood in front of me, naked, but it didn't seem strange at all. I didn't even really notice it; I was concentrating more on my own sense of awkwardness. He smiled at me and his hands reached out, his fingers undoing the top button of my pajama top. He moved his way down, quickly and efficiently, looking at my eyes and telling me that I didn't need these clothes anymore, and the next thing I knew I was naked. I was naked standing in front of him, looking at his eyes, and I felt totally free and completely at ease. Then a small twinge of awareness grew in my belly, the realization that he was seeing me without clothes, and I felt even better. I smiled up at him and he took me in his arms, and I've never had a happier moment in my entire life. I laid my head against his chest and smiled against his skin. I wish there was some way I could go back and stay there, away from all the people who wouldn't understand the things I was feeling at all.

It was a weird dream, because I never have dreams like that. I don't read romance novels, I don't watch relationship movies, I haven't even had a crush on anyone since junior high school. This dream just came out of nowhere, and it's the best dream I've ever had. I just sit, thinking about it, thinking about that man and wondering where he is, if he really exists and how I'll ever find him. I feel like, even if I were born a boy, I'd want to find him. I don't think I'd become lovers with him, but I'd still love him, I'd make sure that we were best friends so that I'd never have to be too far from him.

I open my eyes and sit up, placing my head on my knees. I concentrate on the feeling of the water against my back as I rock myself gently back and forth. I realize that there's a frown on my face, and wonder how such a great dream could make me feel this bad. I lift my head from my knees and let the water run across my face for a second, until the strength of it becomes too much and I have to turn my head to the side. I don't want to get out, but I can feel the temperature of the water slowly changing, and I know I'll have to leave soon. It's better if I just jump out and dry off right away, but I can't do that today. I put my head back on my knees and concentrate on the slowness of my breathing, the water on my back getting cooler and cooler. I decide to wait, and see how much coldness I can take.