text:  
  
  As soon as you ask him, the goblin laughs. It’s a liquid, disgusting sound. “What kind of story do you think this is? I’m not his goblin. Also, it's 2016--fight your own battles, missy.”
  
  
   
  > You nope, not dying here. Let him follow you.
   
  
  So he follows you. He follows you to your boyfriend’s apartment--to the living room where you make small talk about your trip, into the bathroom while you pee, to the dining room where there is a lovely dinner prepared, into the bedroom where you and your boyfriend sleep. He follows you everywhere, little eyes tracing your every move.
  
  
  Finally, you decide to fight him. It’s like fighting air.
  
  
  You try to ignore him. Sometimes it works, but mostly it doesn’t. You can’t sleep. You can’t relax with friends. You can’t even kiss Keith without getting uncomfortable.
  
  
  Your friends notice your awkwardness, and Keith gets tired of being pushed away. Your grades suffer. You’re alone more and more--alone with it. After about a year, your mind can’t take it anymore. It lets go.
  
  
  With medication, you become a mindless--if peaceful--mental patient. But whenever they take you off it enough for you to notice your surroundings, what you see is the goblin. Because he never leaves. 