Possessive

I don’t think you ever get over the death of someone who’s taken up space in your soul

The way he speaks to me simultaneously strikes a bit of fear in my heart and heats my blood with lust.

Obsession may be the wrong word. I think possessive is better. She’s mine. My reason to move on from what happened before. My desire for more. My only way to cope.

He left me breathless and wanting, and that’s a hard temptation to run away from.

grief doesn’t know time. It comes and goes as it pleases, then small things taunt it back into your life. The memories haunt you forever and carry the grief with them.

He might have been her first, but I’ll ruin her.

I’ll make her mine and make her forget about any other man who’s touched her.

Hearing that hauntingly sweet voice say my name as if it’s the only word meant to fall from her lips is everything I’ve ever wanted. Fucking music to my ears.

My name. She’s gasping my name. She’ll scream it too.

My family may have sheltered her.

I killed for her.