Obsessed.

Something about her drives me mad. The way she looks in a black dress with her hour glass figure, her eyes, lips, legs; the way she puts her lipstick on, the way she blots, breathtaking. She drives me crazy. I have to know what she is doing and who she is doing it with. I have to know everything about her, even if it means following her every move, recoding her every move. Everything this she has ever worn is on my walls. Close ups of her blues eyes, the curve of her upper lip, the crinkle of her nose when she laugh, the furrowing of her eyebrows when she gets angry, is captured.

And when the opportunity came, I grabbed her. She would finally be mine.

“Why do you look frighten?” I asked her as she lied on my bed, both arms and legs tied to the posts, her mouth gagged. Her black mascara was running down her cheeks, her cherry red lipstick smeared a little. I ran my fingers down her naked body, feeling the skin I wanted to touch for so long. I took out my camera and took a picture. She closed her blue eyes and started crying.

“Sh, sh, shh, don’t cry,” I said as I sat down next to her and caressed her cheek.

“It’s okay. I will never hurt you. Now, I’m going to take out the gag and I want you to tell me that you love me. Say ‘I love you, Steve.’ Okay?” She nodded. I took out the gag and she started screaming. I wrapped my hands around her neck. I squeezed until she went limp. I sighed and rubbed her cheek.

She will never leave me.

I love her.