𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 (Ash Trilogy #3) ✔️

10

Once again, I find my nights haunted by the woman I cannot have.

I haven't kissed her, I haven't held her the way in which I crave. It feels as if I'm having withdrawals from an addiction I haven't yet experienced. All of my nights I think about the girl who never thinks of me. 

I've gone through about three pens so far while writing this. I only write in black. The cursive letters fill page after page, and as I flip through it, I realize that it's almost completely about Snow. Almost completely about a girl who hates me.

She sits in front of me, listening to the professor. I know he is saying something important yet I couldn't force my eyes off of her if it meant curing myself of the world's worst sickness. 

That's what I am. A sickness. I've killed. Stalked. I know that no matter what I did, I would never deserve the girl in front of me that plays with the ends of her white skirt.

An obsession, a one-way obsession, that's what this is. I prove myself to be more and more pathetic every single day. 

When she turns her head, her jewelry reflects off the light. I get a whiff of the perfume that may as well be my version of a cigarette. 

"You're driving us," she whispers to me, referring to the movie we were going to see after this class. I nearly smile at her demand.

"Don't worry, princess. I'd never let you drive, anyway. I plan to have a family in the future," I whisper back, and she gives me one of her famous eye-rolls. I find that everything - even basic things - are done better by Snow. Talking, laughing, giving sarcastic remarks. She does it all better.

The professor claps his hands together and says loudly, "Okay, that's it for today. Remember, your projects are due in a few weeks so you should be actively working on them."

In all honesty, I could've had this project done in one singular day by myself. Schoolwork has never been a challenge for me. But with this project, I work slowly. Almost too slowly. I'm dragging it out, trying to make it last as long as possible, so that I have more time with Snow.

"Are you ready?" I ask her, both of us walking out of the lecture hall at the same speed. "Do you need to get anything from your dorm first?"

"Nope," she shakes her head. "I've got my wallet, my water bottle - oh, and a gun to shoot myself in the head with if I get too bored."

She speaks in a tone drenched with fake sweetest. It makes the corners of my mouth twitch up. Neither she nor I mutter even a word about the cupcake I left her, as if it had never happened, but both of us knew it very well did. 

I notice a nervous look begin to form on her face as we reach my car. She just stands there, beside the passenger-side door, looking to the side with her brows tugged together in worry. 

"What?" I ask her, a breeze sending her silky hair behind her shoulders. Her brown eyes meet mine again.

"Marcel just can't know about this, okay?" she raises her brows and stresses, anxiously tapping her finger against the car.

Marcel, Marcel, Marcel. It's gotten to the point where I feel physically ill hearing that guy's fucking name. The fact that she's still with him after that argument the other day sends both annoyance and disappointment throughout my veins. 

"Yea, fine. Whatever," I say in an unbothered tone, even though I'm fucking bothered. 

She nods. We both get into my car, the CD that I had in playing throughout the entire car. 

"This is the kind of music you like?" she asks, gesturing toward the speaker. "I wouldn't have taken you as an alternative guy. Maybe screamo."

I roll my eyes and ignore her words while driving. She questions, "Do you go to this theatre a lot? With your friends."