Obsession

1

Still, my gaze remains upon her, ever since her entrance. She is a captivating young woman, appearing to be in her early twenties by her youthful skin, with innocent eyes. The woman is unaware that I am watching, but it's as if she knew as she flaunted her small frame in her promiscuous black dress. Her legs are smooth and bare, glowing somewhat from the glare of the yellow-toned lights above us, making her skin dewy. She wore black heels to exaggerate her height, and I presume without them, she stands at least five foot seven - a tall woman. I wish to approach her, but I do not. Instead, I keep my eyes locked upon her. I claim her, there and then. I decide that she is mine. I decide that she is the one for me and any man who dares to step within her vicinity shall wish they never crossed me, for I am a force not to be reckoned with. I am not afraid to hurt someone again for taking what is rightfully mine; I feel no remorse for my previous actions. She is my fresh start, my muse. I am certain.

My eyes widen with greed the moment she struts my way, swaying her hips with passion, those of a nineties supermodel. She is bold. She licks her lips as she leans over the bar. I am lustful. So badly, I wish to stand behind her and pull her body flush against mine by the waist. I fantasise about taking her out of this place as she scans over the menu board, longing for a new beverage to taste.
"A virgin tequila sunrise, please." she begs, batting her dark lashes.
Virgin. She is pure. Just by looking at her, I would've assumed she was a reckless party girl. The kind of girl that moves to California for a good time, hopping bars the way she hops her men. But I had gotten my estimate incorrect - she is sluttier than I thought. She dresses for male affirmation, she dresses like a whore, completely conscious of it. She is a bad girl.
"Thank you." the woman smiles whilst clutching the glass tightly and taking a sip.
A bad girl with good manners. A freak in bed. My lip becomes victim to the harsh bite from my teeth; I am enticed.

She lingers around the bar, her posture is perfected, lady-like, but I know she is no lady. It's as if she felt my gaze and she was showing off just for me - a private show, a striptease. It appears to me that she had came alone and unaccompanied, with no real reason to be here. She stood out like a sore thumb, looking so lost, yet patient, as though she had been stood up by some douche from a dating app that just wanted a meaningless fuck. I wondered to myself if she frequently visited the bar on her own and I debated her purpose within my head. It cannot be safe. A woman dressed so scandalously on her own in the early hours of the morning. She is prone to encounter sickos. She is prone to danger, and therefore it is my duty to protect her.

Suddenly, she is tapped on the shoulder by a harsh hand that she is unfamiliar with. Her body jolts. She is startled, "Gosh, you scared me. Can I help you?"
The man is of her height and bears a skin-crawling aura. He appears stern and stubborn, just like the few stray hairs upon his head that repulsed the thick layers of hair gel he had lathered so carelessly.
"You're pretty." the man remarked, gliding his sharp knuckles against the beauty's bare cheek.
She didn't blush, nor did she take a step back, "Thank you."
She uses her manners once again. A bad girl. She thrives in danger and she believes the encounter gives her opportunity to tease as she runs her painted fingernails through her head of silky hair. A bad girl. She is flirting, when any other good girl would walk away. I took note that she must be observed even closer than before, and so I stood up from the barstool in which I was sat and made my way over to the other side of the room, aligning myself diagonally from the predator and his victim - my woman.
"I see you around here often," he half-smiles, "you must love the attention."

I am dreaming of tearing him apart - limb by limb. My eyes are blinded with visions of bloody execution. Murder. How dare he speak to my girl in such a way, with such wicked intentions that she is unaware of. She is not drunk, yet she is vulnerable. Her naivety is shining through her emerald eyes, and he sees it. He wishes to make a hooker out of her. He wishes to use her like a cheap whore and she is not afraid. She is a bad girl and I must teach her a lesson.