Marked by Obsession

9.

I took the seat next to her, trying not to make it obvious how excited I was. It didn't seem to matter much to her but to me, it was a win.

She was wearing this grey set today— a mini skirt, covered by a thin sweater that clung just right. A black belt wrapping around her waist, pulling everything in.
I was supposed to be watching for her behaviour, but my eyes kept drifting lower, to the way the hem of her skirt barely brushed against her thighs.

She crossed her legs, and my throat felt dry.
The way the fabric fell so loosely over the tights hugging her skin so perfectly, made it hard to look anywhere else.
I told myself it was for the assignment, that I was just doing what I was supposed to, but it felt like an excuse.
She swiftly flipped her golden hair out of the way so she could begin writing, and it sent a wave of her perfume that had me inhale like I was an addict.
That scent— sweet, but not too much. I was breathing her in, and it was messing with my head.
I knew I was supposed to write down something useful, yet all I could think about was how terribly close she was, how I could just lean in and...

I stopped myself from getting lost in my obsessive world.
Had to get it back together.
I made a quick note, scribbling something vague about how she was sitting quietly, eyes focused on the task at hand.
It was a general description, nothing like the detailed explanation I was supposed to give.
I couldn't stop noticing how calm she looked, concentrated, she wasn't even hiding how relaxed she was.
Meanwhile, I was on edge.
Every little movement she made felt amplified, her scent still lingering in the air between us.
I let my pen hover over the page, I should have been writing more, but the only thing on my mind was her, right there, so close yet so far away.
That subtle tilt of her head as she was thinking of her own notes, it had me entranced, and then she suddenly met my gaze without warning.

It lingered, piercing, searching.
For a moment I felt like I couldn't even breathe, my heart stuttered.
It felt as though she was seeing through me.
She was analysing me, studying me for the assignment. I could see her trying to gauge my posture, my demeanour, the inner world of my mentality. Just like the professor instructed.
It was supposed to be clinical and yet, for me it was something far deeper.

That was the closest I've ever been to having her look at me the way I've always longed for.
I spent day and night thinking of how to be seen, and in that moment, with her eyes locked on mine, it felt like she finally was seeing me.
A spark flickered in my body, it was fear and desire, as if that moment could have changed everything.
My skin prickled, and I wondered if she could feel it too. I was so close to what I craved for— her attention— and it was intoxicating.
My breath came shallow, mind racing, and yet she never broke the moment. Didn't want to.
That's what I've been chasing all along, and now that I had it, I could hardly stand the weight of it.

Say something. Say something. Say something. Say something. Say something. Say something. Anything.

I wanted to speak, say something to break the silence.
"Your perfume... what's it called?" My voice came out lower than intended.
Marcy blinked at me, and then furrowed her brows for a moment as she tried to understand why I asked that.
"It's... Valentino. Why?"
I nodded, committing the name to memory, just like I had done with her phone number.
"Right. Valentino." I cleared my throat, had to try and impress her. Intrigue her.
"You see, sometimes people say the perfume someone wears can give you a hint towards their personality. Like, certain scents are tied to certain behaviours."
She was listening, paying attention to ME.

"Behaviours? Like what?" Her curiosity piqued, she leaned back in her seat while still looking at me with those blue irises burning my soul.
I felt a bit more confident, so I shrugged like it wasn't anything to consider much.
"Well, it's not always exact, but... for example, someone who likes floral scents might be drawn to things that feel elegant or calming. Or someone who picks scents that are spicy or musky could be more strong, maybe bolder in how they carry themselves."
Her brows raised slowly, a hint of a smile could be seen on the corner of her mouth.
I made it, I finally had her notice me for once.
"Huh. So you think you can read someone's behaviour based on the perfume they choose?"

I had so much fun talking to her, her voice was like an ointment to my aching spirit.
I grinned, genuinely. I tapped my pen on the desk, I guess it was some sort of bodily response to my enthusiasm.
"It's kind of like a pattern. People make choices based on what makes them feel comfortable, or what matches their vibe. Perfume's just one of those things. It's like... another layer of body language." I was so proud, and still am.
My baby nodded, she was so beautiful that I wanted to kiss her from how happy I was.
"That's so interesting! So, what would you say about me? Since you know my perfume now." Her eyes gleamed with a mix of curiosity and genuine intrigue over the topic.

I paused, wanted to think carefully before dishing out nonsense.
"You? Mh, if I think about it... this Valentino perfume is rich but subtle. It's got this sophistication, but there's something mysterious about it too. I'd say... you're probably one who doesn't show all the cards right away. You let people in when you want, but you keep them guessing."

She smiled.
God, she smiled. At me!
I still can't believe it. I was mesmerised by the sight.
"Wow. Not bad." She said, chuckling lightly, in a way that had me feel a trillion butterflies in my stomach.
"What about you? What do you wear?" Her smile widened.
If she could just look at me like that every day, I'd be the happiest man on earth.