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Loving her, so much, she literally made me go crazy. Every second, minute, hour, of the day, every day, I crave her touch, scent, her voice, every time I'm away from her. My fingers itch just to touch her, make love to her...
I will kill anyone who comes near her, put their hands on her, or hurt her. She is mine, and only mine. Sometimes I know she will try to ignore me, she says I can be a bother, but I cant help I want to be with her.
I know that she likes me. Her touch and kiss make it obvious. She would always look at me with no hesitation, and tell me, "Baby, it's yours". And I tell her, "You need to own that shit"
I know she only tells me things that I want to hear. And I'm oblivious to what I need to hear.
I love her, but she only likes me. And knowing that she doesn't love you back, makes it worse...
-Chresanto August
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Her father thought he could cheat me. Borrow what wasn't his, disappear, and leave nothing but a trail of debt in his wake. Men like him never learn-there's always a cost, always someone left to bleed for their mistakes. He thought it would be him. Instead, it's her. His daughter. At first, she was nothing but a message. A way to make him suffer, even if he never came back to see it. I broke her down the way I break everything-piece by piece, scream by scream. I wanted her fear, her pain, the ruin in her eyes every time I came close. She hated me, and I fed on it. That's all I believed in: control, power, the reminder that I own what others abandon. But somewhere between her sobs and her defiance, she changed the rules. She fought me, and I should have killed her for it. Instead, I wanted more. She cried, and instead of silencing her, I listened. She looked at me, even in terror, and for the first time in my life I couldn't look away. I don't believe in love. I never have. Love is weakness, a lie people tell themselves before the knife comes out. But she... she's different. She's sharp where she should be soft. Brave when she should be broken. She makes me hunger in ways that no amount of blood or vengeance ever could. I meant to ruin her. To make her pay for the sins of her father. Now I want to claim her as mine. Not because of love-no, I don't use that word. I don't trust it. But because she drags something out of me I thought was dead. Something dangerous. She wasn't supposed to matter. But she does. And if I have to chain her, break her, and rebuild her until she finally sees me the way I see her, then so be it. She'll be my wife. My possession. My salvation. Even if I have to destroy her first.
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