Obsessed by Ever Lilac

 

 

 

4

 

 

Stanmore

 

I could barely keep it together yesterday when Amber walked into the living room, wearing her little pajama set, looking good enough to eat. First I thought she was going to get angry that I was invading on her privacy.

But instead she walked closer, driving me crazy at the feel of her being right next to me. So close that I could touch her, fist her hair and run my tongue wherever there is a pulse on her body.

She played for me. She wanted my eyes on her at all times.

She’s unaware that they already are on her at all times. I’m preoccupied with her, I eat, sleep and breathe her. She’s taken over every part of me and made it hers.

I’m already all hers. All 6.3 of me and now I just need to make her mine. All 5.4 of her with pretty lips and generous hips.

Living with her, has made me learn things about her I wouldn’t have known otherwise. Her favorite newspaper is the Chicago Tribune, she’s allergic to red wine, almost only watches dating shows and laughs so hard at dirty jokes that she gets a hiccup. 

She hates having the windows shut in the house, always preferring to leave them open even when it rains and she loves laundry day. And for some reason she doesn’t freak out, when she finds me doing things I shouldn’t.

Yesterday she caught me red handed. I wasn’t looking for a file, I was looking for something else but I couldn’t find it. There’s a question I need answered. One that’s been plaguing me for months.

The problem is that she’s usually in the house, making it hard for me to search through every corner. She’s in the shower right now and I should be in her bedroom but just for a couple of minutes I can’t help but to lean against the bathroom door, lean my cheek against the frame and close my eyes in delirium.

Steam seeps out of the crack, the smell intoxicating and I run my tongue over my teeth, imagining licking and swallowing her. I know she’d be all silky, no rough edges anywhere. Smoothness.

There’s nothing sharp about her, nothing harsh. She’s soft. And that’s why she needs me. She’s the diamonds on the handle of a dagger and I’m the blade, striking down on anything and anyone that tries to harm her.

If anything happens to her I’ll...I freeze when she lets out a shriek and there’s a thumping sound and I pound my fist on the door.

“Amber!” I bark and there’s a second, smaller shriek that makes me grind my jaw from worry. “Are you alright?”

“F...fine,” she stutters, doing nothing to calm me and I drag a ragged breath.

“You don’t sound fine,” I frown. “Open the door and let me see.”

“Can`t,” she answers, “think I’ve cracked open my skull.”

What the...”Amber, I’m kicking the door in, stand back...”

“No, stop!” A stream of sniggers reach my ears. “I’m kidding, it’s nothing. I just dropped my soap then slipped a little.”

“Did you fall, hurt yourself anywhere?”

“Ego’s pretty bruised.” She lets out another titter before taking a breath and relief floods me that she’s okay but I would have preferred if she didn’t play with me like that. “What are you doing outside the bathroom?”

Hell, how do I explain this away...?

“I was downstairs when I heard your scream and I rushed upstairs,” I try, hoping she’ll accept it. There’s a slight pause before there’s a response.

“Wow, you’re pretty fast then,” she murmurs and I graze my lip with my teeth.

“Used to run a ton when I was younger.” Not a lie, I’d been chased by thugs with knives and guns until I learned how to defend myself. “But if you’re sure you don’t need anything, I’ll let you finish your shower and I’ll go to bed.”

“Kay. Good night...Stan.”

I love it when she says my name like that, softly but with enough sultriness to drive me mad. And then when I finally get her to be mine, I’ll make her say my name like that over and over. Only that then, she’ll be screaming it.

Amber’s taking her time in the bathroom, the water still running which is good because I need to search her room. I tried doing it yesterday but she was in there almost the whole day, playing on her cello.

I frown when I remember that she didn’t technically play. More like played around and then it was silent in there for hours. My brilliant, little cellist is blocked. But I’ll make sure she loosens up within time. With her music and with me.

Walking into her bedroom, I inhale the smell of her that seems to be sticking to the walls. Leaning my head back I pull in as much as I can down my lungs. Her room reminds me of her, clean and polished with a queen sized bed and linen curtains in the window. 

She left a pile of her clothes on the floor before walking into the shower and I pick up her skirt, smelling it, breathing the area that crinkled up in between her legs. Smells like concentrated ecstasy and I grind my teeth when my mouth waters with need.

Walking over to one of her drawers, I open it, finding neat rows of lingerie and picking up one of her thongs, I imagine it decorating her spiffy ass. The colors remind me of jewels, emerald green, ruby red...

They’d look like pieces of art on her feathery skin. Skin that I can’t wait to brand with little love bites.

Skin that will only ever feel my teeth and my claws and nobody else’s, I’ll familiarize her with my touch, make her used to it, make her addicted. I want her undone, so greedy for me that every day that I come home from work I want to find her naked in my bed, baring the most intimate part of her to me.

Her body needs to be exposed. Her heart exposed. No walls between us. Not like there are now.

But if I’m going to have that, I’m going to have to tell her the truth about me. Tell her who I really am and that I have come for her. Then I want her to welcome me with open arms. No pushing away.

No fucking pushing away. Ever. She can’t do that to me.

It would kill me. Make me feel like I’m under water again. Drowning. But this time there wouldn’t be no surface. No surface without her. No air. Only a choking stone cold, that would paralyze me from the inside.

I drag a ragged breath and close the drawer before walking over to her desk and sit down in front of her computer. Her desk is spotless but still personable, a yellow, plastic flower, a half-eaten tootsie roll and a small stack of books and I throw a glance at the titles.

Dracula, Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde... They look untouched and no wonder because the books in her bookshelf are all Amish romance and women’s fiction. It makes a smile pull at my lips at her attempt to bring something with more of a bite into her life.

She thinks she has to because she’s insecure. Because some asshole has told her, her music isn’t good enough. I want to crush anyone who’s against her in my fist. Give them what they deserve.

My eyes return to the screen and I search for her website. I’m already familiar with it. I’ve read every one of her blog posts several times. So many times that I’ve almost memorized them.

I know her dream and aspiration is to play abroad. I know her dream is to be signed. I know she gets stressed whenever she’s had a bad concert and that she always comforts herself with a bowl of pistachio ice cream.

But I’ve never had access to her website this way before, never been in this much control. And maybe that was a good thing because I do not fucking like what I see.

Bile rises in my throat when I read her inbox. There are messages from men, asking her to take off her clothes when she’s on stage the next time, asking her to spend a night with them in exchange for money.

Asking her to send them pictures of her c...my fists clench in fury...cunt.

Their words make my heart hammer in my chest, throwing a haze over my eyes. There’s so many of them. Did she read them? She must have. She must have read what they think of her, what they want from her.

Want what’s mine and grabbing one of her pens, I shove the tip into my palm, making it hurt just to make sure that I don’t destroy the computer. I feel that familiar shove in my chest that pushes me to take action and it takes all my willpower to not throw the computer out the window.

I decide to just delete every message coming from a male, cursing every single one of them as every one of their disgusting messages disappear. But it doesn’t end there. There are messages from women too.

Jealous ones. Messages that are green with envy. Wounding.

I can’t have Amber reading them. It’s bad for her and knowing how sensitive she is right now, I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed someone to hurt her like this.

Seeing no other option, I terminate the domain.

When the question “are you sure?” pops up on the screen, a satisfied grin spreads over my face and I click on yes. She’s safe now. Shielded. 

The website disappears, a feeling of calm spreading in my body, leveling out some of the raging jealousy I felt when reading those messages.

A jealousy I can’t ever let myself feel again. It’s dangerous. An entity of its own that even I can’t control. Getting up, I search through the rest of her room but I don’t find what I’m looking for and I let out a low curse.

Where the hell did she hide them? I need to find them. Are they even in her house? I need to know...

A low humming travels into the room from the hallway and I go rigid. She’s out of the shower and she’s going to walk in any second and I’m still here.

She can’t find me like this. I wouldn’t be able to give her a good explanation. To my annoyance she doesn’t have a closet where I can hide and having no other choice, I dive under her bed. There’s a fluffy sheet on her mattress, the frill going almost all the way down to the floor and giving me a good cover.

I don’t breathe when I catch her walking in, leaving wet footprints over the floorboard and her ankles look so clean, that I almost brush my knuckles against them. She’s still humming to herself and I bite my tongue when she drops the towel.

Torture. An exquisite pain ripping me up from the inside.

I’d refrain from water for days, just to catch a glimpse of her, satiate the curiosity that’s been plaguing me. Finally knowing whether she is all smooth or fuzzy like a sweet peach between her legs, knowing whether her breasts would feel heavy or light as air in my hands.

My fists clench, my teeth driving so far into my lip that I taste a trace of blood. Want her so damn much. Would kill for her. Ruin myself for her.

Her humming stops as she’s standing by her desk and she lets out a small gasp. It fills the room like a shocked scream and I tense, wondering what’s gotten her so bothered...For a while I think that maybe she hurt herself, stepped on something or pushed against a hard edge and it nearly brings me out of my hiding place.

“Hey G, it’s me,” she says seconds later, sounding perplexed and panting a little. I lift my head to be able to hear her more clearly.

She’s talking on the phone with someone. I’m assuming G is that manager of hers.

“So you know that I always obsessively check my website?” Pause. “Yes, I know it’s bad for me but that’s not why I’m calling.”

Pause and I can hear some yapping on the other side.

“Listen, the website has crashed or something. I can’t find it anymore.” Pause. “Why is this happening now...no, I swear I didn’t touch anything. Aha, all gone.”

“My roommate?”

I freeze.

“Why would he have anything to do with it?” She sighs. “Come on G, why do you always think the worst of people?”

I did it to help her. Shelter her.

“No, he’s great actually. He’s really...”

Her voice fills up with emotion and I stop breathing, waiting for her response.

“Nice.”

Nice? That’s it. Nice?

“He’s so gentle. Caring. No it’s not a bad thing, I like that about him but there’s just something about him. Almost like he’s holding back a part of himself, some...secret he wants to tell me but can`t....I know I sound crazy now, let’s just hang up and forget I said anything.”

“Kissed? No we haven’t kissed,” she almost squeals. “And I’m hanging up now. Make sure to get the website fixed. Bye G. Love you.”

Cut. A trace of jealousy spikes in me.

Sighing, she mutters something to herself about the website then crosses the floor over to her bed. My eyes squeeze when she sinks down on the mattress, letting out a comfortable moan that shoots straight through my brain.

I feel her moving around on top of me, bury herself in between her frilly covers and cushions and I press down on my shaft with the heel of my palm, gritting my teeth. I listen to her inhales and exhales, counting her breaths.

They’re deep. Relaxed. Good, I don’t want her to have any fears. Or nightmares.

And she won’t, now that she has a guardian monster under her bed.