Possessive by Lena Little

4

Paul

The second I enter my apartment I lose it. My fist goes straight through the wall, the drywall not standing a chance. I grab a chair and heave it against the wall, then upend the couch, tossing it so hard the edge hits the mirror on the wall, shattering it and sending glass shards everywhere.

I flip the couch over like it’s a tire in a CrossFit strong man competition. And then I collapse onto it, head in hands.

A full minute passes before I survey the damage. Who cares? Possessions can be replaced. She can’t.

I reach for my sketchbook and start drawing her, drawing her with the tattoo we’ve started, but one she clearly thinks isn’t worthy of a return visit to finish. Nobody runs out on a tattoo and comes back, not that the idea of someone darting from a tattoo parlor is a normal occurrence.

Cold feet and second thoughts before starting the process? Sure. But once that first bit of ink hits the skin there’s no going back. At least I didn’t think so, but apparently Poppy has a different idea. It makes sense, right? She’s different in every way so why would I expect her to act like a ‘normal’ woman? I wouldn’t and I don’t. Normal is boring. Normal is a house in the suburbs, risk aversion in all facets of life, and tepid sex. Fuck that.

I want passion, intensity, and everything that goes along with it’s…just not this.

My hand moves rapidly across the page, as my death grip on the pencil snaps it. I reach for another, my arm shaking as anger tightens bolts in my corded neck. I’m so pissed I took things so fast with her, and look where it got me? A little slice of heaven and now a whole lotta hell.

She was clearly a virgin. Hell, I doubt she’s even put a pinkie finger deeper than my tongue’s gone.

My lips pull back in a snarl, spittle building up in the corners of my mouth.

“Fuck!” The guttural roar leaves me as I tip back my head and stare up at the ceiling. “Where are you, little girl?” I ask the universe, whispering a prayer I didn’t know I had in me.

I can barely breathe, my heart in my throat at the thought that I upset her. I grab my sketchbook again and begin drawing her perfect form, but it doesn’t help to relieve my stress…it only makes me miss her more.

Why did I get into a pissing contest with Tommy back at the shop when I should have been having her fill out a consent form, which is mandatory in the first place? Then I’d have her contact info and wouldn’t be in this mess. Then again, letting Tommy, and the whole world know she’s mine was the first matter of business. First. Middle. Last.

That’s exactly why I’m not going to go underground to try and find her. I’m not using my lower than a snake’s belly connections to try and locate her. That just gives the biggest degenerates in town a challenge, someone they think they can steal away from me and use to weaken me. And they’d be right about weakening me, but dead wrong if they thought they could take what’s mine.

I’m already weak as it is, exhausted just thinking where she might be. I jerk my phone from my pants pocket and look through the obituaries from the last few days. There are plenty of older women who died, which is unfortunate for them and their families. Is she making me feel? Making me more…human?

I shake off the thought and focus on what needs to be done. Tomorrow I’ll go to the courthouse and pull what records and information I can about these women, try and see who their next of kin are. That should help me locate exactly what I need. Her. And then make her understand she’s my next of kin from now on.

Moving to the kitchen I pour myself two fingers of whiskey. It’s gonna be a long night and I need something to try and put me to sleep, even though I know there’s no way I’m going to catch a lick of shut eye. Not when I know she’s out there alone, and even worse she’s by herself because of me.

I rushed things when I should have moved slower. Should have taken my time. But how could I not when I laid eyes on the woman of my dreams? And I’m not even the kind of man who dreams. Why would I want to considering my past and what subconscious images it might drag up?

But the past isn’t my future. My future is her. And I see a family and everything that goes along with it, just as soon as I find her.

And I will. Because she belongs to me. Only me.