Page 50 of Adam
It had a voice. It carried weight. Started sounding different every time I heard it.
It crawled into my skull like a melody I couldn’t stop humming.
And the more I heard it, the more it felt right.
It wasn’t something I was called.
It was something Iwas.
Hours later, my heart’s still racing. I’ve tried everything to calm it, but sleep won’t come. The thoughts won’t stop, but it’s not the past that’s haunting me anymore.
Now it’s the present.
Where I am.
What my life’s turned into.
It’s been a week of playing it cool, holding my shit together for her, around her, because of her. A fucking week of holding back, and it’s eating me alive.
And every night I’m jerking off like some desperate freak, getting off to the thought of her mouth, her voice, the way shewalks past like she’s not dragging me behind her by the cock. Fucking pathetic.
A week of telling myself to back off. A week of failing hard. I can’t stop circling, listening in like some creep, trying to figure out what the hell her father meant. “If anyone touches her, she dies.”
The fuck does that mean? Is it some threat? A warning? Some twisted curse?
All I know is, the more I try to stay away, the worse it gets.
I’m not even sure if I wantheranymore, or if I just want to set this whole thing on fire and watch who crawls out of the wreckage.
I just want something to break. I want blood in the air, I want the silence gone, the twisted mess of it all to finally scream back.
Things aren’t well with me, that’s for damn sure. I have no idea what the fuck is happening, but I know one thing … I can’t stop thinking about her.
I feel the obsession growing inside me, sinking deeper every day. It’s constant, quiet, and it’s eating me from the inside out.
It has never happened before, and I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know if I even want to, or if I even can.
All I know is that I want her to bemine. I want to be constantly around her, I want to touch her, I want to make her feel uncomfortable, and I can’t stop picturing the moment that I’ll get inside her.
I keep thinking about fucking her—oh, how roughly I want to fuck her. Her screaming my name while I’m deep inside her, her nails digging into me, her body giving in whether she wants to or not.
What I do know is that I’ve started scaring her; I saw it in her eyes. I saw it in the way they changed from looking at me with bashfulness and security to looking at me with fear and doubt.
I’m not what she wants me to be. I’m not the hero she believes. I’m the monster who wants to devour her.
It’s been three days. Three days that she hasn’t left her room, obviously trying to avoid me. She didn’t pick up her phone either, and I tried quite a few times. God, how pathetic have I become? I started wondering … Doesn’t she have friends? How’s that even possible? Has she grown up so isolated and neglected that she’s lacking something so given as friends? Or maybe they’re still in Italy. Who knows?
After much internal conflict, I ended up at the stupidest decision to go to check on her and see whether she dares to look me in the eyes after what I did to that fucker.
Actually, he’s lucky he’s alive, but not for long. He’s successfully gained a spot on my long to-kill list. Lucky him.
I linger outside her door for a few seconds, trying to understand what she might be doing.
I hear absolutely nothing, which is just great for my nerves. Every instinct says to kick the door down, but no, I play the obedient little angel and knock like a good boy.
“Yes?”
Jackpot.
