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I decide then that I have to taste her before I kill her.
My brain goes back and forth between wanting to drive to the cottage and stab my knife into her chest and wanting to fuck her. Sometimes, I imagine doing both at the same time, which is even more jarring.
I like this side of her. I want to pull it out and bottle it up to carry around with me. To shrink the image of her right now down into my locket and wear it around my neck.
This man has all but admitted to obsessively stalking me, and I’m relieved that he’s at least single while he does it.
