Page 6
Story: Obsessed-
3
Amber
My new roommate has been living with me for three days. And thosethree days have gone better than I expected, making me triumphant because Gina was all wrong when she thought it was going to be troubling.
As suspected I like him having here and we’ve already slipped into a rhythm that’s entirely our own. Even if he’s the one busy for work, he lets me have the first shower in the morning and most of the warm water.
When I come down to the kitchen for my breakfast, he already has it ready, frozen berries and milk and ice coffee. He already knows what I like. He’s considerate. Kind.
And strong.
I try not to stare when he leaves for work, dressed in worn out denims and t-shirts that show off his rugged muscles. He always wears light colors, white or pale grey or any other non-threatening shade. By the door he always turns and waves goodbye, his eyes simmering with something that makes my whole body tingle.
I wave goodbye back, watching him in the window as he leaves and I almost feel like a little wifey. My cheeks heat at the thought, because there’s been times when I’ve caught him staring at me, his eyes like pure velvet but his mouth is hard. Like he wants something, sink it into my flesh just to see how I taste. Or maybe to leave a mark.
My heart speeds up at the thought, a slight tremble moving through my limbs. I’ve never been much for men before, always caring more about my music. Music was always number one. The thought of it being replaced by something else, or someone else is terrifying. And thrilling.
Stan has only been in my life for a little while, but I already can’t imagine him leaving. His presence is strangely supporting. He doesn’t even have to say anything, I just have to look into his eyes to know that he’ll have my back no matter what.
But it makes me wonder why. He barely knows me and yet he makes me feel as if he would try to turn the world on its axis just to see me smile. He seems to love my smiles, getting a funny look on his face every time I give him one.
A look that says that I’m all his.
And there’s a threat in his eyes. A threat that says that he’s going to strip me to my most basic self and demand things from me in return that nobody else has needed from me.
I’ve never really belonged to anyone. My body has never really belonged to anyone but me and lying in bed, I stroke my soft curves, wondering what it would feel like to have Stan touching me. He has perfect hands, the caring hands of a maker.
Turning to look at the clock by my bedside, I sigh. Yet another sleepless night. It’s two in the morning and pitch black outside. I couldn’t sleep at all last night either. My mind is too preoccupied with thoughts about Stan and my body is different too, now that he’s here. It seems to be overflowing with a red energy that I just don’t know how to calm down.
I try not to think about him, but it only makes it worse. I keep seeing his eyes in front of me, that grin that saysI’m harmless but not quite. I wonder what that slightly ruthless streak on his mouth would feel like on mine.
Would he be ruthless with me or would he try to be gentle for my sake? I wouldn’t want him to hold back with me. Maybe because a part of me is curious to see where the road leads if he decides to take me on a ride.Maybe I would love it. Maybe I would regret it...
When my throat constricts with thirst, I get out of bed to go and grab a glass of water.
I tiptoe down the staircase, careful not to stumble on any steps. Turning on the light in the hallway, I flinch when I notice that a light is already lit in the living room.
Did I forget to turn it off?
Walking into the living room, I freeze in the doorway at the sight of Stan sitting on my cream couch, wearing only grey pajama pants. He looks up when he hears me, his eyes tightening but he doesn’t scramble. Doesn’t even try to hide what he’s doing.
I just stand there, not really understanding why he would be doing this.
On the TV there’s a home video playing, the sound muted. It was taped during one of my rare vacations. Me, bicycling down a dusty road and waving at the camera. Me, climbing up a mountain with cheeks that look like two red apples from the effort.
Me, spinning on a square in Milan while doves are flying around me.And then there’s the photos of me, that he has spread out over the coffee table. I swallow, because I didn’t expect this. It’s so personal somehow. A little intrusive. Which is why I have no idea why my body is acting like it’s just been dipped in a pool of gooey, warm honey.
“Stan...” I say hesitantly, rubbing sleep out of my eyes, “where did you get those?”
His brows knot, a first flicker of nervousness like he’s worried I’ll have a breakdown. “I was looking for a file. There’s a leaky pipe in the basement.” He gestures with his hand. “But then I found these and I just couldn’t stop looking.”
It’s late. He should be asleep. He’s got work tomorrow, hard work that requires a lot of physical strength and he’s going to need his rest and yet he decides to sit and look at...
Little, old me.
I don’t need a mirror to know that I’m turning pink. “Why?” I whisper and a frown shows on his face like he’s not entirely sure himself.
“I just couldn’t.”
Amber
My new roommate has been living with me for three days. And thosethree days have gone better than I expected, making me triumphant because Gina was all wrong when she thought it was going to be troubling.
As suspected I like him having here and we’ve already slipped into a rhythm that’s entirely our own. Even if he’s the one busy for work, he lets me have the first shower in the morning and most of the warm water.
When I come down to the kitchen for my breakfast, he already has it ready, frozen berries and milk and ice coffee. He already knows what I like. He’s considerate. Kind.
And strong.
I try not to stare when he leaves for work, dressed in worn out denims and t-shirts that show off his rugged muscles. He always wears light colors, white or pale grey or any other non-threatening shade. By the door he always turns and waves goodbye, his eyes simmering with something that makes my whole body tingle.
I wave goodbye back, watching him in the window as he leaves and I almost feel like a little wifey. My cheeks heat at the thought, because there’s been times when I’ve caught him staring at me, his eyes like pure velvet but his mouth is hard. Like he wants something, sink it into my flesh just to see how I taste. Or maybe to leave a mark.
My heart speeds up at the thought, a slight tremble moving through my limbs. I’ve never been much for men before, always caring more about my music. Music was always number one. The thought of it being replaced by something else, or someone else is terrifying. And thrilling.
Stan has only been in my life for a little while, but I already can’t imagine him leaving. His presence is strangely supporting. He doesn’t even have to say anything, I just have to look into his eyes to know that he’ll have my back no matter what.
But it makes me wonder why. He barely knows me and yet he makes me feel as if he would try to turn the world on its axis just to see me smile. He seems to love my smiles, getting a funny look on his face every time I give him one.
A look that says that I’m all his.
And there’s a threat in his eyes. A threat that says that he’s going to strip me to my most basic self and demand things from me in return that nobody else has needed from me.
I’ve never really belonged to anyone. My body has never really belonged to anyone but me and lying in bed, I stroke my soft curves, wondering what it would feel like to have Stan touching me. He has perfect hands, the caring hands of a maker.
Turning to look at the clock by my bedside, I sigh. Yet another sleepless night. It’s two in the morning and pitch black outside. I couldn’t sleep at all last night either. My mind is too preoccupied with thoughts about Stan and my body is different too, now that he’s here. It seems to be overflowing with a red energy that I just don’t know how to calm down.
I try not to think about him, but it only makes it worse. I keep seeing his eyes in front of me, that grin that saysI’m harmless but not quite. I wonder what that slightly ruthless streak on his mouth would feel like on mine.
Would he be ruthless with me or would he try to be gentle for my sake? I wouldn’t want him to hold back with me. Maybe because a part of me is curious to see where the road leads if he decides to take me on a ride.Maybe I would love it. Maybe I would regret it...
When my throat constricts with thirst, I get out of bed to go and grab a glass of water.
I tiptoe down the staircase, careful not to stumble on any steps. Turning on the light in the hallway, I flinch when I notice that a light is already lit in the living room.
Did I forget to turn it off?
Walking into the living room, I freeze in the doorway at the sight of Stan sitting on my cream couch, wearing only grey pajama pants. He looks up when he hears me, his eyes tightening but he doesn’t scramble. Doesn’t even try to hide what he’s doing.
I just stand there, not really understanding why he would be doing this.
On the TV there’s a home video playing, the sound muted. It was taped during one of my rare vacations. Me, bicycling down a dusty road and waving at the camera. Me, climbing up a mountain with cheeks that look like two red apples from the effort.
Me, spinning on a square in Milan while doves are flying around me.And then there’s the photos of me, that he has spread out over the coffee table. I swallow, because I didn’t expect this. It’s so personal somehow. A little intrusive. Which is why I have no idea why my body is acting like it’s just been dipped in a pool of gooey, warm honey.
“Stan...” I say hesitantly, rubbing sleep out of my eyes, “where did you get those?”
His brows knot, a first flicker of nervousness like he’s worried I’ll have a breakdown. “I was looking for a file. There’s a leaky pipe in the basement.” He gestures with his hand. “But then I found these and I just couldn’t stop looking.”
It’s late. He should be asleep. He’s got work tomorrow, hard work that requires a lot of physical strength and he’s going to need his rest and yet he decides to sit and look at...
Little, old me.
I don’t need a mirror to know that I’m turning pink. “Why?” I whisper and a frown shows on his face like he’s not entirely sure himself.
“I just couldn’t.”