Obsessive Love

Prologue: Raven

Some people believe in fate, in destiny. That every person has their soulmate. It's a funny thing, these beliefs. There's nothing to base these conjectures off of, is there? All you have to work with is that one book in a library written long, long ago by some ancient Greek or Roman who first introduced the term. But even then, that begs the question, where exactly did those people get this term from? Why do they believe in it? 

Countless books contain the stories of all of these fantasies, these protagonists, with destiny on their side. The fact that they were born for the sole purpose of what they do in them, does that not bother them? The fact that, despite their best efforts, they could not escape from the phenomenon we say is destiny? What we call fate? 

The Greeks take it one step further and give their characters oracles. I've always thought, had they not listened to the oracle, sought he/she out, would they have ended up that way? Broken, bound to this supposed destiny? 

I am aware this is a very dreary topic, but I can't help but be a bit negative. I would like to believe that the hardships, the setbacks, the stress that I experience on a day to day basis are all for something, but I think I would just be lying to myself. I sometimes ask whether it's all for my soulmate. But I'm not sure I even believe in that anymore. 

I envy those people, sociopaths, to a certain degree. I'm going to answer that unspoken question right now: No, I do not mean psychopath. You see, psychopaths can feel. They can connect on a personal level, understand what other people are feeling. And that's scary and all, but not something I envy. Sociopaths, well they can't. They can't connect on that emotional level. They're stone-cold and incapable of understanding human emotion. 

You see, I was born with something wrong with me. Very, very wrong. Or so I've been told by my mother, my sister, my boyfriends, my friends; everyone I'm close to, really. Being told by so many people, it's bound to be true right? They all say the same thing, the same way, with that same look too. 

"You're crazy."

With that reproachful look, with fear in their eyes. My problem is, that I feel too much. Where sociopaths have difficulty connecting emotionally, I'm the exact opposite. I feel too much and as such,

 I react more... aggressively (I prefer to say passionately) than other people. Where some people might see their cheating boyfriend and feel despair or sadness or anger, maybe even betrayal. I feel all of those things (but so do some people too), and then imagine those feelings being doubled. I get so... jealous. So possessive over people.

It's an ugly side to me, one that nobody has ever liked. Hell, it's one I don't even like. When I was little, I had always thought that was normal. How people always felt. But one look at my mom when I pushed that one kid off of her leg in kindergarten made me second guess. That little twerp was stealing my mom, and that wasn't allowed. I still see no real problem with what I had done, but I knew she didn't like it, so I made sure to hide it. 

It was still there, festering though. The term: Out of sight, out of mind can't really apply to something that's literally inside your mind. So I would just ignore and suppress. And that was how I got through in life. And it was fine, it was dandy. 

But you can't ignore your problems forever. That sore, that festering wound, it opened. And let me tell you, it opened big and wide. It started in middle school. My final year, so when I was about 13? I had gotten my first boyfriend: Chase Lux. 

Chase was bright, he was charismatic, he was a magnet. And I just wasn't. When he had asked me out, I was surprised. Pleasantly surprised. I had had a crush on this kid for years. And now he asked me out. We connected and became girlfriend and boyfriend. But then, it happened. My anomaly started to show once more. I became that girlfriend.

The jealous, possessive one. Chase was a lightbulb, he had gorgeous shaggy blonde hair and a set of rich brown eyes that always seemed to have a splash of green in the center. Combined with his toned body from doing sports and his tan skin? Simply a walking god, at least to kids our age. 

I had always been pretty, it was one department I was glad to be above average on. I had long black hair that went down to the small of my back, a heart-shaped face, a button nose, big blue eyes, and wheat-colored skin. Looking back at it now, Chase had probably only gotten with me because of my looks. 

I was the opposite of Chase, I was dark, brooding almost. I've been told I give off an 'ice queen' vibe, and I think it's because I suppress myself. My emotions. So there's nothing really amazing about me except for my looks. 

 Oh, and did I mention? I've only had one consistent friend my whole life. Her name is Molly, Molly Sanc. She's my sanctuary, my rock. The only one who found out about my anomaly and fully accepted me for who I was. The saying quality over quantity definitely applies here. She has cropped strawberry blonde hair, a small nose, green doe eyes, and long enviable eyelashes. She's also only 5'2, so she's petite as well. Not that I'm not, I'm just 5'5. In heels, few guys my age could come close to my height. Embarrassing. 

Anyways, back to Chase. Here's the turning point in my life: I caught him with a girl. She was pinned up to the wall and he was aggressively kissing her. Honestly? Up to that moment in time, I had never felt such extreme emotions. I was pissed, beyond pissed. I didn't act like those pitiful daisy girls and shed a few tears as I ran away. Though I kind of wish I had. No, no. The reality was much more gruesome. 

I walked right up to the pair, grabbed his hair, and dragged him to the floor. I slapped the girl right on the cheek and then gave her a backhand as well. With, might I add, all of my strength. She hit the floor crying, and I had never felt so good in my life. But that euphoria quickly faded to rage when I remembered what Chase had just done. 

So I had looked down, and this part I remember clearly. He was looking at me with pure shock and fear. Like he had just seen me. And that's when it hit me, I was nothing more than a plaything. Something to burn time, to improve his ego. He only talked to me in school, only took me to parties, only used me as arm candy. Any conversation I had initiated and any gesture was made by me. 

And that was when I realized that I really was a scary person. Scary because the first thing that had come to my mind was to kill him. To bash his head against a wall and watch him bleed out. Or better yet, make him watch me do it to the girl. The second it popped into my head, I was stunned by the fact that I didn't mind. The gore, the emotional attachments to life, they weren't there. Just my overwhelming sense of rage. 

I pushed him down to the floor and lied him down. I squatted right next to him and looked him square in the eyes. I didn't try to hide my madness, my rage. I let him bear witness to it, let him wallow in regret for what he had done, if not regret, then maybe fear. 

I remember what I told him: "You shouldn't have done that."

And it was true. I spread rumors, scandals, ruined his reputation. The one thing he cared about most. Well, besides his lust. And he ran to his mother crying. Maybe not literally, but he definitely ran away with his tail tucked between his legs. Chase changed schools, he couldn't bear not having his precious playboy reputation or not being popular anymore. And from that day on, nobody messed with me. No guy flirted with me, no girl offended me, and I might as well have had a barrier around me because nobody got within a few feet of me. 

And at that moment, I realized that it was better this way. It's tiring, really, having to deal with these extreme emotions. So it's better to try and not feel anything at all. And that's exactly what I did. Except with Molly, she was my exception. Always will be. 

After that, I had a few more boyfriends, but they all ended about the same way: me throwing a huge tantrum and him running away. All with the same line, as well: "You're crazy."

Well? Maybe I am.