Obsession (18+)

Chapter 12

I still felt her fingertips pressed into my skin. Her fingernails leaving indented marks through my shirt as she gripped onto my broad shoulders. The soft whimpering that came from her mouth, a sign that she was desperate for me.

Although she may have left confused and distressed, I smug about the fact that she wanted me and her body reacted in ways that I've only dreamed of.

Beautiful, naïve Jesse.

My feet remained firm as I continued to stand in her bedroom. The glass of the picture frame scattered on the floor besides my shoes. I made a mental note to clean it up before I leave as I would feel rather guilty if Jesse were to cut her foot on the glass. But dropping it made me feel good. It gave me a sense of relief.

A picture. A symbolic picture of Jesse and Justin that was now ruined. The music from outside drowned out the shattering noise of the picture frame dropping onto the wood floorboards.

If love shouldn't hurt, then why did I hurt so much? Was this amount of ache normal?

I pressed my palm onto her desk, running the tips of my calloused fingers along the glass surface of her white vanity. Humming a little tune underneath my breath as my eyes ran along the little nicknacks on the desk. I felt insane.

Furrowing my eyebrows together, I placed one hand underneath my dark stubble covered chin and crossed the other over my chest. My feet swayed and the crunching of glass underneath my shoes erupted in the silent bedroom as I moved closer.

No matter how hard I tried, Justin fucking Grey still ruined every chance that I obtained.

No matter what I did, he was attached to her in every way possible.

No matter if he was present or not, his name was still on the tip of her goddamn tongue.

Justin, Justin, Justin.

At this point, I wasn't sure why I was bothering to disguise my hatred that I felt for the kid. What difference would it make if I just let it free?

My eyes scanned the room, everything neatly placed in a designated area. Modern, but simple. She liked very minimalistic things and it was evident in the way she decorated her room. White sheets with a tuft cream headboard, sleek bedside tables, fairy lights and many, many mirrors. The only thing that wasn't minimalistic was the amount of pictures of him and her decorated on the white walls. A bit overwhelming considering how they were placed on the wall. For me, that is. Metaphorically, they were cluttered when in reality they were neatly placed in rows with even spaces between them.

I'll tell you bluntly; I didn't like them. Despised them, actually.

I wanted to rip them off and tear them up into small pieces.

The ticking of the clock on her nightstand was close to driving me to the brink of madness. It ticked in sync with the movement of my eyes that moved from picture to picture. My jaw clenched, my chest heaved and then my fists remained flexed by my sides.

Polaroids of them at what seemed to be a party, red solo cups in hand, the sweat glistening on their bodies, and on the couch with her hand laying on his lap. My breath hitched looking at them.

I let out a shuddering breath, digging my nails into my palms. I scratched my forehead in irritation.

I didn't want to feel this bitterness for the rest of my life.

But, yet again, that wouldn't happen since I would get her one way or another.

The safe way or the dangerous way, I didn't care as long as I got Jesse De Rose.