Pure Obsession (Finn) - Chapter Five - Sex Stories

Pure Obsession (Finn) - Chapter Five

... door and looked up and down the street, she’d disappeared. *** She wasn’t cruel enough to leave it like that. She called me and we talked for hours, though none of our words mattered. I sat with the phone held loosely in my hand, my eyes vacantly gazing out of the window. I listened to her try to make it sound like I was the good guy and she was the bad guy, but I knew it was all my fault. It was bound to end anyway. It wasn’t as if we could have had a happy ending and finally, it struck me; I would never have been close enough to her. I would always have to hide the fact that I didn’t just hit on her one night at a party. I’d stalked her for weeks before; I’d built my new life around her. I could never be completely honest with her because it would have freaked her out. And that was it. It was over, and I was almost glad because even though she was beautiful and kind and perfect, she deserved better than me. She deserved better than a messed-up playboy with a manic obsession. Sure, Vincent wasn’t rich or perfect, but he made her happy, and I never made her happy. Maybe for a moment, even for an hour or so, but I knew that if she spent the rest of her life with me, she wouldn’t be happy. And somehow, Vincent could give her that. I was jealous even though I had no right to be jealous. I knew I’d miss it all. I’d miss the way her hand felt in mine, so small and vulnerable, and I’d miss lying on the roof and talking about life and the world. I’d miss her cat and her bookshelf ...

... and buying her things. For months afterwards, I’d walk past shops and look in the windows and see things I thought she might like. The floral pattern on a curtain, a little music box, colourful books, patent high heels… all those random things. Sometimes I even thought about going back, buying her something grand and over the top, and trying to win her over, but I somehow managed to stop myself. I’d miss her. I’d miss that dark hair, the softness of her skin, and the ticklish feel of her breath against my ear. I’d miss holding her and kissing her and feeling her warm, naked body against mine. But the one thing I wouldn’t miss was feeling like a liar every time she looked into my eyes. *** For a few days immediately after the end, I didn’t go out. I sat at home, getting rid of all the stuff that reminded me of her. It wasn’t a malicious process; more of a cleansing. I didn’t trust myself enough not to go back there, and by getting rid of everything I associated with Alessandra, I figured I had a better chance of getting over the whole situation. I tried not to look at any of it. I threw out everything. The research, the clothes, the books, the stuff we’d bought together, the photographs, her spare toothbrush, and eventually I deleted her number from my phone - which was kind of pointless, since I knew it off by heart. But the physical reminders were gone. The flat seemed empty, kind of sad. I thought I’d covered everything, but at night I went into my bedroom, and down the side ...