Obsessed

Obsessed
By Logan Noble


She was beautiful. Her hair rolled down her shoulders in cascading chestnut curls. Her skin was a golden tan, a bronze that shined like the streets of heaven. The way she was standing I could see her eyes, green and shining, the bright rays of sunshine reflecting off them. I watched her from a distance, scared. I was scared of her beauty, scared of my cowardice, scared that if I were to walk up to her my tongue would turn to stone and that my teeth would fall from my mouth. I ran a hand through my own hair, closing my eyes and pretending it was hers. I imagined if it was soft as a baby’s skin, smelling like spring rain.
I sighed and reached into my jacket packet, drawing out my pack of cigarettes. I lit one up. It took me almost a minute to light the end because my hands were shaking so bad. Once it was lit I inhaled deeply, removing the cigarette from my lips. I closed my eyes and savored the bland and bitter burn of the smoke in my lungs. I blew the smoke out and watched as it danced and rolled in the sunshine, billowing. I turned my attention away from the smoke as it vanished into the air. She was standing near the fountain, leaning against a pillar, her long, shaved legs stretched out, receiving the sun’s kiss. She came out here everyday at one o’clock in the afternoon for her lunch break, usually with a cup of coffee (two sugars, no cream) and a sub (turkey, lettuce, and jalapenos). She was a secretary at a office up the street, her shift starting at exactly seven in the morning, ending at four in the afternoon, when she hops in her neon green Grand Prix, which she then drives downtown to her apartment (number 166) for the night. I went inside once, savoring the smell of her perfume, petting her cat, and looking at pictures of her as a child along with her family, two brothers and her parents. She was single. No children. And I loved her.
Behind me was a glass window that I leaned upon, smoking my cigarette. I stood then, regarding myself in the mirror. I was not a very big man; thin and pale though it was in the middle of summer. I’ve been told I look like my father, the same face. My father had died at a young age, but even then he had begun to bald. I’d received the same genetics; the genes had followed me across the bloodline. I ground out my cigarette beneath my boot and looked back toward her. I watched her as she yawned and stretched, her lithe body filling her white tank top, her breast moving perkily beneath. I could not get over her beauty and her sexiness. There had been others like her, but I loved her the most. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and I wasn’t afraid to say he was smitten. I rubbed at my eyes and swallowed. My stomach was full of butterflies and I hadn’t been able to sleep for a whole week. When I finally did drift asleep, I dreamed of her. I dreamt of her olive eyes, her candy lips. I was obsessed.
She stopped stretching and stood up for a second. Then she smiled. Her teeth were pearly white, teeth that shone like the snow on top of the world’s tallest mountain. In that moment my heart seemed to flutter and leap into the front of my ribs, threatening to bust out. I knew right then that everything was going to be all right, and that we would be together for the rest of our lives. The smile was an invitation for me to hold her in my arms keeping her warm in the middle of a cold winter night as a storm blows outside the windows of our little house. I made my way across the cement square. I paused then, my heart dropping, my sprits falling into oblivion. A man had moved into view, embracing her, his foul lips locking for an immeasurable amount of time with hers, and then she drew back and I knew that back and smiled at him. The smile was not for me, it was for him. It had never been me; it was him, the man that had stolen my love, the man that was going to pay.
Anger clouded my senses as I made my way over to her. I moved quickly, reaching into my pocket. They hadn’t noticed me yet, but I could hear their words, words that poured from their mouths words that told of her deceit. All the women that have cheated me had all paid the ultimate price. I reached the slut’s boyfriend. I tapped his shoulder and he spun around, a grin still plastered on his face. I smiled back, removing my hand from my pocket, my knife clenched in my hand. The sunlight caught the silver blade, reflecting
.
The man saw the reflection of the blade, but by then it was too late. I plunged the blade into his gut, thrusting with all my strength that my arm possessed. The loving light vanished from the man’s eyes as his blood drenched my arm, warm and thick, somehow like thick syrup. I withdrew the blade and he stumbled backward before collapsing to the cement. I turned toward the lying slut. Her beady eyes regarded me with fear. She looked from me to the body of her dead boyfriend to my blood covered blade. I grinned and she screamed out loud. I had to move fast because people were beginning to take notice. “I loved you bitch.” I whispered. She screamed louder and I laughed out loud. Beauty never lasts. Then I moved upon her.