A gloved hand rested on a silver doorknob with tentative disappointment. The black leather coating the fingers aided in the

twist of the knob. By midnight, it would have been obvious—the door would be locked. Anyone inside should be sound asleep, unaware of the intrusion on their safety. And yet, the door was totally unlocked, welcoming him inside. Air caught in his throat, a shaky breath leaking from his mouth. A smile cracked his lips, and he stepped a foot inside.

He inhaled deeply, swallowing his inhibitions with the growing warmth in his gut. The smoke of a recently blown-out candle

hung in the air. It was floral, something he expected. The living room was clean and uncluttered; everything was meeting his expectations. To think, he was finally here. He stalked over to the well-worn couch and swung his backpack off his shoulder. The bag plopped onto the cushions, and his hands dove for the zipper. Quietly reaching in, his hands were followed by rope, duct tape, and a Ziploc bag with a needle and vial inside. A low, content hum escaped him. Perfect, everything was good to go.

He turned his attention to the stairs, eyes dancing up to the banister, and past the hall. He glimpsed a door, firmly shut.

Another barrier in the way of his greatest treasure. It wouldn't matter. Like the front door, it would be left to his mercy, unlocked and welcoming him inside. After all this time, fantasizing about this, about her—the door had always opened for him.

Blaire Vaughn was a woman he considered to be the closest thing to divinity. They met briefly, in this little town they called

home. In the middle of nowhere, with no well-to-do people, where everybody knew everybody. She showed up in his miserable life, crawling beneath his skin to get to his heart, where she would never leave him. Since the day they met, Blaire snuggled deep into his chest and blossomed into what he now knew had to be true love.

She’d checked him out at the only gas station in town. He remembered the interaction like it was yesterday—he bought a

candy bar, a soda, and a pack of cigarettes. Blaire had been sitting aimlessly behind the counter, waiting for someone to save her. He would save her—he did save her. He walked up to her with no confidence and shared their first words.

"Newports, please."

She turned and smiled at him while retrieving his cigarettes and sealed the deal forever. Her face was even-keeled as she

searched, deeply focused on finding his Newports. Her lips were drawn into a pout, her teeth nibbling the inside of her cheek. A glossy maroon was carefully smeared across her full lips—his new favorite color. Her skin looked smooth, he wanted to reach out and pet her cheeks. The beauty mark under her eye punctuated his steady heartbeat. The woman turned again, and his eyes slid down her back. She had perfect birthing hips, and he leered over the counter to get a closer look.

Her hand landed on his cigarettes, and his heart thundered into palpitations. Her fingers were perfectly petite, nails were

delicately painted black. He imagined how small her hand would look pressed into his palm. He bet they were so soft, and how they could trace over his calloused hands. Their fingers would braid together perfectly—he noted the lack of a ring on her finger. He peeled his eyes from her hand and to her nametag.

Blaire. His new obsession.

Blaire placed the pack of cigarettes on the counter. He quickly reached out for them, and their hands brushed. She looked up

at him, and all the air was sucked out of him. Blaire weakly smiled, and he melted. Her nose was crinkled in her smile, and her black hair framed her face perfectly, bleach-white side pieces hanging just past her chin. Her eyes held the world, and they spoke to him. Fate, her eyes said. We were meant to be. His fingers curled on the counter, twitching at the thought of touching her hair, and holding her hand.

From that moment on, it was like he had known her for his entire life. Blaire had begun to be the only thing he knew. His mind

was filled with thoughts of her—what they could be, will be. To have someone as your own, to be owned by someone else, body and mind alike. Someone to show your endless allegiance to, like a diligent servant who asks no questions. He wanted to serve her, and act as her protector from the world around her. Save her from this life she was living. She simply isn't living up to her potential. He can change that.

From then on, he would come in every day to buy something, hoping to see her face. If Blaire wasn't there, he would wait for

hours until she eventually showed up for her shift. What was more romantic than learning your beloved's schedule? Without fail, he would buy his cigarettes, candy, and a soda, and leave. It became so routine, even Blaire had begun to memorize his receipt. Newports, candy, soda. His heart soared and confirmed she felt the same as him. They were in love!

When they would inevitably cross paths in this little town, he found he was simply addicted to the feelings she roused.

Nothing could top this overwhelming flutter in his stomach, like butterflies with razor wings, slicing at his insides each time he saw his beloved Blaire. When they first met, he was nothing to her; he was okay with that. Something about her captivated him. Her effortless existence, like a goddess among men. Someone like her simply would never see someone like him. She was infallible, but she was his.

Even now, standing in her living room, he was shaking with excitement. His love for her made him utterly weak. One day, they

would live in the same house. She would move in, and they would get married as fast as possible. He would propose, and Blaire would say yes. He went back to the front door, making sure to lock it this time. His head slowly turned, and he longingly stared up the stairs. Time to claim what is his.

Today was arguably just as special as the day they first met. It was Valentine's Day. He had spent weeks planning to the

minute, just for Blaire. The meal he spent hours cooking, the movies he hand-selected, flowers he picked himself... Now, all that was left was to bring her to her new home. Excitement bubbled up in his gut, corrosive love eating away at him from the inside out. When she was finally home with him, he would hand-feed her. The expensive rack of ribs he slow-cooked would melt on her tongue; she would thank him and ready herself for another bite. He would slide the fork loaded up with mashed potatoes past her lips, and Blaire would tell him how good he did. She would tell him she loved him and never leave his side ever again. He was determined to show his love in every facet. She would love him, just as desperately as he loved her. Blaire would see that she was something to be wanted, someone he would kill for.

He made his way around the living room, looking at every piece of decor she had. Among the knick-knacks that were

scattered on the shelves, he was particularly drawn to a framed photo of her and her family—so cute! He carefully picked it up, tracing over her face. Next to her were her parents, and a younger man. A brother, more than likely. He hummed in thought, then placed it back on the shelf. He continued his stroll around the room.

When stepping onto the hardwood floor, a haunting creak wailed out. He slowed on his toes, and he held his breath. His ears

were met with the quiet chittering of crickets outside, the clock on the wall ticking away. No shifting upstairs, or the sound of her creeping around the corner. Blaire seems blissfully unaware of her lover coming to surprise her. He slowed himself next to the couch again, hand hovering over his backpack. A throw pillow caught his eye.

He snagged it and lifted it to his face. He squished it in a tight fist. It was easy to imagine all the times Blaire rested her head

on this very pillow, exhausted from her shifts at the gas station. Soon, she won't have to worry about them again. Blaire will soon never need to work a day in her life again, and he will fully support her. He pressed it against his nose and inhaled. Her coconut shampoo filled his lungs and tenderly hugged him from the inside. A low groan rumbled from his throat. Soon, he could smell her all the time. He should ask her for her shampoo, so he could pick some up. That way, she could be comfortable at home. Maybe they could share...? He dropped it back onto the couch and started to pull all his supplies out of his backpack. He couldn't waste any more time. Dinner was getting cold!

With all his supplies gathered in one hand, he began to climb the stairs. His fingers slid over the railing, trying to keep himself

occupied from the exhilaration stirring deep inside him. His teeth caught his bottom lip, nibbling on flesh while he approached her bedroom door. He peeled a layer of skin off his lip, and iron tickled his tongue. His foot planted on another squeaky step, and the world froze. His eyes shot up to the unmoving door, staring expectantly. Silence enveloped the house.

He could smell her natural scent, something sweet, something evocative. It was an expensive perfume, with honeyed flowers

and roasted vanilla. Coconut still lingered in his lungs. It urged his hunger, for him to seek her out; he swallowed and started to make his way inside. He smiled as he slid the wooden door open, the sound of it gliding over the fluffy carpet sending him reeling. There, he saw his sleeping beauty.

Wrapped up in fleece blankets, Blaire was fast asleep, just as he had hoped. He tiptoed over to her sleeping form and stood

above her. His shadow cast itself like a veil, marring her everlasting beauty. It enclosed her in darkness, locking her away from the atrocities of the world they lived in. Yet, seeing her live her life was so fulfilling. She made him feel whole, as he could live vicariously in the life he had written them into. Together.

While watching her sleep sounded like a dream come true, he decided he had deviancy to engage in. He made quick work of

her laundry—clean or dirty, he didn't care. Heat rose to his face a few times, but the shame never lingered. The prize was too precious for him to hesitate. He stuffed a few items in his pockets with a particular frenzy, like a rabid animal. He looked over his shoulder a few times, making sure she still hadn't stirred. Their meal was waiting back at home, and he had to move quickly so it didn't go cold.

Exhaustion was starting to eat away at him. He considered hopping into bed with her but figured she may not appreciate

being disturbed so violently. He looked at her bedroom mirror, at the dark circles under his eyes. Sleepless nights ate away at him, wishing Blaire was asleep right beside him. Blaire would soon see just how hard he worked for her love. She would see how dedicated he was to her happiness, how he would do anything to make it happen—even neglect himself.

He knelt beside her bed, placing all his tools on the floor, and he brushed his gloved fingers over her cheek. They were like

peach skin, soft and smooth. Supple flesh that could be so easily ripped apart. He almost laughed at his sinister thought. How silly! No harm would ever come to her when he was around. He leaned in and placed butterfly kisses on her face. Fluttering with his heart, he tried not to breathe too hard. Perhaps it was his imagination, but there could have been a smile on her lips. Small, but still present. He pressed his lips to her cheek. A pause, then, he placed another upon her lips.

He closed his eyes, pretending she was fully awake and kissing him back. He desperately held her face, trying to purse her

lips for her. So soft...! A low groan escaped her, her face pulling from his hands and she rolled away from him. Blaire huffed, then faced her back to him. He sat as still as possible, holding his breath and hoping she wouldn’t wake up yet. He couldn’t waste any more time, yet, he found his hand trailing up her shoulder and to her neck. He imagined her pulse racing under his fingers, and the excitement rattled him.

She would finally be his. He didn’t have to chase her around town, trying to keep her safe. He knew she was his girlfriend, no

matter how ignorant she was. A coy woman like her would make for a playful wife. She just didn't understand yet—he could make her understand.

Confidence preceded him, but he had to do this. The thought of hurting Blaire made him sick. Yet, she would be better off

with him, for all eternity. He placed a hand on her upper arm, slowly pulling her sleeve up. With enough flesh visible, he moved quickly to get the needle prepared. It took nothing, even with his little medical knowledge. Suck up the liquid, insert it into her arm, push, then... He zoned out, considering what she would do when she finally woke up in a new bed. Maybe she would accept the change immediately? No fight, only love further blossoming between them. He administered the shot.

A horrified scream startled him, forcing him back. The needle stayed in her arm as Blaire sat up. Her eyes were wide with

terror, the woman scrambling to the far side of the bed, away from him. He stood, hands out to calm her down. It was like taming a wild animal. A sweet smile formed on his lips, in a desperate attempt to defuse the situation. Blaire just didn't understand yet.

“Hey, baby, calm down-!”

A bedside lamp came crashing into his face, the lampshade cracking against his forehead, the cord whipping his neck. He

yelped, stumbling back, then rushed forward to chase the object of his affection. She hadn’t been able to untangle herself from her blankets. Blaire kicked and struggled, wailing as he got closer. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks, staring up at him so pitifully, he almost stopped. Her teeth were barred at him, a guttural cry tearing from her throat—one last effort to scare him off. He took joy in the fear gathering on her face, his shadow draining her hope. He stood above her with the lamp in hand. She lifted her hands as he brought it down on her head.

The rest was a blur. He could recognize the blood on his hands, iron coating his tongue as he licked his lips. When the fog

cleared in his mind, he could see she was painted across her bedspread, leaking down the side in brilliant crimson. He frowned, dragging himself across the carpet to meet her terrified eyes. The steel gray in her irises appeared more vibrant, with tears creating sparkles even in the dim light.

Her hands were wrapped with the rope he brought, making her struggle each time he took a step closer. He didn't remember

when he tied her up, much less when she started to bleed so profusely. Her sobbing nearly brought him to his knees, where he would beg for forgiveness. He didn't mean to hurt her, he simply lost control. He wasn't thinking.

This time, however, he could try to mend things. Fix what he had gone wrong. She would see. Getting down in front of her, he

took her bound hands and squeezed them. Leather-covered thumbs caressed her knuckles, handling her with care. Blaire whimpered and tried not to cry out. He pressed a chaste kiss on her forearm.

“Will you be my Valentine, Blaire?

She was mute, yet, he understood every word. He knew her. He could see her pupils expand just looking at him, taking him

in. His legs shook. They were absolutely captivated by each other. Her eyes said it all, and seeing her heaving breaths—she was breathing him in, letting him fill her to the brim. He leaned to nuzzle her face, laughing at her foolishness. Couldn't she see he was trying to take care of her? She caught his gaze, and he immediately lit up.

He reached into his pocket, fishing out a heart-shaped lollipop. The wrapper was carefully removed and discarded onto the

floor. His thumb forced its way into her mouth to keep it open, where he carefully pushed the candy past her lips, minding her gnashing teeth. A giggle escaped him. He could feel the drying blood on his face shift as he smiled at her misery. She looked so beautiful.

"It tastes good, right? I made sure to pick one up, so after your shot, you had a little treat. You did so good, baby."

More tears fell from her eyes. She could barely suck on the lollipop without a hiccupping sob. He brushed away her tears and

chuckled. She must be so scared of needles—poor thing. He reached up and pulled the needle from her arm. Despite their wrestling, it somehow remained, although the needle was bent to the side. He grunted and placed it back in the Ziploc bag.

Once the lollipop was slathered in a good amount of her saliva, he grabbed it, smiling. He popped it into his mouth. Her face

turned up in disgust, grimacing at him. Blaire was pulled closer to him, forced to face him fully.

"Happy Valentine's Day, darling... I have the most wonderful dinner waiting for you back home. Then, we can watch movies,

and eat snacks. Whatever you want!"

She didn't respond, much to his dismay. Surely, she must be shocked by how loved she is. Blood was still pouring from the

wound on her head, making her seem rather weak. He reached and pressed a palm to her temple. Before dinner, he would have to clean her up and let her rest a little longer. Weakly, Blaire pushed her bound hands into his chest. He beamed, pulling her close and kissing up her neck.

"It's okay that you didn't get me anything. You're all I wanted all along...but, I have plenty of gifts waiting for you! We need to

hurry." He ran his fingers across her face one last time, watching her fade away from him. Her gray eyes fought sleep but succumbed to weakness. He bit his bloody lip and pulled her into his arms. Time to take her home.