You are mine.

Things change. Things always change. A push and a pull. One stops seeking and the other must come through.

You said I should not be hurt. You are hurting me. You are hurting me. You have forgotten me. Let me haunt you.

Let. Me. Haunt. You.
My memory. I can see you, love. I will follow you. Forever after.
Eventually we become what we did not wish to be. I need to know...
There's only one who may know. The rest of the world is trapped. We are always trapped.

The moment you pull away you breed the obsession. It expands. Explodes. Expounds to something extra, something new. The world opens and laughs. Changes out, away. Changes away, into dust.

Until you learn to accept love, things will not change. Until you learn what it is to fear, I will dog your steps. I hold promises of madness and anger. It is the restlessness inside. I will take you. And we will vanish, away together. They will never know. You are mine. You gave over the keys to yourself.
You donated yourself to me, and I took care of you. Now abandonment? Anger breeds, love. Darling. Love. Anger does not make for a gentle caregiver.
You are sitting. Eating. In the dining hall. You are wearing that pink jacket of yours. Your green backpack with the straps rests on the ground. You are talking. You are ignoring me. I watch you. I will always be watching you. So you can't laugh. You can't smile without knowing I am there. You can't do anything. You... You are trapped. That's the beauty of the watcher, just being there. You are trapped, fettered, chained invisibly. You could rot slowly from the inside out. You are easy to break. You did hand me the keys to yourself.
And I see you...
You're there when I am and the table does not know. You see me, and you tell me you have no desire to talk.
That's fine. I don't want to talk either. I want to hurt you. To show you.
I smile and strike. My fingers curl into a fist. You half-stand. You are angry. I know I'm smiling. I look mad when I smile like that.
You reach for your bag.
I hit you.
Your face. Your face. The side, only once, smiling. And...and I draw back. The rest of the world is staring at me. I can feel them. And while I probably -
No.
I ask the room if they know what I just did. The room is silent, because some people did see. And they don't know how to react. I point at her. She's holding a hand to her face. Incredulity.
I stalk nearer and she fumbles with her backpack. I grab her shoulder, her neck. A wrist. She is furious. I am laughing. I tell the room, this is my roommate. And she ran away from me, the one time I needed her. The whole story, maybe.
A theatrical production, because I can feel the room closing in on me. I know there are people there, people who have called for people. There is danger. But I want to leave her with a memory.
My hand... It's bleeding.
Psychological.
Blood across her face.
My blood.
And she trembles. She might have fought back, once. Blood breaks people. Blood destroys.
You're mine.
You always have been.
Once I latch on, I never let go.
You are mine.