Escaping Mr. Grayson [UN-EDITED]

Chapter Thirteen.

     "If we followed every impulse, we'd be killing one another"
                                                                  -Judith Martin

                                                                         

Mr. Grayson's p.o.v

There she is. Mine.

          Her beauty is a painting for my eyes only to enjoy. These past two weeks, night time is the only time that I can be with my love, catching a whiff of her sweet scent that continues to drown me as she dreams. Some nights, I simply can not control my own desire. I crawl into her bed and watch her very breath as she lays still and beautiful, trapped in her slumber. Im only human after all.

          I spend most of my time thinking of why she would leave me. I think of why she would want to throw away all of the plans that I had created for her. For us. For our future together. I was going to be the one to marry her. I was going to be the only man to make love to her day and night, and she was going bare my children. She was going to bare our children. She was meant to be mine and mine alone to have. Forever.

That is, in the event that my bloodlust could be controlled.

          Oh, how sweet that would be when she comes to her senses. How sweet it will be the day I stop being some kind of creep loving her from the shadows. How sweet it will be when I am her lover again and She. Is. Mine.

Suddenly, I hear a light beep. My espresso is done and it's time to begin my day.

          I trace my finger across Miss Tembo's paper cheek and kiss her lips softly, as I do every morning and night, making sure not to press too hard and wrinkle the soft paper. I have thousands of photos of her pasted on my wall. Some are print outs from her social media profiles. Things like, simple selfies and the like. Others are my own masterpiece. I took many pictures of her while she slept in my bed, naked and drowning in the filth that was a result of our souls merging. Becoming one.

         She was perfect. She is perfect.

         I clench my jaw and lock the door behind me before walking into my kitchen. I have already managed to cancel all of my classes for these past weeks. Today is my last day of being 'admitted' in hospital. At least that's what the doctors note that I forged indicates.

          I take my espresso and sit down at my kitchen island, opening my laptop. There, I head to Instagram and click on my favorite profile. Her profile. Miss Tembo's profile. Every morning, I look at all of her 54 posted pictures, zooming into her nose, which is perfect. Her eyes, which are perfect. Her lips, which are perfect and her profile, which is perfect. There is only one imperfection that I see. Post number 15.

          In post number 15, Nailea is in her usual clothes. A plain and basic, black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of matching black jeans with a plaid coat over it. Her braids are tied into her regular straight ponytail. Her roommate—Daisy—stands next to her, sticking her pierced tongue out and throwing her right hand into the air, making a peace sign. If this wasnt already obvious, I do not like Daisy. I find her presence completely unnecessary. If it were up to me, shed have been dead that night I met her. But I know that Miss Tembo would never forgive me for something that, though understandable, still very gruesome and to some people maybe even inhumane.

          It is now nearly 1pm in the afternoon and I've already had my lunch, gone for my daily sprint (I can now go 2km without stopping), taken four Xanax and had my shower. I now spend the remaining of my day ordering the fifth bouquet of flowers to be delivered to Miss Tembo's dorm room for the day. She hasn't thanked me yet. I assume it's because she's too speechless to give me an appropriate response, or maybe too busy? With Darla's.