●Carlton●
I had always been a believer that love was an illusion. Something people created in their minds to use as an emotional coping mechanism. A lie they fed themselves so they could sleep at night without feeling the emptiness clawing at their ribs.
Until I saw her.
I had been obsessing over her like a madman. Wanting to run my hand through that silky black hair of hers. Wanting to wrap it around my fist just to see if she would gasp or resist. Wanting to touch her, feel her, memorize the shape of her skin beneath my palms.
The thoughts never left me alone.
They followed me into meetings. Into the shower. Into my sleep. They haunted me until the line between love and lust blurred so badly I could no longer tell which one was consuming me more.
Maybe it was both.
I sat inside my vehicle outside her apartment building, the engine low, the windows tinted enough to keep me invisible. If I was not mistaken, she would be leaving soon. The last two days I had shown up, she had already been gone. That made me believe she worked night shifts.
The idea of her being out at night did something ugly to my thoughts.
I leaned back against the seat and took another long drag from my cigar, letting the smoke burn my lungs before releasing it slowly through the cracked window as I watched the door open and two girls stepped out.
And there she was.
The one who had rendered me sleepless. The one who had invaded my mind with wild fantasies and vivid imaginations I fully intended to fulfill.
The other girl, I assumed, was her roommate.
She pulled her silky black hair into a low, messy ponytail, her fingers moving with careless ease. The gesture felt intimate, almost domestic. Once she finished, she adjusted her pink leather jacket.
Her roommate closed the door behind them.
They moved down the old staircase, before heading toward an old car parked by the curb. I briefly wondered how such a pathetic machine still operated, but I did not dwell on it.