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Sour

I’d rather it was tasteless

By OxygndrainerPublished 3 months ago 3 min read
2

Ali and I were the kind of pair that folks described as "meant to be." Our love story was a staple in local gossip circles, our friend were seemingly tired of the PDA, and my constant droning of “my man, my man” . However, beneath the surface of our seemingly idyllic romance, a subtle current of obsession flowed, unseen but palpable.

Ali, a laid-back computer engineer with a penchant for indoor activities, kind of wore his heart on his sleeve, while I a free-spirited artist with a love for dresses liked to think I was the muse that fueled Ali’s every heartbeat. Our love, when viewed from afar, painted a picturesque scene – romantic dates at the local diner, shared laughter at the town's annual fair, and lazy Sunday afternoons spent tangled in each other's arms. Don’t get me wrong these happened no doubt, but that’s only when you filtered the good parts.

Yet, as the days melted into nights, the contours of Ali’s devotion began to morph into something more intense. I started noticing subtle shifts in his behavior, an undercurrent of possessiveness that left a lingering discomfort. At first, it was small things – a glance that lasted a beat too long, questions about my whereabouts that felt more like interrogations than casual inquiries.

As I grappled with the encroaching waves of Ali’s obsession, I found myself torn between the love we had shared and the suffocating grip of his ever-watchful eyes. It was a delicate dance between affection and unease, a fine line that grew thinner with each passing day.

Looking back, the chilling realization settles in, that deciphering the madness in Ali’s unsettling behavior was an intricate puzzle with pieces scattered across time. His unfocused eyes, a perpetual window into a mind teetering on the brink, betrayed a disturbing intensity that eluded casual observation.

The brittle laugh, a disconcerting melody, echoed through the corridors of unease. Its fragility was not just a momentary lapse but a persistent soundtrack to an unhinged psyche, concealing a narrative of instability beneath its surface.

Ali’s hasty moves, once dismissed as impulsive quirks, revealed themselves as calculated maneuvers of a mind consumed by obsession. Every step seemed not just hurried but purposeful, echoing the unsettling dance of someone dangerously fixated.

As the story unfolded, the complexity of Ali’s actions unveiled a haunting tale of a crazed stalker and unhingedness. His presence, like an overstayed shadow, began to loom larger, casting an eerie pall over my daily routine. Innocuous encounters took on a sinister edge as Ali’s proximity transcended the boundaries of my comfort.

I tried leaving, distancing myself from Jim messages and calls, once sporadic, transformed into a relentless barrage, a shudder running through as I’m notified yet again, each communication a manifestation of an increasingly unhinged desperation. Invasive messages, comments dripping with possessiveness, and a relentless online stalking leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable.

The line between affection and obsession blurred, leaving a trail of discomfort and fear in its wake.

Attempts to distance myself from Ali only intensified his relentless pursuit, a unyielding trailing that defied reason. The creeping awareness that every move was being scrutinized, every word analyzed, painted a disturbing picture of a mind unhinged.

In the aftermath, the unfocused eyes, brittle laugh, and hasty moves coalesced into a chilling narrative of a person unraveled by obsession and driven to the fringes of sanity, fixated on an unsettling quest.

I wish I knew earlier, I wish I wasn’t easily deceived, cloaked in affection and fondness.

I would have known of the darkness he hid behind a facade, a darkness that was all too easy to dismiss until it was too late.

traumaCONTENT WARNINGpsychologicalCONTENT WARNING
2

About the Creator

Oxygndrainer

When I was at my lowest, I found art, writing made me find my voice. I could weld gut wrenching pieces and I would feel a sense of relieve, because putting your words out can get the weight off your shoulder.

I write happy things too.

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