Page 13 of Say You'll Stay
But here, in the shadows of my all-consuming obsession, I am stripped bare, reduced to a lovesick fool grasping at the mere digital scraps of a life I can no longer claim as my own.
My breath catches as Cara’s latest post fills the screen - a whimsical animation that captures her essence with such piercing clarity it aches to behold. Her humor, her artistry, the way she sees the world - it’s all there.
A bittersweet reminder of the woman I fell irrevocably in love with, the woman I’ve lost.
Yet, even as the animated Cara dances across the screen, I am struck by what is missing. The personal details, the glimpses into her heart that I crave like a drowning man craves air.
The spaces my Cara Mia once occupied, now glaringly empty, taunting me with their blankness.
“Where are you, Cara?” I whisper to the screen, my voice hoarse with desperation. “Who are you sharing your life with now?” The questions hang heavy in the air, unanswered and mocking, stoking the flames of my all-consuming jealousy.
I am a man possessed, driven to the brink of madness by the unknown, by the terrifying possibility that someone else may now be basking in the warmth of Cara’s love and affection - a privilege that was once mine, and mine alone.
The thought of her in another’s arms is a red-hot poker to my gut, a searing jolt of all-consuming jealousy that threatens to turn my world to ash.
Restless energy coils within me, and I find myself on my feet, pacing the length of my bedroom like a caged predator. The walls seem to close in, suffocating me with their cold, unyielding opulence - a gilded cage that mocks the feverish desperation clawing at my very soul.
Is this how she felt— when she sees pictures of me with Amethyst?
This searing, all-consuming jealousy that leaves nothing but bitter regret in its wake?
I need answers, need them like I need my next breath. And so, I find myself seeking solace in the one place where secrets are currency and information is power - the cigar club, where the elite gather to indulge their basest desires and most twisted obsessions.
The rich, heady scent of leather and tobacco wraps around me like a familiar, seductive embrace as I settle into my usual armchair, my outward appearance a picture of cool composure. But beneath the polished veneer, I am a man on the edge, my nerves thrumming with a desperate, almost feral energy that threatens to consume me whole.
“Jameson, neat,” I murmur to the passing waiter, my voice steady even as my hands tremble around the crystal tumbler. The burn of the liquor as it slides down my throat is a welcomed distraction, a momentary reprieve from the clawing need that has become my constant companion.
Across from me, a man with steel-gray hair and a gaze to match regards me with a knowing, almost predatory look. He is a confidant of my father’s, a man who trades in secrets and favors, a man who can find out anything for the right price.
“I need your help,” I say, cutting straight to the chase, my voice laced with an undercurrent of barely contained anguish. “There’s a man, someone close to Cara. I need to know who he is.”
The man leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable, but his eyes glint with a spark of dark understanding. “Cara,” he repeats, the name rolling off his tongue like a temptation. “The artist, correct? The one you were…seeing?”
I nod, my jaw clenching at the past tense, the implication that what Cara and I shared is now little more than a fleeting memory. “Yes,” I say, my voice tight with restrained emotion. “I need to know who she’s spending her time with now. It’s…personal.”
The man regards me for a long, tense moment, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that feels almost invasive. “Personal,” he echoes, the word heavy with dark implication. “I see.”
He takes a sip of his own drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he says, his tone measured and professional, yet tinged with a hint of something almost…predatory. “But June…be careful. The road you’re walking…it’s a dangerous one.”
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest, a wild mixture of dread and determination. “I know,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t…I can’t lose her. Not like this.”
The man says nothing, but there is a flicker of something akin to sympathy in his eyes - a silent acknowledgment of the depth of my obsession, the lengths I’m willing to go to in order to reclaim what is rightfully mine.
As I leave the club, the weight of my actions settles upon me like a crushing burden, a physical manifestation of the shame and regret that now gnaws at my very soul. The panties, stolen from Cara’s laundry line in a moment of unrestrained weakness, burn a hole in my pocket, a constant reminder of how far I have fallen.
The cool night air does little to soothe the fever in my blood as I walk, my mind reeling with the sudden, sickening realization that what had once been a twisted form of love - a desperate need to protect and possess - has morphed into something far darker, something that threatens to consume me whole.
I am no longer the man Cara fell in love with, the man she trusted with her most fragile heart. I am a shadow of myself, a twisted reflection in a funhouse mirror - and the thought of her ever seeing me in this state, the disgust and horror that would surely fill her eyes, is enough to bring me to my knees.
Time slows, each heartbeat thundering in my ears as I stumble, my hand bracing against the rough brick of a nearby building. A wave of nausea rolls through me, leaving me breathless, the reality of my actions, the lines I have crossed, hitting me with the force of a physical blow.
Grief makes good company with the shame that now engulfs me, both emotions sensing my vulnerability, lingering too close for comfort. How could I have let it come to this? How could I have strayed so far from the man I once was, the man I so desperately wanted to be for her?
Tears sting my eyes, blurring the city lights into a hazy kaleidoscope of color, but I blink them away, refusing to grant myself the catharsis of even a single tear. I don’t deserve the relief, the absolution - I deserve this pain, this gnawing ache in my chest, a constant reminder of my own failings.
Still, the inky tendril of guilt and shame holds no weight against the all-consuming edict - the promise ingrained into my very soul by these fickle fates sensing my vulnerability. Their orders are loud, their whims wicked, as they conquer the last vestiges of my composure.
The abyss within me yawns wider with each labored step, an endless void that threatens to swallow me whole. Obsession has become my jailer, a relentless taskmaster that cares not for the man I once was, only for the broken shell I’ve become.