It's dark. Too dark to see him or even taste his breath that once used to tickle your nerves with its minty smell. It's so mind blowing, he whispers into your ear and some hands begin to ghost over your stomach and face. You begin to wail silently, tugging endlessly at the handcuffs. You know what's going to happen now, dread building up in your eyes. He sees it and smiles sweetly, cooing gently that it's okay to be scared a bit. You're a virgin after all. A pair of cherry lips begin, after a millisecond whose end you couldn't grasp, to trail the line of your chin silently, hungrily, droplets of his pearly laugh echoing in your stiff, numb body.
Then, suddenly, it's all white and you try to blink away the tears. He screams, pulling you closer to himself, crying, begging and you're drowning in a citrus scent of his shirt. No, nono noononoo. You must stay, he can't let you go, you're everything, everything he could ever dreamt of having!
You can't breathe, the world is falling apart and you with it. Why, whywhy is it so dark, even when it's so bright? His tears wet your hair, clothes he didn't have time to rip off. There are policemen all around you. Everyone is screaming, you're cold inside and out. Baby no, please no and then you go limp in his arms, his cries filling the air.
You wake up few minutes later. His voice echoes in your head, the heartbeat speeding up every time you blink. Your girlfriend runs to you, crying the same tears you saw only moments ago on his eyelashes. She embraces you, whispering I love you, this madness is over now and I'll get this motherfucker, baby don't cry over and over again. You can't stand, legs are too shaky to keep your head from splitting wide open. Everything's blurry, as if his hands smeared all of the tears and pain into your eyeballs. You roll over, thinking it's just too good to be true, you try to pretend it must be a lie. This whole masquerade of obsession, spying and stalking can't be over, never will be. Even now, without him being really here, you feel his eyes undressing you, believing you could ever love him just as much as I love you, dollface. You vomit, you're so filthy, it must painful for her to even look at a useless, broken slut like you. He casted a spell you'll never be able to break, you realize now with disgust. You cry helplessly, looking as far as possible from her or a group of grumpy boys in blue standing in one of the corners of the room.
It'll never be okay. Would be, if you worked elsewhere, had studied history instead of maths, had liked boys more than girls in high school, had been born a woman or had never been born to start with. Then maybe Jack would had never murmured to your girlfriend that he fancied you and would do anything to show you the feeling which you obviously ignored deeply in your mind.
Because there was no chance you didn't feel it. Right?