Just seeing him was enough to send shivers down my spine.
But it wasn't enough - I wanted to do more than see him; I
wanted to touch him, taste him, make love all night as I
knew we could. I knew we could.
If I closed my eyes, I could almost feel his breath on my
cheek, his lips on mine, his hand in my hair. I knew just
what he'd do, I knew his every move by heart; I knew he had
a million beautiful boys and girls at his feet, throwing
themselves at him, ready to cater to his every whim, just
as I would, if I had the chance. If I had the chance.
I watched as he pressed his lips to some lovely young
thing, watched his smirk as his victim swooned. In
moment I was filled with lust; he was so evil, and I loved
that about him, just as I loved everything about him. I
loved everything about him.
They all thought they loved him, these fawning creatures.
They didn't know, had never felt his touch, heard his
beautiful voice whispering that he'd love them forever. He
never said such things to them. He loved me, though, I
knew it. I didn't hear him say it, no, never "I love you
Mandy," but I knew he loved me. I knew he loved me.
We were meant to be together, which these people, these
mere fans, could never understand. They could never know
how I felt. I hear him whispering my name at night, over
and over; when I turn to look for him, he's gone; as if he
was never really there. He was never really there.