After that day, Marinette and I talked ever day. She made my heart beat faster, and in her presence, I could never help but feel an odd sort of joy, continuing long after I'd leave.
I met her friends, Alya and Nino, and we all started getting together and became a close group of friends. And then, I met her boyfriend.
Of course, she would have a boyfriend. No girl like that would be single.
I liked the man; he was nice and truly cared for Marinette. His hair was a dyed aqua, but it was growing out a bit, showing his natural black hair. He made her happy, anyone could see that. But, despite that, I held a deep resentment toward him.
He was 4 years older than her, which wasn't a problem, she was 20; he painted his nails black; had big, black studs in his ears; a nose ring and stud; and had tattoos all over his arms.
He was all wrong for her, at least in my opinion. But Marinette loved him. She was happiest around him; and that was good enough for me, that if I couldn't have her, at least she was happy.
But I wanted to be the one to make her happy. My heart ached for her. For her lips, full and pink and inviting. For the way her eyes sparkled around the one she loved.
…
By now I had known her for a bit more than a year, when I got her call.
She had been on her 5-year anniversary with Luka, her boyfriend – actually, her now fiancée.
He had proposed, and she had obviously said yes. I pretended to be happy for her over the phone and when I went over to her apartment.
When I got back to my home, I was angry and sad. I wanted to hurt the man. I wanted to kill him and take Marinette as mine. I loved her. I wanted her. I needed her.
SORRY ITS SHORT, THIS IS MORE OF A FILLER, WHILE I GET THIS STORY GOING. THEY'LL GET LONGER, I PROMISE.