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She looks so pretty when she’s sleeping

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I can’t help it. I’m a lover boy. A romantic at heart. My obsessions sometimes get the better of me.

But, oh, how beautiful she is right now. So peaceful. I can’t help but wonder what she’s dreaming about.

Is it about me? Our interaction at the supermarket today? God, I hope so. I need her to see me. To feel my presence even in her unconscious state.

I didn’t mean to stare at her. She was just so breathtaking. I’d never seen such a beautiful woman. It choked the words in my throat.

And the way she looked at me, that quiet uncertainty in her face, it was like she wanted me to chase her. Maybe that’s why she left in such a hurry.

I was smart, though. The strong, brooding type. I didn’t want to seem too eager. That’s why I kept my distance as I followed her out to her car, and why I stayed a few car-lengths back from her on the way to her neighborhood.

I had to stop myself from dwelling for too long. I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. That’s what separates me from the other guys. I actually care.

It was almost impossible, though, because that figure of hers was absolutely jaw-dropping as she carried her bags inside.

I made a mental note of which house was hers before parking my car somewhere else. I needed our moment of romance to be the surprise of a lifetime. That’s why I decided to cut through backyards and hide behind trees as I made my way back to her.

When I arrived back at that newly familiar house of hers, I thought it best I wait. Daylight sometimes affects ambience. I’m a dark-romance type, pun intended.

However, just as the sun began to set and I saw an unfamiliar vehicle pulling into her driveway, I got a pit in my stomach. And when another man stepped out, it was like I had just been punched in the face.

The roses he held were like a taunt. His handsome face was like an insult. And the hug they shared, that’s what snapped me into action. I thank my lucky stars that they didn’t lock the door. Too busy betraying me, I assume.

I also thank the Lord that I’d caught them before any clothes came off.

All I was met with was giggles. Flirty conversation. Disgusting, filthy, nasty conversation. It broke me. Destroyed whatever sanity I had left. I didn’t even question my actions as I picked up that kitchen knife.

I didn’t want to hurt him, but she left me no choice. And, of course, I couldn’t traumatize her by making her watch this imposter bleed out on her hardwood floors. That’s why I made her sleep. I was doing her a favor, whether she knew it or not.

She’s lucky, too. Her betrayal was almost too much to stomach.

But even now, as she breathes softly by “her man,” I’m still blinded by my love. So much grace. So much elegance.

She looks so pretty when she’s sleeping.

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