-Does he know she kisses like me-

I don't know why I'm torturing myself this way. I mean, yes I want her to move on with her life, but I don't want to watch it. I want her to have sunshine and picnics, a house with a picket fence, kids and a dog, but I want her to have it all with me, not the cretin in her room. So why am I standing here in the bushes outside her dorm room watching her and Solider boy. She's in there consoling him right now. I can't take my eyes off of her. I wanted her to move on with her life, but did she have to pick a moron to do it with?

Idiot actually thought I was Angelus, as if he'd be alive right now. Angelus would have flayed the boy alive after torturing him seven ways to Sunday. Now he stood up there in her room daring to touch her.


The demon in me is screaming to get out, to just have one chance in a dark alley with the boy. He is as obsessed with her as I am. I watch her lean in, her hand on his chest over his heart, his beating heart. [ripitoutfeedittothedogsMinemineminemine]

I lied. I told her I wanted her to move on. In the deepest recess of my unbeating heart, I wanted her to wait forever, to love me forever, the same way she did when I walked into the smoke, the same way I will love her forever. It seems like it was a lifetime ago, really only a year. My demon had howled at me then too. My soul had screamed.

He's still in there. He's probably whining over the bruises I gave him. Lucky I didn't rip his all American normal Joe head right off his shoulders. [killtorturemaimkillhimshe'smine]

I close my eyes and take a deep breath of night air that I don't need. She still keeps her window open. The whole night smells like vanilla and something else uniquely her. [Mine] I snarl, keeping the demon in check. It's right. She smells like mine. [mymarkmineminemine] Have I mentioned the demon has serious possessive jealousy problems when it comes to her?

Thank God, I think he's finally leaving. Here it comes, the part I've been dreading all night. She leans forward, slips one tiny hand to the back of his neck, her fingers curling in his hair. Her lips meet his and I growl. I remember kissing her. She was so young, so inexperienced. The only kisses she'd ever known before me were immature adolescent kisses from teenage boys that couldn't be bothered to take their time. I have had 243 years to learn kissing is an art. It was an art she learned very well. She was always a quick learner when given incentive. I watch as she just nips his bottom lip. [MinemykissmylipsherbloodmybloodmymarkMINE] Just the thought of it spurs that little half growl half purr noise I used to make in the back of my throat that she loved so much. I bet he doesn't purr for her. I turn to leave. I wonder if he knows she kisses like me.