The dark room at the end of the hallway was nothing, something that never existed. That's what Alex was saying at the visitors at least. Just an old room that is locked, nothing too interesting. No one even cared to find what it really is. Alex could hide a corspe there, get away with murder but no one would know it. He could torture human souls watching the blood split on the dark walls. Maybe it was just a simple old office with old animations and pentagrams all over the place. It was an old brown wooden door at the end of Alex's hallway. Just a simple lifeless pathetic door.

But when night was taking over Los Angeles, the moon and the stars filling the blackness and taking over the earth as the houses' lights were turned off one by one, he had other plans to develop his creativity. The rusty key in his drawer was opening a new world, a world full of insanity and madness. Full of obsession and colours.

He gulped and turned the key, turning the lights on in the small room. The walls were painted in pastel purple but you couldn't see them anyway. They were covered with photos, presenting a h/c woman smiling, making funny faces and laughing. Notes everywhere and messages on the walls written with red and black paint.

"She's a falling angel."

"She needs a man, not a fucking friend."

"Her body turns me on so much."

"HahAHAha.. Of course she'll love me!"

Is this what obsession feels like? Stalking a person and looking at their pictures. Following him, her at all his or her social media and kissing their pictures?

He chuckled softly at her figure feeling his hot breath hitting the images with force. He was almost panting before flinching. Alex turned his skull facing a goodness before grabbing a half-covered dirty paintbrush. This painting took too much time but it was worth it. Imagining her breasts being half-covered by a long white blanket. Imagining her silhouette standing in the middle of his house with closed eyes and beautiful black circles under them. Her burning red lips against his pale cheek was all he was thinking after midnight. This painting was representing her, her flawless little self. She had no traits, not even one in front of him. Beautiful silver hair and her shadow playing sick tricks with his mind.

A splash of paint fell on his cheek. Red it was almost as real as blood. Thick, trailing down his skin before drying. His caramel eyes starring at the wall like he was praying. He wasn't a psychopath, he was in love with a woman he couldn't have. He clenched his fists and cried out his emotions like a weak baby boy. Alex didn't know that he had such realistic drawing skills until he started fantasizing about her. His words transported into art as the small yellow radio was playing jazz music. Her beauty could only be represented by music notes and love poems.

He cursed feeling the god starring at his blasphemy, disturbed by a psychopath. He didn't say a word, she was his in the life and in the afterlife. He needed those purple walls in his afterlife.

His tongue hit his sharp teeth feeling satisfied. Rain was pouring down the roads but it didn't matter. His painting was finished, a glass with coloured water standing on a white marble table. This body, this soul, this voice. He could paint portraits of her all the time and curse under his breath.

Alex's breath had the smell of whiskey and cigarette, the expensive one. Half-buttoned shirt, you could see clearly his hairy strong arms. Messy hair and brain that is at the peak of craziness. Blue jeans and splashes of different colours on them, hugging each other. He was wrecked down, he loved it. He could burn himself, let his blood cover the floor and feel the pain. Let the butterflies leave his stomach and throw up those erotic words. Chock that bitch and feel her begging. His palm wrapped around her neck, sweat and salty tears between his fingers. This would be for sure erotic to him, her mascara ruined and bruises lips. In need of her body, we all are insane anyway. Broken bones, aching stomach and toxic words.

"Y/n.. I am coming, my dear."