"If we followed every impulse, we'd be killing one another"
                                                                  -Judith Martin

Mr. Grayson's p.o.v

There she is. Mine.

          Her beauty is a painting for my eyes only to enjoy. These past two weeks, night time is the only time that I can be with my love, catching a whiff of her sweet scent that continues to drown me as she dreams. Some nights, I simply can not control my own desire. I crawl into her bed and watch her very breath as she lays still and beautiful, trapped in her slumber. Im only human after all.

          I spend most of my time thinking of why she would leave me. I think of why she would want to throw away all of the plans that I had created for her. For us. For our future together. I was going to be the one to marry her. I was going to be the only man to make love to her day and night, and she was going bare my children. She was going to bare our children. She was meant to be mine and mine alone to have. Forever.

That is, in the event that my bloodlust could be controlled.

          Oh, how sweet that would be when she comes to her senses. How sweet it will be the day I stop being some kind of creep loving her from the shadows. How sweet it will be when I am her lover again and She. Is. Mine.

Suddenly, I hear a light beep. My espresso is done and it's time to begin my day.

          I trace my finger across Miss Tembo's paper cheek and kiss her lips softly, as I do every morning and night, making sure not to press too hard and wrinkle the soft paper. I have thousands of photos of her pasted on my wall. Some are print outs from her social media profiles. Things like, simple selfies and the like. Others are my own masterpiece. I took many pictures of her while she slept in my bed, naked and drowning in the filth that was a result of our souls merging. Becoming one.

         She was perfect. She is perfect.

         I clench my jaw and lock the door behind me before walking into my kitchen. I have already managed to cancel all of my classes for these past weeks. Today is my last day of being 'admitted' in hospital. At least that's what the doctors note that I forged indicates.

          I take my espresso and sit down at my kitchen island, opening my laptop. There, I head to Instagram and click on my favorite profile. Her profile. Miss Tembo's profile. Every morning, I look at all of her 54 posted pictures, zooming into her nose, which is perfect. Her eyes, which are perfect. Her lips, which are perfect and her profile, which is perfect. There is only one imperfection that I see. Post number 15.

          In post number 15, Nailea is in her usual clothes. A plain and basic, black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of matching black jeans with a plaid coat over it. Her braids are tied into her regular straight ponytail. Her roommate—Daisy—stands next to her, sticking her pierced tongue out and throwing her right hand into the air, making a peace sign. If this wasnt already obvious, I do not like Daisy. I find her presence completely unnecessary. If it were up to me, shed have been dead that night I met her. But I know that Miss Tembo would never forgive me for something that, though understandable, still very gruesome and to some people maybe even inhumane.

          It is now nearly 1pm in the afternoon and I've already had my lunch, gone for my daily sprint (I can now go 2km without stopping), taken four Xanax and had my shower. I now spend the remaining of my day ordering the fifth bouquet of flowers to be delivered to Miss Tembo's dorm room for the day. She hasn't thanked me yet. I assume it's because she's too speechless to give me an appropriate response, or maybe too busy? With Darla's.

          You would think that due to the somewhat special occasion tomorrow, she would be even a bit more eager to talk to me. You see, tomorrow is the last day that I have given her to come back to her senses. After that, well, I'll have to take matters into my own hands. But can you really blame me? Ive been nothing but under-standing. I mean, Ive given her a break for an entire weekwhat more could I possibly offer a person?

          I want to go see her there, at Darla's, but I know that I cannot. She politely asked me not to visit her work place and, me being the respectful man and all-around human being that I am, I listen.  She needs boundaries and I can understand that. Every healthy relationship needs boundaries sometimes and that's really all I want. I want the two of us to have a healthy relationship.

          At seven oclock in the evening, I stand at the entrance of the girls dorm and take my time to inspect the area. I will be honest, its such a challenge to be around this many ignorant bimbos and bums. I fantasize about chopping off each one of their heads with an old and rusty chainsaw. Almost like some kind of glorified blood-filled orgy. Except I would probably be the only one satisfied in the end.

          I watch as Nailea opens the door and Im anchored back to reality. She says thank you as the delivery boy hands her the flowers, I sent her. This was the last batch. For the day. I pay close attention to her hands as she reaches them out. Theyre long and pretty; just as I know them to be. I can still feel them running through my hair, exciting me. Everything is seemingly alright until I see her smile and take out her phone. What the hell is she doing? Is she....is she giving him her number? No. She isn't allowed to do that.

She. Is. Mine.

         Luckily, I came prepared for this. I wait for her to turn around and walk back into her room. That's when I start to follow him. The poor sucker doesnt realize he just made a mistake that will soon cost him his life. I'd much rather not describe his appearance. The thought of him being even remotely close to my precious and most treasured possession makes me sick to my stomach. I can't stand him.

          "Uh...excuse me, is this your car?" I ask him. I have...an idea

          "Nah, it's a company car man. I'm just a delivery douche", he smiles. His very underdeveloped voice is sickening. This is a boy Nailea. You need a real man. You need me.

          "Ah, I see. This might sound odd but, I have a similar car at my house, it's just about a seven-minute drive from here", I smile, "Do you think you could give me a ride there? My wife dropped me to work today and she just told me she was called into surgery a few minutes ago. She's a surgeon"

          "Ah", he rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know man. This was my last de-livery for the day, I need to hand the car back in. I could help you call an Uber maybe?"

          "Oh, I don't trust Ubers. You never know whos driving youthey might be an insane killer or something, I joke. Hes too naïve to understand the irony of my joke. I'll pay you", I persuade him. "$50? How does that sound?"

A pause. It makes me even more impatient. Which makes me even angrier.

          "Alright man, hop in"

          So just to recap, hes an idiot, delivers flowers, probably a stoner with not more than 200 words in his grammar and hes cheap too? Honestly Miss Tembo, do you see how many mistakes you would be making without me in your life? You should be more grateful.

         I slide into the passengers seat. It smells of marijuana and flaming hot Cheetos in here. What could she have seen in this idiot? As we drive, he turns on the radio and puts on some heavy rock. Miss Tembo doesn't like heavy rock. She would never enjoy his presence. I offer him directions, directing him to an old storage warehouse that I know of all too well. It's an isolated place where no one would ever hear him scream. And if at all his car has any sort of tracking devices, it would lead them to this spot where his bloody corpse will be found laying peacefully in the drivers seat.

          "You sure you live here man?", he laughs nervously, putting the car in park.

          "No. I lied", I tell him. Nonchalant as ever

          "... I... uh, I gotta go man. Don't even worry about the money. It's all good"

          Now he's nervous. He's alarmed. His adrenaline is pumping and his heartbeat is starting to build up. I pull the knife out from my pocket and slice it through the air playfully.

          "You know, my mother never let me play with knives when I was younger. She never let me touch them even after my eighteenth birthday", I begin to say. "Its because she knew I wouldnt be able to fight my growing urge to pierce one through her skin.—I swallow— I've always liked knives. People in the movies and you know, serial killers, they always use guns and, although guns are effective, I've just always preferred a simple pocket knife"

          "Cool man. I just wanna go home man", he gulps

          I quickly bring the edge of the knife to his throat, slicing a little. "Don't interrupt me. I'm talking"

          "As I was saying", I continue as he instinctively brings both his hands to his now bloody neck in shock. "Call me old fashioned, but I've always thought the greatest murder weapon ever invented is a knife. Guns are noisy and easy to track. But a knife is the truest silent ally. It does it's job easily without a trace and without a sound"

I notice the boy bleeding already and the corners of my mouth twitch upward.

          "Are you gonna kill me man?", he asks. He's now crying. What a baby.

          "Yes. Yes, I am"

          "Why? I... I don't even know you"

          "The agony"

          I pierce the blade through the flesh in his chest, causing a pool of blood to gush out immediately. I must have hit the heart. I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach towards the dashboard, picking up a tissue from the box and cleaning my bloody blade. I look over my shoulder and see him continue to struggle. He's going to die anyway; he might as well just give up but alas, hes a fighter.

          "Thank you for the ride," I say, placing a $50 bill in the cup holder. What? You didn't think that I wasn't going to pay him, did you?  I'm not a monster.

#

          Some people watch reality TV, others prefer to watch birds migrate, others watch old cartoons and some even watch overly exaggerated box office releases. I'm no different from any of those people. I just, prefer to watch what's mine. Is that so terrible?

        There were certain things that Miss Tembo would do every night. Since the very first night I watched her on my first day as a Professor at the university. Like, sometimes she would close the curtains to her bedroom and other times not. Lucky for me, this was one of those other times.

          Silently, I open the door and creep in. That dreadful roommate of hers is not here. Shes probably out somewhere having sex in a porta potty for all I know. Thank goodness. I step soundlessly towards Naileas bed and crouch beside her for almost two minutes, unmoving. I gently run my hand over the blue lace bra that is laying on the floor beneath her bed. As I pick it up, I take a whiff. It smells, as Id imagine, Heaven sent.

          Kneeling beside her, I listen to the sound of her breathing and inhale her warm scent. Her mouth is slightly hung open and she's drooling. Which, I dont know about you but I absolutely enjoy. She's wearing a pair of silk pajamas.

          I bring my mouth closer to hers and gently place a small kiss on the tip of her tongue. A deep breath escapes my control as I pull back. I pull out my knife and cut at the edge of her braid, taking a souvenir to go along with the bra.

Oh, dear me, I think I woke her.

          Within a matter of seconds, I've slipped out of the room and I'm on my way back to my home. 

For now, I am content. I can manage the boundary, but soon, I feel that I will start to slip. I will start to lose my mind and I will have no control over my actions. I feel that soon, I will go insane over my student.