Mania (Fever Dreams Collection #1)

Act Two

For years, I watched him.

Studied him.

Memorized the freckles on his nose. The small specks of green in his brown eyes. Or how he could make everyone feel special just by being around them.

I loved him.

I love him.

He has taught me the subtleties of the human experience—the wide spectrum of mortal emotions. He is the reason why I came to know jealousy intimately.

Because I could never touch him. Not like others could. The soft bounce of his skin when a finger trailed its surface. The sweep of a hand through his hair. The damp taste on his tongue.

There was a closeness between him and others that I could never have.

Jealousy.

It tasted like vinegar. It became unbearable.

So I took the taste away. And no one touched him ever again.

And I was happy.

With him. Always with him.

My feelings no longer tasted foul.

Except … his festered.

But at least he stayed.

He stayed.

I made him stay.

Miserable. Touch-starved.

But with me.

Together.

Always together.