He stalked her.
Watched her leave her apartment, followed the clicks of her heels, the intoxicating scent of her body and each sway of her hip; she was perfect. She turned down the alley, a place far to dangerous for a women who possessed that much beauty, with a swift grip on her arm, one breathless kiss, he stabbed her; killing the women he loved.
Envy struck his heart, convincing him she was better off dead and alone than to live a life without him. The fact that she didn’t know he existed made the decision far to easy. With each attempt to “accidentally” speak to her, their path were interjected by romantic charming men, men he didn’t have the chance against. Oh so he told himself.
The deed was done and his body ached with regret. How could he do such a thing to the women he loved?
Thoughts pushed through his ears as he tried to resurrect the dead, breathing through her mouth as blood oozed out the stab wounds on her chest, he was making a mess. Screaming in agony and pain he concluded death was the answer, stabbing his heart, piercing his soul, welcoming her love into his deadly heart.
There they laid, cold and alone. A love never flared only blown out by jealousy. One heart too afraid to greet another; afraid of rejection, pain, a life without her. He made a decision, never allowing her to choose whether to love him or die, so he chose death.