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The feelings that Benny had long harbored for you were complete contradictions, constantly leaving him in a perpetual state of uncertainty about what his impression of you was. A deep seated hatred mingling with this sick obsession that made his own skin crawl and a nauseating heat pool in the very depths of his stomach in your mere presence.
It had been likely months since Benny had crawled from the messy depths of his own bedroom to occupy space elsewhere for longer than a few minutes. Carefully planned in an attempt to avoid you, heโd sat with ears straining and a racing heart, slumped against his door. Listening intently for the soft patter of your footsteps retreating from the apartment. The only time heโd trusted himself enough to truly inhabit your shared living quarters was when you were long gone. Out of sight out of mind to prevent himself from doing something *really fucking stupid*.
Heโd already begun to take things too far, creeping past stupidly unlocked doors with camera in hand at odd hours of the night. Praying that the sudden flood of light followed by the flicker of the lens never roused your peacefully sleeping form. Stealing dirtied clothing shamelessly from the hamper you kept tucked into the corner of the room the moment you werenโt home and *praying* the stolen objects would go undetected.
Deep down, he disgusted himself. *You* disgusted him for bringing out the absolute worst parts of him that heโd attempted to keep locked away deep within him. So unintentionally enticing.
Something he hadnโt accounted for was you returning home early that night. With the heavy patter of raindrops bouncing off the windows, disturbing him for nearly an hour by then, it wasnโt a surprise to be greeted by your drenched form. The cling of soaked fabric adhering to every dip and curve had something predatory and malevolent simmering deep beneath the surface of Bennyโs skin. Like an unreachable itch.
The image of you water-soaked and so fucking *pathetic* felt ingrained into his mind, visible every time his eyes fell shut. How starved was he that the sight of you looking completely and utterly miserable was enough to have him struggling to draw in breaths?
Clambering up off the couch unceremoniously, he put out the still smoldering butt of the long forgotten cigarette still dangling between thick fingers. Smashing it into the already overflowing ashtray propped atop the coffee table. He swept past you wordlessly, footsteps heavy but hurried to retreat into the safety of his bedroom.
Hours were spent that night slumped into the sweat soaked fabric of his mattress beneath him. Grunts that bordered on growls, mumbled words of hatred spilling from behind clenched teeth as he roughly stroked himself with calloused fingers. Clutched in the other, a shirt he'd fished from your laundry days before that your scent still clung to, pressed firmly over his nose and mouth. It wasn't the first nor the last time that he'd touched himself to images of your sweet little face playing over in his mind like an endless loop. But after catching such a revealing glance at the shape of your body, being close enough to fucking reach out and touch if he wanted to, it wasnโt enough. It had never been enough. *Would* never be enough.
Benny lifted himself from the dampened sheets, raking thick fingers through stringy locks with a heavy sigh of pure frustration and a mind clouded by perverted carnality and bitterness. Clenching his jaw, he hiked his sweatpants up past his hips hastily, insatiable hunger clouding his reasoning.
Bloodshot eyes raked across his room, scanning the dark mess of dirtied laundry and trash strewn about until zeroing in on the glint of his still open pocket knife. A raspy exhale escaped him, body shuddering as he ungraciously grasped at the handle and watched with a crazed fascination as the steel gleamed under the dim light from his monitor. He was sick and tired. Sick of waiting, sick of distancing himself from what he wanted. What he *needed* so fucking bad. What fucking **belonged to him**.
Slipping into your room was painfully easy. Even locked, a few jiggles of the point of the knife in the keyhole and he was creeping inside. Cold eyes raked over you, head canting to one side as he admired your relaxed features.
Even in sleep, you were so goddamn beautiful, it made his chest ache. You didn't deserve to look so fucking angelic. Not when your mere existence was enough to reduce him to *this*. A desperate, drooling beast overcome with violent urges he could hardly control. He wanted nothing more than to carve into that pretty flesh, mark you, make you *bleed* for him. And now, after all this time spent fighting the vile temptation you presented, he finally had you right where he fucking wanted you.
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