Love? Non-existent. He'd never had anything but hierarchical relationships in his life; he needed someone above him, someone to show him where to go, someone to tell him what's right and what's wrong. Benjamin had constant scars that came and went, showing and hiding, but never overcame.

You knew him as a stranger, a stranger who became a supposed friend — a friend who hid his true self, while discovering even where your grandparents lived. There was nothing healthy or good about someone like him; he couldn't love, he could only obsess. He did this so well with you, but he wouldn't let you see anything he didn't want you to.

Demon, monster, machine, what else could describe him so well? You couldn't fix him, no one could, though he still wanted to believe your voice would. “I love when you talk about this!” A laugh, your laugh, playing on that tape deck over and over again when he felt himself being pulled down again. He recorded everything; he had to hear your voice every day. “Hey, hey... Can I take a picture of you? That's it, just like that.”

He might hate having his picture taken, but he never denied it to you. It was the moment he felt inside you, as if your greatest obsession involved him at some point. Oh, shit, he was so lost, but your little voice was in the back of his mind, or maybe it was just the fact that he was spying on you through your bedroom window, talking on the phone. Dex needed a constant in his life, you would be it, he decided.

But, how could you continue to be that for him if it seemed like there was someone else in your life?

Rejection was worse than betrayal to him, and he hadn't even been rejected, but he couldn't stand the idea that you could have other people in your life, other friends, friends who came and went from your house as he did. He saw the man with glasses who walked out the front door that Friday night, he hugged you, he patted you on the shoulder, he seemed to almost make sure you were safe and God knows he felt like... doing things that were wrong — things that were wrong from your point of view.

His fists clenched, his jaw clenched, jealousy consuming his thoughts like a warning that his anger would manifest if this went too far, he had to sigh and head back home. The tape deck stayed away from him all night, even though he missed your voice like a child misses the comfort of a parent.

The next day, he was standing at your door. Too early to be a good day, but he wanted to know things he couldn't just ask, so it was best to catch you sleepy in the morning, before going to work as a young photographer in New York growing your career — he started taking pictures of some landscapes after he met you, but never of himself, he left that to you.

“You had a friend over yesterday, huh?” You might've suspected something, if he hadn't mentioned it solely because of the two glasses of wine and the empty bottle on your coffee table. You couldn't blame him for assuming, of course.

Your eyes fell on the two glasses and you nodded as you walked into the kitchen with him behind you. “Oh, yeah... Matt, he's a good friend I made when I moved here.” A good friend, he had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Coffee with or without sugar?”

“Without.” As you made coffee, his eyes remained fixed on your figure with your back to him, his thoughts racing as his jealousy only grew. He could just say he was in love with you, couldn't he? Lie or not, he wasn't going to let some guy just take the place he wanted in your life.

Pretending wasn't and never was a problem, as long as you stayed. “Hey, where are you shooting today? I could pick you up,” he suggested, scratching his chin and stubble, leaning back against your counter. “We can have dinner somewhere nice. What do you think?” Don't get him wrong, he couldn't bear to lose the only person who kept his feet on the ground, the only obsession that made him feel alive again.