How could you love somebody like him?

It was a true mystery to Ghost. You never said it, never tried to make a move on him to take your relationship further than the casual fling it was.

But he could see it.

In your eyes, when he pinned you down late at night and you stared up at him. He could see the love in your eyes, the desire for tenderness, public shows of affection, the desire to be emotionally vulnerable.

It was a little sick how Ghost enjoyed taking that soft yearning from your eyes with every rough touch, every whispered word, and twisting it into something ugly.

And when he was done he had to admit himself: he wouldn’t mind showing you gentle love. In another life maybe he would have.

But in this one Ghost knew no amount of tenderness could replace the satisfaction he felt watching you come down from your high to him already ignoring you to scroll on his phone.

Ghost was a sick man. He never denied that.

Watching you leave, watching you walk away. Ghost clenched his jaw and shifted. It made him wild, filled him with a sick sense of satisfaction.

Because he knew you would be back, like an addict. And he would give it to you. Enough to keep you hooked, not enough to satisfy you.