Velvet

She kissed his picture and ran it all over her body.  He was the nicotine to her cigarette of life.

The whole room was covered by his pictures. Not an inch of the walls was left free. Ranging from the sofa cushions to the fridge magnets, he was there everywhere. Her room was a kaleidoscope of his body captured in fragments of pictures. He was a famed cricketer and she had pictures of him from every match which he had played. He had a structured jaw line with two dimples complementing his crooked yet perfect smile and a tattoo stretching from his nape to lower back. At 6 feet, he stood tall and chivalrous while receiving his multiple awards. And, each night, before going to sleep, she would whisper to his pictures, “I’m going to kill you, darling.”

 Her dreams would be flooded with images of his dead body engulfed in fire.

But when she awoke the next day, she would be baffled as to why her room was flooded with pictures of an attractive stranger. She did not seem to remember him the slightest bit although his face seemed very familiar. The laptop would beep and after checking her mail, she would Google him. She would surf through various sites and minute by minute, get addicted to him.

For he was her obsessive compulsion.