I Am Nothing In My Soul If Not Obsessive Mga Nobela at Kwento

If his cousins could see him now, they’d probably be laughing at him for being so weak. Colton didn’t know why he was feeling what he was feeling. It was like he was on drugs and he felt the withdrawal of not being with her. Being with her made him feel alive like nothing else ever could. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was her. One could even say that he was obsessed.

Daniel grabbed his phone and sat on the bed, but still, he couldn't get hold of himself. He grabbed his phone and sat on the bed, but the feeling persisted. It was driving him insane. "What is this feeling? It can't be possible!" he exclaimed, his heart pounding. He got up and went to the wine bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and a wine glass on his way back to the room. As he poured himself a glass of wine, he paused for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief. "I know myself, and this is not who I am," he said, his voice firm and resolute.

At the office, everything feels dull. The walls are gray. Faces are blurred. Meetings become parodies. I speak without hearing myself. My own sentences feel foreign. I drift off in the middle of a presentation. I get stuck on a word. My colleague looks at me, puzzled. I stammer an excuse—sleepless night, migraine, too much coffee. But the truth is, there's a void in my chest. Not a sad void. No. An obsessive void. A void shaped in her image. The exact form of her absence. A burning hollow that nothing fills.

I was able to discover who I was outside the protection of the Grayhide Pack, and let's just say I wasn't disappointed with what I discovered. So, no. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I'm a reasonable man... well, mostly, I guess. Until I found myself obsessed with Amaya. The problem with obsessions is that they don't listen to reason. I sit at my desk, the faint glow of the candle painting shadows across the stacks of records I’ve pulled for the third night in a row. Nothing. Not a single damn scrap of evidence that proves Amaya existed before she appeared in this house.

"I have no interest in continuing my father's legacy. I'm tired and and done. I'm only still here cause I can't afford to get broke. Any other thing is not my business." "But you have so much potential... Do you really want to throw it all away? ho fiducia in te. I know you can do it." " You've brainwashed me enough, anziano. I don't think I want to continue in this gibberish any more. I want to watch this place rot to the ground and become nothing. Enough to watch my father die from an heart attack." "Enough! I can't sit and watch you continue like this any longer. You need to let go Mia principessa. "

Although not being able to hope was bad enough,having ones hopes being squashed was also not good. She noticed there was a shadow looming above her and blocking the light so she raised her head up. Her mouth opened in surprise as she saw her boss's handsome face appear in her line of vision. She stepped back and clutched her chest as her mouth opened wide. She was about to say something budound herself stuttering. "I told you to do something but noticed you had zoned out. I I figured out you needed a physical reminder, that was why I was about to do." He told her coldly.

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” “I’m crazy about you. I … can’t live without you.” “You’d been fine for four years,” said Qeiza.”You’ll also definitely live well for the rest of your life.” “Qei, please … give me a chance!” “Sorry, I can’t make it.” “Why? Do you really hate me that much?” “I’ve floated the pieces of my broken heart in the sea of tears,” said Qeiza. “It’ll be useless if you insist to put them together again.”

To anything that would help me drown out his voice echoing in my head. “You’re pathetic.” That one stuck. It played on loop like a curse. Because I knew he was right. Maybe this obsession I had with him—this reckless, spiraling need to have him—wasn’t desire. Maybe it was a sickness. One that consumed every part of me until I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I tried to remember what happened after the club. There were pieces, scattered like broken glass. Laughter. Loud music. A drink too many. A face—his face?

In fire. In something that challenges her. Breaks her. Remakes her. And I’m going to be the one who does it. Whether she wants me to or not. Because obsession? It doesn’t ask permission. It takes. And I’m done waiting. "Get me her class log in school. I'm done waiting."