Why Am I So Possessive Novels & Stories

I don't want to see her with anyone else but me, that's how much I'm crazy about her. "Can we just live peacefully without having any fights? I'm done with all this arguing everytime." I requested. She put the magazine on her lap. "Well it's not my fault you won't stop annoying me. Until you don't stop acting like an over possessive boyfriend, I'm sorry there's nothing I can do about it." She stated sincerely. I bobbed my head in agreement. I'm acting too possessive, I can't help myself. It's beginning to look like I'm obsessed with her. I think what I feel for her is just lust.

"I live in your house; I don't know if that counts. Besides, how can that hurt you? I'm a free girl." "In that you are mine alone! From this moment on, I forbid you to be seen with this man or anyone else. Do you understand?" he asked in a domineering tone, and she opened her eyes wide in the face of this attack of possessiveness. To have been not to possess. You can have what you don't want. Possession is having and enjoying what you have. José Saramago.

Why am I feeling so possessive suddenly? Maybe the fact that she's YOUR mate and you don't want to let her go.' Silver responded. I groaned at his voice. Him again? 'Whatever.' I answered him. I heard his chuckle. I know how you feel, Blake. Im part of you. I feel everything you feel. You feel like if Luke is going to take away Renee, you'll be alone. Alone because he took your mate. Youll feel lost and lonely. You'll feel if you hadn't rejected her, life would've been better. That's why you're possessive over her. You love her.

Not just guilt, though a faint, unwelcome echo of it brushed the edges of my consciousness. No. It was something far more potent, more insidious. Possessiveness. A fierce, territorial claim over this broken thing I had made. The desire to gather her close, to shield her, to brand her even further as mine. And a cold, unyielding rage that anyone, anyone, could have made her whisper those damning words about another man. I stood up abruptly, unable to remain still, dragging a hand over my face, needing to move before I did something else, something worse, something I might truly regret. The air in the room felt thick, oppressive.

I am becoming possessive. The idea pounds against my temples, heavy and true. It's no longer mere pleasure. It's appropriation. When she looks elsewhere, when her mind seems to fly away from me, even for an instant, a cold rage twists my guts. When another man's eyes rest on her too long, my fingers clench. The idea that she might one day walk out that door, toward a life where I would not be, is no longer a simple logical conclusion of a bargain. It is an intolerable thought. An anticipated tearing apart. She is no longer a fleeting moment. She has become the moment. The only one.

Is he jealous of the server? I could tell he was possessive of what he said. When guys believe you’re their lover, this is what they’re afraid of. Instead of enjoying how they feel, they grow obsessed with you, and the finale only scares you since it appears that they will do anything to obtain your attention. And that’s what I try to stay away from the most. He appears to be like that based on what he just started today.

After she walked down this morning, it had taken everything in me to not demand that she go change, I ended up controlling myself from doing that cause then that would be me playing right into her game which I instantly saw through. She wants me to lose it. I wasn’t gonna give her the satisfaction of letting that play out. Aside from the fact that I didn’t wanna play right into her game, I was also holding myself back because my stance was still yet to change, once wouldn’t be enough. If I fuck her again, I’m certain I’ll never be able to let her go, everything else be dammed. But I’m sure she had no idea how much possessiveness I have buried deep within me revolving around her, or how badly

I muttered, though there was no real bite behind the words. She tilted her head slightly, studying my face again, her expression softening into something warmer now. “You’re ridiculous,” she murmured fondly. “She’s my friend.” “I know,” I replied quietly. And I did. But knowing didn’t erase the feeling. Didn’t erase the tight knot that formed in my chest whenever I saw her laugh with someone else, share warmth that I selfishly wanted reserved only for me. Because the truth was— I was possessive. Not in anger.

“Would you mind if we did?” —You two might like to share, but I don't. What the hell! I'm panicking, not because of what anyone thinks of me, but because of myself. When have I ever been jealous or possessive? Never, because that would mean a man could be possessive of me, feel he has some right to me, and I've never allowed that. So why the hell am I sitting here saying words I'd never even imagined in my life? Why the hell would I care if they've brought other women here? I have to go. I've been here too long, if my thoughts are any guide.

They plan and wait but when they fixate on something? Or Someone? It’s never casual for them! It’s not fleeting either, It’s consuming and more overwhelming, the other type are the possessive ones. Those ones don’t just watch they act on their impulses and they claim. They build this idea in their head of what you are to them, what you’re supposed to be and once that idea locks in, it doesn’t matter who you actually are anymore. You become theirs! In their mind. In their logic. In their world.