“Oh, my beautiful Lilian, I want to pick each of your limbs as if they were flowers in the most exotic garden. I want to pour your blood into my glass and drink it like the most exquisite wine.”

Lilian just listened to Winston both amused and surprised. By now she was starting to get used to Winston’s dark poetry and stories.

“Do you like so far, Lil?” he asked, raising his eyes from the sheet and staring at her.

“Where do you get such ideas from?” she laughed, tossing her hair to her back.

“I’m supposed to write a horror story as if it were a romance or a romance story as if it were a horror. That’s the essay for English literature this week. And nobody better to inspire me than you, my muse.”

Winston smiled and sat next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“I do like it. What else are you going to do to me?”

He cleared his throat and continued:

“If I could I would steal pieces of your skin so I could feel your fragrant touch and sweetness whenever you aren’t around. I would chop your legs so you could never run away from me. I would have you forever and always, I would never ever let you go. You are mine and no one else, and if you ever leave I will go after you like a predator chases its prey...”

Lilian laughed out loud, his arm still around her shoulders. He squeezed her tightly against him.

“You know what, Lil?” he whispered at her ear. “This may be just a essay, but I love you so much I would really do to you all I wrote here. Don’t you ever dare break up with me.”

Lilian stopped laughing and gently pushed him away. Winston was staring at her fixedly, eyebrows frowned, and she couldn’t read his expression. Something told her he wasn’t joking.