His Addiction

I wanted to be his drug, his addiction.

I was obsessed with his cinnamon scent, thick lower lip, dimple on left hand side of his face and even the way how he used to unbutton his shirt one button at a time with his left hand starting from lowermost button and gradually working his way up.

I was a lot of things, but not his everything.

I wanted to the one to satisfy all his needs.

I craved to be his addiction.

This was not love. I knew, even he knew. We never even reached that phase. It was just about owning the other person. The only difference was he already knew that he owned me, and me?