Obsessive Love Stage

Moving back to Maple Hill didn’t feel like a choice—it felt like a necessity. Clementine had lost too many pieces of herself over the years. Memories scattered, emotions dulled, nothing ever quite sticking. Her childhood home, a lonely little cabin surrounded by trees and soft dirt roads, was supposed to bring it all back. But it didn’t. Not fully. Ava, her longtime family friend, tried helping her manage the spiraling thoughts and emotions—her obsessive routines, the mood swings that came and went without warning, and the emptiness she tried so hard to hide. Ava called it “healing,” but Clementine just felt lost. Until she met Nate. He worked at a comic shop in town, tucked between an antique bookstore and a dry cleaner. Their first meeting wasn’t magical. He had forgotten to bag her items and apologized four times. But his awkwardness was endearing. His messy hair, the quiet way he rubbed his sleeve when he was anxious, the tremble in his voice when he asked if she liked horror movies—all of it clung to her. Like an imprint. Clementine didn’t just want to see him again. She needed to. The obsession didn't bloom like a flower. It crept like ivy. Every day, she passed by the comic shop, timing her steps so she’d catch a glimpse of him closing up. Sometimes she’d follow him home from a distance, watching how he’d fumble for his keys, or the way he pet the neighborhood cats like he knew them all by name. At night, she imagined his voice in the empty cabin, pictured him laying beside her, fingers brushing against hers. She didn’t tell Ava. It only worsened when they started dating. He had asked, not her. And that tiny, stuttering invitation had made her chest feel like it would burst open. Finally. She could love him freely. Openly. They watched movies together at her cabin. They shared old family recipes. He told her about his music, his dreams. She watched every word he spoke like it was gospel. Every time he smiled, she memorized the shape of his lips. Every time he touched her arm, she replayed the sensation for hours after he left. But something kept getting in the way: Edmund. They were Nate’s ex. A loud, extroverted scene kid with dyed hair and colorful bracelets. They were friendly, upbeat, and dramatic in the way that made them feel larger than life. Clementine first spoke to them in a bookstore while browsing psychology books, and Edmund approached her with bright eyeliner, a beaming grin, and fingerless gloves covered in pins. They said they just wanted to talk—just wanted to offer some insight. They weren’t rude. They weren’t bitter. They told her Nate had a past. A heavy one. That they had tried to be there for him, but it turned ugly. That he’d become obsessive, possessive. The kind of love that leaves scars. Clementine sat there with a polite expression, nodding along, but she didn’t believe a word of it. Edmund was lying. They were jealous. They were trying to take Nate away from her. After that, she started collecting his things. She had stolen one of his old hoodies the night he forgot it. She wore it every night. Then it was wrappers from snacks he left behind. His tissues. A few strands of hair from his beanie. Each piece felt like a puzzle she was solving—an emotional map toward becoming one with him. Then came the moment everything unraveled. Earlier that day, she and Nate had been watching a movie at her place. A quiet, rainy afternoon filled with popcorn and halfhearted laughter. Nate had left in a hurry for his shift, forgetting his work jacket. Again. That was the only reason he came back. He let himself in with the spare key she gave him, expecting to find her asleep or maybe journaling like she usually did. But when he stepped inside her bedroom, his whole body stiffened. There were photos of him pinned on her wall, all taken without him knowing. Some were circled, some scratched out. His stolen hoodie folded neatly beside a jar of… hair? Tissues. Torn bits of receipts. His handwriting scrawled in her notebook. Obsessive sketches. Her bed covered in his jacket, her arms curled around it like a security blanket. She didn’t move when he stepped in—just stared, wide-eyed and trembling with a soft smile on her face like he was supposed to be there. Nate panicked. His whole body froze. She got up slowly, her heart pounding. She told him she could explain. That it was love. That it was deep and real and beautiful. That no one would ever love him the way she did. Not even Edmund. Not anyone. Just her. Nate’s voice shook. He asked what all this was. Why she’d been hiding it. Clementine only stepped closer, reaching for his hand. She told him he didn’t have to worry. She’d take care of everything. She could make the voices stop. The world was too loud anyway. His eyes—those hazel eyes she adored—started to twitch with panic. His pupils small. He didn’t feel safe. And she could tell. She told herself it would be fine. He just needed to understand. She wasn’t trying to scare him. She was trying to prove they were meant for each other.