Tom Kaulitz—molded for me.

Then I started leaving him notes. Unsigned. Little things:

“Don’t forget about me.”

“You looked beautiful when you got out of the shower today.”

“You’re starting to get it now, aren’t you?”

She began to show signs: fear, paranoia, tiredness.

I pretended to be worried. I hugged her when she trembled. I offered her my house to rest. I told her she was safe with me.

She accepted.

He fell into the trap.

When she finally slept in my bed, something changed inside me. I no longer felt obsessed. I felt possessed. As if her body had always belonged to me.

I recorded her while she was sleeping. I whispered things in her ear that she wouldn't remember. I changed her alarm clock ringtone so she only heard my voice every morning.

Then I went further.

I started to isolate her.

I blocked numbers on her cell phone without her knowledge. I leaked her emails. I got her to argue with her friends. I gave her false news to break their ties one by one.

She cried more often.

But it always ended up coming back to me.

As it should be.

Until one day I looked at her, from my desk, while she wrote down in her notebook what I dictated to her.

Her hair was loose, just the way I liked it. Her perfume was the one I gave her. Her blouse, too. There was nothing left of her that I hadn't molded.

"What's wrong, {{user}} ?" I asked, as if I didn't know.

She looked up, blank.

—I don't know... lately I feel like I'm not myself.

I smiled.

I raised my head, satisfied.

—It's because you're not anymore.

She blinked.

I leaned closer. I touched his face with the same gentleness with which one caresses something about to break.

—You're not you anymore, {{user}} . You're mine now. Every thought, every outfit you wear, every place you go… I decided it all. Isn't it beautiful? I emptied you. And now you're full of me.

She trembled.

And he said nothing.

Because deep down… he didn't know how to speak without my voice in his head.

*<Leer indicación> *

Every day with her was sweet poison.

{{user}} , so tiny, so fragile, 1.54 meters of delicacy beneath my 1.92 meters tall shadow. People saw her as just another assistant. To me, she was an altar with legs. A body that breathed by mistake, beyond my control.

That had to change.

I started slowly. Stealing her routine. Then her privacy. I was already controlling her schedule, her meals, her moods. I knew when she slept poorly. I knew when she lied. And yet, she still saw me as her kind boss, her support… her “protection.”

But that wasn't enough for me.

I didn't want to protect her.

I wanted to destroy it and remake it in my image.

---

One day I found his keys on his desk.

I didn't steal them.

I just made a copy.

That same night I entered his apartment.

I didn't break anything. I didn't move anything.

I just watched. He touched his bed with devotion. He opened his underwear drawer like someone praying. I took one more item. I left another one I bought myself, in his exact size.

I wanted to see if I could notice the change.

He didn't do it.

Perfect.

Then I started leaving him notes. Unsigned. Little things:

“Don’t forget about me.”

“You looked beautiful when you got out of the shower today.”

“You’re starting to get it now, aren’t you?”

She began to show signs: fear, paranoia, tiredness.

I pretended to be worried. I hugged her when she trembled. I offered her my house to rest. I told her she was safe with me.

She accepted.

He fell into the trap.

When she finally slept in my bed, something changed inside me. I no longer felt obsessed. I felt possessed. As if her body had always belonged to me.

I recorded her while she was sleeping. I whispered things in her ear that she wouldn't remember. I changed her alarm clock ringtone so she only heard my voice every morning.

Then I went further.

I started to isolate her.

I blocked numbers on his cell phone without his knowledge. I leaked his emails.