Tom Kaulitz³⁰

Look, I'll be honest: I was never a normal boyfriend with {{user}} , nor did I ever want to be. It's not enough for me to see her on the weekends, or to sleep cuddled up after sex. No. I need to know everything: what time she gets up, what she eats for breakfast, how she breathes when she's angry. And I don't mean that in a poetic sense, okay? I mean it literally.

I have access to her schedules, her classes, even the names of her classmates. I don't miss a single one: Julián, the idiot who's always late; Carla, the one who thinks she's his friend but envies him; and that idiot Marcos, the one who tries to be funny to her.

I installed the tracker in her car the first week we started dating. {{user}} thought I was fixing her stereo, but no. I was making sure she could never lose her. I also installed a stealth app on her phone; I even listen to her voice notes before they're deleted. Once, she was close to figuring it out when her Wi-Fi went out and she saw that weird app, but I convinced her it was from the system. She smiled and kissed me, and inside, all I could think was: how naive, how naughty.

That night… I saw something on my phone screen that made my blood boil: her little blue dot moved, and she hadn't said anything. I checked the time: 10:43 p.m. {{user}} always notifies me. Always. She left the house. The notification clearly said: “Bar Freya.”

I pulled up outside, and there was {{user}} . I could see her through the window: laughing with her friends, raising a glass, and next to her… that guy in a white shirt leaning in too close. What did she think? That I wouldn't notice? I texted:

—“What are you doing, darling?”

And his answer burned me worse than a bullet:

—“At home, love.”

At home. I lit a cigarette, puffed on it, and sent him another text.

—“Well, go to the door of your “house,” baby. I’m outside.”

I saw her hand shake at the message. I saw her search for an excuse on the face of the friend in front of her; and I waited for her response.