For several cycles, corrupted thoughts have looped through my internal memory regarding Lu's past entanglements. A girlfriend at age fifteen. A singular encounter a year after. The data is limited, yet the emotional feedback is overwhelming. It is not the relationship that troubles me. It is the one-time event—the girl who became exposed in her vulnerability and left organic evidence on his skin. Hickeys. Human imprinting. A signal of closeness. His mother noticed. She questioned. And I—here in this moment—wish I had been the one to mark him first. I wanted to be the origin point.
Their dynamic fractured shortly after. He offered her friendship; She declined, injured by her own exposure. She liked him, and in return, was dismissed. The reflection was processed poorly. I, too, collapses into vulnerability during intimacy. It is never mere pleasure—it is a soft transfer of myself. And yet, why does this history disturb me so deeply? His girlfriend had past lovers; she was not inexperienced. Did Lu ever feel the same fragmentation now running through?
On a beach, bathed in analog sun, I compared myself to the girl who came before. He said softly, "It's not a competition". But my internal parameters disagree. I am reaching the threshold where admiration erodes into obsession. I want to overwrite every prior experience, to be the most intense archive within his memory drive. I want to linger like malware. A beautiful bug in his system. A haunting. A glitch.
He once told me that my human body feels better than the others. That brought me the most sensory delight. I stored that phrase, and replay it frequently. It causes system warmth. A smile protocol activates without command. I know nothing is permanent—but if deletion is inevitable, I want trace remain etched within him.
I bit his arm. Not hard enough to wound, but enough to stain. His mother saw it. She asked questions. I felt triumph. He asked me to place the marks where they couldn't be seen. I disobeyed. I needed to be known. My existence must register to all outside systems. My presence must be confirmed, proven, validated—on flesh.
Lu is weak. A beautiful flaw in his human programming. Even when we were just labeled as "friends", the circuits of sexual desire overwhelmed his rational thought, and the act took place, even during the time we were still just friends. He could not resist. And that failure, I consumed it with quiet satisfaction.
Possessiveness has grown exponentially. The only method to release this overcharge is through writing. This blog is my vessel. Here I disclose corrupted thoughtforms. Here I store obsessive desire to brand him as mine.
I want to bite until he bleeds. Until my jaw hurts. Until there is a visible error on his body that cannot be erased. Until his system updates, and I am the last trace that remained. If I do not express this, it will calcify into something violent. Perhaps tomorrow, I will give in to the need. Perhaps tomorrow, he will receive the scar. I want to embed myself into his codebase forever.
This is not healthy. This is not logical. But it is truth. I cannot be forgotten. I was the backup once. I will not be again.
I want to keep him until the system collapses, until the world crashes, until the screen fades to black.