His sketchbook lay open in his lap beneath the desk. Dozens of renderings stared back at him, side profile, three-quarters, a smile she’d given someone else yesterday in the mess hall. A smile he hadn’t stopped thinking about. This isn’t healthy. This is serial killer shit. First Saya, then Maria. Now her. Like I’m some love-struck simpering for brains, who can't see a pretty girl without forgetting what head to think with.

Now I'm ready to close my eyes
And now I'm ready to close my mind
And now I'm ready to feel your hand
And lose my heart on the burning sands

Now I Wanna Be Your Dog -The Stooges

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