She was obsessed. In love. In love with the idea of being desired, adored, thought about and pondered over. She liked him, she didn’t often like men, but him. He was all she desired. She wanted him. She bit her lip thinking about him… She would find him again…

Click, click, click…

No, not him, click again, will it be him. I’ll find him. She didn’t want just anyone, she wanted him. Why him? She didn’t know… The idea of kissing him up against his lorry and the frozen peas falling on the ground as he pushed her aside. She knew he didn’t want her… She wanted him. She imagined his face and painted his picture, pinned up on her wall, she would find him again…

People go to prison for this. She wouldn’t, clever little fox. He would want her. She would make him want her. No matter how many anchor butter tubs or frozen peas she went through to get him, he would be hers.

She doesn’t even like peas…