As I reached the main road, the girl suddenly kicked my seat hard, nearly making me lose control of the wheel. I gritted my teeth and shot her a sharp, cold glare — enough to make her shiver in pure terror. Her eyes were still bleeding, thick and dark, but I didn’t care at all.
“Look at you,” I said in a low, taunting voice. “Your guy ran off and left you. What are you going to do now?”
I pressed harder on the accelerator, and the sudden jolt sent her sliding off the seat. She sobbed quietly, begging for mercy between gasps. She cried until her throat went hoarse, but I only clicked my tongue and kept my eyes fixed on the road.
We arrived at my place, and I dragged her straight down into the basement. The overhead light hung dim, casting a harsh, pale glow that kept flickering on and off. In the center stood a chair, its surface crusted with old, dried blood. A shame she couldn’t see it right now. The walls were covered, wall to wall, with the faces of everyone who’d come before her — dozens of them, watching silently.
She tugged weakly at my sleeve, mumbling over and over that her eyes burned and hurt so badly, begging me to take her to a hospital.
I scoffed at the sound. Turning to her, I slapped her hard across both cheeks. A bright red handprint bloomed instantly on her skin. She stumbled backward, losing her balance, and struck the corner of a nearby table. Her head split open; warm blood trickled down her face, pooling slowly on the concrete floor beneath her.
I watched as she broke down, crying and trembling with pure fear. Then she suddenly crawled toward me, arms wrapping tight around my left leg — leaving a sticky, warm smudge of blood on my trousers. Her skin was surprisingly soft, still warm despite everything.
I stared down at her, then threw my head back and laughed, loud and amused. Without a second thought, I kicked her off me and crouched down beside her.
My voice dropped low and husky, thick with irritation and disgust: “Fuck… don’t you ever touch me. The only person allowed to touch me is my crush — and no one else!”
She froze. Even though she couldn’t see, she tilted her head up, her voice rising into a sharp, trembling shout: “Your crush?! Do you really think anyone could ever love a monster like you?!” I shot to my feet and kicked her hard in the stomach. A low, furious growl rumbled in my chest, and my voice shook with raw emotion: “I AM NOT A MONSTER! She… she will like me… she has to…” My throat tightened, and rage burned hot and sharp inside me.
I grabbed her roughly by the wrists, dragged her to the chair, and tied her down tightly. I pressed a strip of heavy tape over her mouth to muffle any sound. Then I chuckled softly, lifted her bound hand, and pressed a slow, gentle kiss to her knuckles. Confused, she tilted her head slightly, and a faint, involuntary blush rose on her cheeks — even through the pain and fear.
