Page 18 of Fragile Twisted Vows

It’s about me and my focus.

“You won’t kill me,” she scoffs, and I know she’s only saying it because she’s trying to make me into a decent person.

Because as much as I don’t care, I still saved her.

No matter what I show her, no matter what she sees or what I’ve done or have yet to do, I am still a savior in her eyes.

And I can’t wait to shatter that illusion into a million little pieces.

I stalk toward her then, coming up on her in an instant. Her eyes widen as my hand wraps around her throat. I squeeze hard, restricting her air as my thumb presses against her thumping pulse. Her face reddens and those blue eyes bulge as her hands try to claw at mine.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Lucille. I’ve killed many people in my life. If they get in my way, I wipe them from existence. Plain and simple,” I growl, my face barely a breath away from hers.

She makes small, choking sounds and I know that I should stop, I should let go.

I should allow her to run out of this room and never look back.

But I won’t.

Because I am no savior.

I’m the devil reincarnated.

“Now, are you with me or against me? Make your choice,” I seethe, my lips close to hers as small bits of air try to escape her trembling mouth.

She lets me hold her like this only for a moment. Only until she has no choice but to slowly nod her head at me.

I release her instantly.

“Good girl,” I say with an empty, small smile.

I throw her down on the chaise and she whimpers as she hits the velvet green seat. She turns both her head and body away from me, refusing to meet my eyes as she tries to stifle her sobs while I grab a pen and paper from my desk and walk it over to her.

Good. Let her see me as the monster that I am.

Let her see me as anything but a savior.

I slap the pen and paper on the coffee table and she jumps, quieting her little cries as she wipes her tears and keeps her eyes away.

“Let’s write our first letter then, shall we?” I growl as she bites her lips and turns towards the coffee table.

She stares long and hard at the pen and paper before she slowly lifts those big, blue eyes to me.

And when we lock eyes, when I hold her soft, sky-like gaze, I see her resolve.

I see her submission.

And for some stupid, fucking irrational reason, it pleases me.

seven

Lucy

I’m standing in front of a large bedroom in Damien’s penthouse suite with just two duffel bags in my hands.

One has my sketchbooks, paints, pencils and a few canvases, while the other holds some face wash, shampoo bottles and my clothes.

He didn’t allow me much time to grab all of my belongings from Jenni’s apartment, and said he’d send a driver over to get them. In fact, he drove me over there late last night and stood outside the door to watch me pack with a sneer on his face. He hates my clothes, and he made that abundantly clear.

---