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He was taller than me, and now it showed. I looked up at him, trying to look just as intimidating as he did, though my face faltered after a mere second. No one in the world was as intimidating as him, and that was exactly what I craved.
‘‘Don’t look at me like that,’’ he said smoothly. As deep as the ocean, and just as terrifying.
‘‘Like what?’’
‘‘With pity.’’ His jaw was clenched. ‘‘I don’t need your compassion, and I definitely do not want your pity.’’
My eyes widened slightly at his statement. I hadn’t realized I’d been looking at him like that. It wasn’t intentional, and it wasn’t pity. Compassion? Definitely, but not pity. Never pity. I wouldn’t dare to pity a man like him.
‘‘It’s not pity,’’ I uttered, voice barely audible.
Micah brought his index finger to my cheek, and instead of flinching or reacting in any negative ways, I leaned into the touch. I only realized it after the fact and felt my cheeks start to heat up.
‘‘Then what is it?’’
I bit my tongue to prevent an answer from slipping. My silence mixed with the way I immediately looked away told him everything he needed to know — I lied.
It was pity, and I was ashamed to admit it. Pity was often associated with feelings of superiority, and that was definitely not what I wanted to come across as. Although my trauma isn’t as deeply rooted as his, or as bad, on some levels, I understood him.
That was what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t form a coherent sentence. My mouth opened, then closed.
‘‘Or, are you lying to me?’’ The more he spoke, the deeper his voice got.
‘‘Lying?’’ I repeated, with a nervous laugh. ‘‘No, definitely not. It’s more like…’’
I trailed off and looked away from his piercing eyes. The more I stared, the less I was able to think and respond properly, he was too distracting.
‘‘More like?’’ he pried.
‘‘Compassion,’’ I breathed out the word he didn’t like. ‘‘But also, it just made me realize that no matter how much I want to deny it, you still killed innocent people.’’
‘‘Innocent?’’
I swallowed harshly, suddenly feeling my entire body flare with goosebumps.
‘‘Yes, the prison guards and men at the gas station.’’
He tilted his head to the side, a sinister grin on his face. Lightly, he grazed my cheek with his finger, before completely removing his hand. I felt empty, bare at the sudden loss of his touch.
‘‘You’ve read about me,’’ he said very slowly. ‘‘You’ve seen me murder people, yet instead of trying your best to run away, you’re allowing me to touch you, to feed you and to fuck you. You see me as a monster, but what does that make you?’’
I was at a loss for words.
Micah continued, ‘‘I’m not the monster you believe I am, but I am the monster you crave.’’
‘‘You don’t have a single clue what I crave.’’
‘‘Oh no?’’ he taunted me, moving his hand and placing it on top of mine, the hand where the knife was safely tucked. ‘‘Right now, I’d say you’re pissed that I can read you like an open book. You’re holding that knife too tightly for my liking, Bambi. Do you want to kill me with it?’’
I sucked in a sharp intake of breath, my eyes narrowed.
The only reason I’d been holding it as tight was because I just wanted something to reassure me. By this point, I was almost a hundred percent certain he wasn’t going to kill me, but having a weapon wasn’t a bad thing. I needed to protect myself if he lost his shit on me.
‘‘Why?’’ I swallowed. ‘‘You don’t think I’m capable of killing you?’’
‘‘Mentally? I’m sure you are. You’d kill me before even knowing what you’ve done. You’d probably spend the rest of your life regretting it, too. But physically? Tough luck, love. I’ve been to prison, and I’ve seen things you can’t even begin to imagine. I can handle a five-foot, six inches girl and a kitchen knife.’’
Lightly, he squeezed my hand before removing it.
