Ghost
The food should have ended up on the floor, smashed to bits under my boots.
But it didn't.
Because she looked at me likethat.
I should be enjoying this, preparing for a victory lap. But I'm not. What. The. Fuck.
She won today and she doesn't even know it.
My insides twist. I saw the way she reached for the box before she even realized what she was doing. I saw how much she craved it.
And I fucking wanted to give it to her. Fuck!
I clench my fists at my sides, forcing the thought away. Forcing everything away. She doesn't deserve mercy. She doesn't deserve relief. She deserves to suffer.
She deserves the corrupted version of myself. The monster.
I need to get a grip. This isn't fucking over.
Adora
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck this whole fucking thing! I can feel my mind fraying at the edges. My body is pushing me to give in to whatever sick, twisted game Ghost is playing. Who the fuck am I kidding? He's taking over my entire mind.
I won’t be able to resist him for long. And I know —I just know— the moment I give in, the moment I stop fighting, that's when I'll be done for. I can feel it in the marrow of my bones.
The lock clicks. AGAIN! I hate that stupid fucking sound.
He squats in front of me, those dark eyes skimming over my face, my body, my every-fucking-where.
I keep my breaths even, and pretend like I'm not coming apart at the seams.
"You're quieter today," he murmurs.
I exhale sharply.
His lips curl, amused. "Figured you'd put up more of a fight, especially after eating."
I meet his gaze head-on, my voice dry. Like my fucking mouth. "You sound disappointed."
His smirk widens. "Not even a little bit."
I hate him. Because his voice still does things to me. I still remember it from before, when he whispered my name like a prayer instead of a curse.
His fingers curl around his knee, tapping absently. I narrow my eyes at him, hating how easily he's turned silence into a weapon.
Then, finally, he speaks again. "You don't look so good."
I snort, my voice hoarse. "Wow, thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special."
He smiles. "I always had a way with words."
I roll my eyes. "Oh, please. I remember you used to grunt more than you spoke."
"You remember." It’s a whisper, but it lands heavy, like the snap of a bear trap.
My stomach plummets. I fucked up. I let something slip — something he wasn't supposed to know.
