Chapter 13
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A monster in love is still…a monster.
Lukas
She did not reject me; she saidno. She didnotreject me; she exercised her power of choice. She did notrejectme; she proved to me that she is growing so beautifully and so safely in my care. Because ofme. My efforts. My guidance.Me, me, me.
My fists pound against the punching bag in the workout room; heavy breaths rake through my lungs. I have been in here since five in the morning, wailing away on this bag after a sleepless night.
My sheets caught her scent for the brief moment she was buried in them, and the vanilla almond of her fleshclung. Haunting me.All night.
She did not reject me.
This is agoodthing.
Except she did reject me, and this is a bad thing, and everything sucks.
So she can tell meno. Woohoo. She’s not supposed towantto. She is never ever supposed towant to. Furthermore! I wasn’t even asking tosleep with her, I was offering to sleep beside her. Together. Innocently. Her body in my arms. Her everything…close…driving me mad with adoration…
And, yet, she still rejected even that much.
Breathing heavy, I let loose a string of curses andbeatthe pulp out of my stupid bag.
Exhaustion plagues my poor crying muscles by the time I know I need to take a break, and I startle, yelling, when Viktor enters the room.
Letting the bag swing to a still, I rip off my gloves, swallow hard, and meet his dredging gaze. “Oh, Viktor.” I clear my throat. Who yelled? Not me. “Morning.”
“…morning.”
“Treadmill?” I ask, pointing toward the line of three on the other side of the room, near the full-wall mirror, which is there, presumably, so we can stare at ourselves as we die.
Viktor does not abide my deflection even as he heads toward the treadmill he normally uses and starts a warmup pace. “What’s going on?”
“Going on?” I toss my gloves by the bag and start my own treadmill one level faster than Viktor’s. Because. I’m competitive, and need to be the best, and am sick, twisted, and demented in every way possible. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not a skittish person. Most days. The exception to the rule…is when you’re anxious.”
Anxious? Bah. I’m not anxious. I’m never anxious. The stage fright was beat out of me at five. I’ve never been anxious since.
“How’s Clara?” Viktor asks.
I tense. “Excellent. Why? Stop thinking about her. Don’t think about her.Neverthink about her.” I might growl that last line, but who cares?
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.” I put her in my bed, told her to make me hers, and was left bidding her goodnight at her door. I didnothingto her. And this isfantastic.
I’m proud.
I’m so, so,soflippin’ proud of her.
I just also…hate myself…and everything else.
I’ve spent this entire morning beating thoughts of coercion out of my head. She’s fragile. One teeny tiny little suggestion that I’m disappointed she didn’t want to stay with me last night, and she’ll crack—reverting to old habits, begging to satisfy my needs in any way she can.
Despite knowing that it’swrong, every fiber of my beingwantsher to grovel for me. Confirm that shedoeswant me. Explain why sherejectedme.
