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I tremble violently, curling myself into a ball, afraid and so perturbed. What does she mean? He could only come when he looked at me? Why? He doesn’t even like me as every chance he gets, he’s hurting me…like right now.
“Good night, A????.”
And I reply the only way I can.
“Good night…??????.”
This fearless creature utterly fascinates me. She is far braver than anyone I’ve ever met, and I find myself wanting to know more about her. My methods have never failed me in the past. I am Popov’s best.So why can’t I break her the way I want to? And why can I only find satisfaction when she’s near? This obsession of mine must end.
It will only lead to trouble.
Day 8
MEMORIES OF LASTnight assault me, and when I smell Saint’s cologne, it only brings home the truth that I witnessed him having sex with some woman, and then he threw her out at my request. But her admission still plays over and over in my mind.
What does it mean?
I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours, refusing to look elsewhere because Saint sleeps on the opposite sofa. He obviously passed out last night.
I have so many questions, and they all begin with why.
Even though I didn’t see much, it seems to somehow make what I witnessed so much worse. I’ve been speculating all morning, and my mind has had no issues adding lib. I saw him without his ski mask, and even though I couldn’t get a clear picture of what he looks like, what I did see has me spellbound.
I don’t understand him or his motives. I want nothing more than to ask him why, but I have a feeling he’s doing this to prepare me for a world I’m not accustomed to. In no way am I making excuses for his actions, but no matter how hard I try to hate him, I can’t shake the feeling he’s just as trapped as I am.
“Hey.” His raspy voice snaps me from my thoughts.
The silent treatment now seems obsolete, considering everything I saw. “Hi.”
An awkwardness lingers like one would expect for the morning-after talk. Even though we didn’t have sex, I did witness him screwing someone else, so I guess in a way, the awkwardness is warranted.
I have no idea what comes next. I can only hope we get a new means of transport because this one has been tainted by the shrill screams of last night.
“I’m going to shower.”
As I jump up, Saint does too. He must have put his ski mask back on during the night, which angers me that some random bimbo can see his face, but I can’t. I cast my gaze downward, unsure of what he wants. I also don’t want to look at him after last night.
“Are you hungry?”
I shake my head, hiding behind my hair.
“You have to eat,” he says, walking forward. When he’s within reach, he places his finger under my chin, coaxing me to look at him.
I eventually do.
The green to his eyes is so bright, I gasp as the color is stunning. However, they soon flicker a furious black. I don’t know what’s wrong, and on instinct, I drop to my knees, kneeling. It was an automatic response, and I shock myself at how quickly I was to obey.
“What did you do to yourself?” he asks, taking a step back.
I don’t understand what he means.
Fear assails me, and my lower lip quivers. “I didn’t do anything,” I reply, puzzled. But he soon proves me to be a liar.
He marches forward and cups my chin, arching my head back to expose my neck. When he strokes over my throat, I know he’s seen the rope mark. I was careless not to be more careful. “That’s the coward’s way out, and you’re not a coward.”
“How do you know?” I challenge, but my bravado soon dies when he tightens his hold around my chin.
“Because I’ve known you for eight days. And every single one of those eight days, you’ve disobeyed me, defied me, and attempted to escape, regardless of the consequences. If that doesn’t take courage, then I don’t know what does.”
