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“You…you were watching me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a stalker?”
“I’m worse, Lenochka, but you already knew that when you touched yourself, showing me a side of you no one has seen.”
“I wasn’t lucid enough to realize what I was doing.” My cheeks heat even as I say the words.
He tsks and I freeze as a muscle ticks in his jaw. “Don’t lie. Not to me.”
My knuckles hurt from how much I’m clenching my fists and I can feel my insides dissolving into itself. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, I can do that will stop him.
If I fight, he’ll overpower me.
If I try to escape, he’ll catch me and probably hurt me.
My only possible option to not get hurt is to play into his hand, to let him have his way and hope that he’ll leave me in peace. That after he gets me, he’ll realize, like everyone else has, that I’m not a keeper.
I’m a diamond others admire from afar, but once they dig into it, all they find is black stone.
Adrian tugs on the blanket. “Let go.”
I dig my nails into it, self-conscious about releasing my only lifeline.
“I’m not going to fuck you.” He pauses. “Yet.”
That doesn’t relieve me as much as it should. If anything, it creates a hollow pit at the bottom of my stomach.
I wish he’d fuck me and get it over with. And since I’m not drunk, I can’t ask that of him.
So I do the one thing I can in my situation.
I let go.
8
Lia
Ilie in bed in nothing but my leotard that’s unsnapped at my most intimate part.
Adrian watches me, mechanically at first, as if he has no interest in what he sees. As if I’m a mere object that’s landed in his path.
But if that were the case, why would he want me? Why is he insistent on taking me?
“Do you do this to everyone who witnesses you killing?” I ask to dispel the tension that’s brewing in the air and slamming against my chest.
“This?” His gaze slides to my face for a brief second.
“You know.”
“Are you too much of a prude to name it, Lia?”
“Fucking,” I mutter. “I’m not too much of a prude to speak up when necessary.”
“I’m not fucking you, though.”
“Then what do you plan to do?”
