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She was right, one part of him said. She was right to hate him for everything he'd done just as much as he hated himself.
But there was also that other part—the one always in charge; the only one he'd nurtured so far. And that part told him that she waswrong.
He'd done as he'd seen fit, following his plans and keeping himself on track for his revenge. He'd kept himself true to his purpose and that meant that every action he took, as long as it aided his cause, was the right one.
As such, he could never be anything but right. And by default she was wrong.
His mind reeled. It clamored and it rebelled. His entire fucking being bled, yet there were no wounds to show for it.
There was only noise. And pain. And everything he shouldnotbe feeling.
He swiveled, his eyes making contact with hers.
She was sitting on her bed, her white cotton nightgown riding up her thighs.
Her face was devoid of emotion—of anything. He remembered the way she'd gaze at him before, as if he could do no wrong—as if he could pluck the moon and the stars and give them to her on a plate. And as he superimposed the two images, he couldn't find his pet anymore.
He could only see indifference.
And that triggered something within him, something so monstrous he couldn't leash anymore. He would have her back—her emotion, her adoration, her everything.
Or nothing at all.
So he let go.
He. Let. Go.
In two steps he was in front of her, his hand on her throat.
"Liar," he spat out. "You're a fucking liar, pet."
Slowly, she blinked, a bored expression on her face—one of utter indifference that was cutting him to the bone.
"You love me," he continued, the words purely for his benefit as he wanted to assure himself of her feelings. "Youloveme," he emphasized.
She'd kept the pendant. She'd been gazing at it daily. Of course she must still love him.
But she only laughed.
"You're insane," she shook her head.
"I'm insane?" he asked, his nostrils flaring as he brought her face closer, his hand tightening over the tender skin of her neck. "I'm insane, pet? I'll fucking show you insane," he said as he settled between her legs, pulling her to the edge of the bed.
With his other hand, he pushed her gown up, bunching it around her waist, his fingers on the band of her underwear.
His pet then reacted,sometype of emotion filling her features.
Finally!
He would get a reaction out of her if it was the last thing he did. He would prove to her that indifference was the last thing she felt for him. That she loved him. That she fuckingadoredhim.
"Don't," a whispered sound escaped her. Her eyes were wide and big as she regarded him with trepidation.
He only gave her a lopsided smile.
"Tell me again, pet. Tell me how much you hate me. Tell me I'm dead to you," he murmured in a deadly tone.
She grabbed his hand with hers, trying to wrench it away from her panties. But it was in vain as he slapped it aside before pulling on the band—so hard the material snapped in two.
