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Then it all goes black.
22
DEIMOS
I feelsomething tight unclench and release deep in my chest when her eyes flutter open. I scowl, get up from the chair I’ve been sitting in staring at her, and move to where she’s lying on my couch.
Maybe I should get more than four pieces of furniture to fill my five-thousand-square-foot loft space. But then again, that would deprive me of my new favorite pastime of chasing Dahlia around in the dark, catching her, pinning her down, and fucking her like a possessed demon.
So yeah. Fuck furniture. It only gets in the way.
I crouch down next to the leather couch, watching her stir and then settle back to sleep. Without realizing it, I raise my hand and push a stray lock of dark hair out of her face.
What the fuck are you doing to me?
Dahlia isn’t the first woman I’ve let see my inner monster. But she’s certainly the first to witness a repeat performance of that savagery being let loose.
She’s one of a very select few who even allowed thefirstinstance of it coming out to continue, once they fully realized what they were in for.
He’s complicated, my monster.
It’snotmisogyny that drives me. I don’t hate or want to hurt women, and it’s not some kind of fucked up gender-norm-based subjugation of the “fairer sex”. That’s vile.
It’s a pressure release valve. A stopgap to make sure I don’t spontaneously combust or fully devolve into the beast the lives inside me. He was there when I was a child, partly formed. And then it was that horrendous time I spent in hell itself, chained up in the festering, fetid dark, waiting for the monsters to come back, that I truly allowed that blackness inside of me to grow into what it is today.
Call it a coping mechanism. A psychiatric break from a past reality that I never really dealt with. Or, most likely, it’s that I’ve always had this psychosis—thisneurodivergence—inside of me, and the extreme limits of my sanity that I was pushed to when I was twelve destroyed my ability to keep that psychosis under wraps.
Then, in my late teens and young adult years, I discoveredthiscertain part of the darkness in me—the part with peculiar tastes.
Dangerous tastes.
Tastes past the edge of normalcy.
Again, this appetite doesn’t come from a desire to hurt women. I’ve never once remotely felt the urge to tackle some random person in a park and assault them or anything disgusting like that.
Because It’s not a violence or causing pain kink. It’s apowerkink. A primal kink. And honestly, the idea of acting upon those desires with an unsuspecting or unwilling partner takes all the fun out of it.
Which brings me to Dahlia.
I grit my teeth as I stroke her hair again.
Ofcourse, the one person in whom I could find an equal to my monster would be her. Fate would do that to me, just to fuck with me and laugh at me up its sleeve from the shadows. But I knew back then, and I know it now.
In spite of all my hatred for what she did, I can’t pull away from her. I can’t resist her. And neither can the beast inside of me.
In fact, I think he’d tear me in two if I even tried to keep him away from her.
Dahlia stirs again, her eyelids fluttering open. She blinks rapidly, gasping quietly as she realizes where she is.
“You can relax,” I growl, my eyes searching hers and my mind replaying the sickening way she just went limp like a rag doll on the side of the street.
Her throat bobs, and slowly she sits upright. I hand her the glass of water from the floor beside the sofa, and she drinks almost all of it before looking at me awkwardly and then looking away.
No. She doesn’t get to hide from this.
“What the fuck was all that?” I grunt.
“Nothing,” she says quickly. Too quickly. Then she shrugs. “I was scared, and someone was chasing me. After that… I don’t know, the adrenaline wore off or something. Or, I’d had a couple of drinks with a friend and not much to eat, so it was probably—”
