A strange girl, new to this corrupt city, after months of creeping infatuation, and borderline obsession, knowingly falls headlong into an affair with a Serial Killer.
* * * *
Jovie Galloway, the strangest mix of wisdom and self-destruction. Livi...
Victor's eyes widen for a moment. Only for a moment, as he watched Jovie stumbling. Her body trembled in fear as she tried to pull herself away from him. He knew just how to play her, how to dig his claws deep.
"You know what I think?" He asks, puffing out his cheeks as a smirk crept onto his face.
"I can probably guess," she said in a shaking voice.
"I think," Victor sang out sharply, "I think you're scared... because you actually like me~" He grabbed her chin and pulled her closer to him, making her feel trapped.
~ Scared because you like the way I make you feel ~
"I think you want me to hurt you," he taunted. "To take away your pain... and replace it with something so much sweeter."
Jovie's eyes darted nervously from side to side, but she couldn't escape his gaze no matter how hard she tried.
She looked at him with an unbelieving look, "no-no..."
"Yes!" He insisted.
As his irritation grew, a pulsing vein at his temple marked his rising anger, but he refused to let her get the better of him. He was in control here, and nothing would change that.
"You do. You're just too afraid to admit it, but guess what?" he whispers, grinning manically.
The room stretches and rocks in a way begging her to stop, but she refused to lie down just yet.
"I thrive off fear," Victor purred, leaning in to close the distance between them.
"It comes from your mouth, Mr. Zsasz," she spat, her voice laced with defiance. "So it must be fucking true."
Victor rocked back on his heels, his expression twisting into a sneer. He held her gaze for a moment longer before letting out a dark chuckle. "You think you're so special to me," he spat.
Their eyes locked, and he continued his train of thought. "This is what you want to hear, right? Why I watched you for months before I made my move?"
Her back stiffens at his question. A painful tingle shooting through each nerve.
His words cut her up, with his desire to piece her back together, and string her like lovely chain-link.
"You know what I think?" she finally asked, a flicker of defiance in her dull eyes.
The contour of his brow brown raises.
"Tell me you don't take that blade every night," she challenged, her voice a low and husky growl, "and drag it across your skin and pray, for the courage to press down deeper than your fucking scratches."
Nodding his head casually, Victor's lips curled inward once again as he spoke with a dangerous edge. "Yeah? You think so, Little Girl..."
Baring the marks, he does, don't require him to retell every story. That's what the pain was for, when he made the first cut.
It burned into his mind how real it all was, those placid arches that littered his skin in collections of five sweet slashes. Each a reminder of his deeds. The beauty he wore in memory of the razor he carries in stride.
"Can't you see my scars, little girl?" he asked, his words dripping with a dark kind of excitement.
But she merely answered him coldly, her apathy a stark contrast to his fervor. "You wish you scared me."
Victor breathed deeply, his dark eyes locked onto hers like a predator surveying his prey. There was something flickering behind his gaze, something that she couldn't quite define.
'...Restraint'
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