𝕾𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖈 𝕾𝖊𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝟏𝟖+[ᴋᴛʜ ꜰꜰ]

*𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈|𝐘𝐍|18+*

*This chapter contains sexual content and abusive language along with very mature activities including blood so if you're underage or uncomfortable with these acts, this is your warning as this book was rated 18+ and had a warning in the prologue*

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"A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I crazy or are they just fools"

For the next weeks, there isn't even a glimpse of sleep in my eyes, I have been to the police station frequently nowadays and how fucked up that was and tiring as hell, a red cherry blaring as I puffed on a cigarette while sitting in Diana's room as she was gone for bringing wine for us. From that day onwards officers keep coming to the club and I become their main target as I was the eyewitness of that deaths. And that reminder really pissed me off. Enough to storm horrible scenery in front of my eyes. How they try to molest and how they taste the death, everything was recorded in the CCTV but there is no trace of that murderer.

As if his footage was deleted magically.

Anger.

Trauma.

Frustration.

But now, with a glass of wine absent, rage causes my hands to tremble with the reminder of how he was standing in front of me with his Satanic aura, tossing a black rose on me like discarded trash, leaving a trace of hickeys on my neck, collarbones, breasts and thighs as I was some canvas he was painting and then leaving me alone like he was never there in the first place. I had never felt more debased as a human until that moment.

Never more humiliated.

He thoughts were lingering in my mind like a leech which always leaves me so wrenched and desperate. Desperate for something I can't explain in words but there are always thrilling feelings explored myself as soon as I think of him. The rebellious aroma around him wanted me to snatch every ounce out of him. So much rage and fury was inside me as I am feeling restless inside, maybe even after taking his life I will not find peace. I don't know how many times I have made millions of plans to kill him in my mind, but whenever he comes back, it seems as if all my senses stop working.

It's become my fucked-up routine.

I don't tell anyone about our confrontation, and especially Christian, not about how that night ended. If my shadow doesn't murder me first, he will. I was incredibly stupid to hide it form everyone. A fact I've never tried to deny. Especially now. There's just no explaining the reactions he pulls from me. I'd love to pretend like confronting a scary man is so like me, but it's the exact opposite. I work myself into a panic attack if I have to ask a complete stranger a question.

So why is it every time he comes around, I slip into insanity?

Why are you wearing a turtleneck?.