Emperor of Annihilation

TWENTY FIVE

he's crazy, but
fictional, so it's fine.

I've had a thing for causing people pain ever since I was a little boy. My parents called me a beast, others, a monster. I prefer the term experimental with my kills.

I wouldn't call myself a sadist. I only hurt those who deserve it, —which unfortunately means everyone. I can't deny that I find a certain pleasure in causing people pain. It's part of what makes me dangerous.

The part that separates me from ordinary people.

Nothing can calm the raging storm inside my nonexistent heart, nor do I want it to. Giving my back to someone is like offering them the opportunity to thrust a knife into it.

I'm never going to make that mistake again. I'd prefer to keep my guard up at all times than to lower it once and be left defenseless. I'm the puppeteer of this game we call life. Every move, every twist of fate—I control it all.

That includes a blonde doll whose name is as sweet as a fruit. She'd be a fool to think otherwise. Anybody would. Granted, she's the only one I can stand without wanting to hurt someone. In a world where violence calls my name, she's the only one who makes my heart race for a different reason.

The thought of having someone able to calm the raging storm inside of me enraged me. Especially since the person is none other than Clementine fucking Monroe.

Unlike me, she's everything and more. A fucking rainbow. From her sunshine girl scout attire down to her goddamn smile. She's like a never-ending puzzle I can't seem to solve.

Someone like me shouldn't be allowed on the same earth as her. While I taint the grass I walk on, she heals it. The once-dead grass blossoms into a garden in her presence. She's like a damn fairy.

No matter what I do to get her out of my head, I can't. It's impossible. She's impossible.

The first time I saw her, I was mesmerized. There wasn't a single flaw in sight. Now, I'm utterly bewitched by the thought of having her. It sends a cold chill down my cock.

Fuck. I slapped a hand over my forehead in frustration, running my fingers through my curls.

A week passes before I see her again.

I waited for her outside the animal shelter she frequently volunteers at as usual, phone in hand, as I scrolled through the pictures I took of her without her knowledge this past week. My unhealthy fixation with her has gotten worse. If my days spent following her everywhere didn't make it obvious, my phone filled with photo albums dedicated solely to her certainly did.

I parked my motorcycle in a discreet spot, hidden from her and the rest of the population's view.

My ears perked when I heard the sound of laughter. I lift my chin, leaning back until my body twists and turns, peering inside the room through the window.