Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 13

The room falls silent, tension weaving through the air like a spider's web. I can feel Black's eyes burning into me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. Instead, I turn toward the window, watching the city blur.

With a bitter laugh, Black turns away, his shoulders rigid as he sits in his chair. He chuckles, low and unsettling. You are mine. You just are. It's written all over you."

"Spare me the poetry," I snap, turning to face him. "I'm not your muse or your prisoner. You don't get to dictate my life because you think you 'fancy' me."

Black stands, the chair scraping against the floor. He doesn't rush toward me this time. Instead, he moves slowly, and deliberately. Black chuckles, low and guttural, like a predator amused by its prey. "You think walking away is that simple?" His voice is calm, too calm, and it unnerves me. "This is not just about money anymore."

"Then what is it about?" I challenge, stepping closer, though my heart hammers against my ribcage. "Control? Ego? Some twisted fantasy of yours?"

"You don't understand, do you?" His voice softens, almost tender, but his eyes burn with something darker. "You make me feel something I haven't felt in a long time. That's why you're here."

I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. "You call this feeling? This... obsession of yours? It's toxic, Black. And I refuse to be part of it."

For a moment, he says nothing, just studies me like I'm a puzzle he can't solve. Then, with a sigh, he steps back. "You have never fallen in love before?" His tone is almost resigned, but the glint in his eyes promises this is far from over.

"That does not mean I'll love you," I hiss.

His eyes flicker, a flash of hurt, but he masks it quickly. "Why?"

"Because you ruin people's lives for a living," I hiss, my words sharp, cutting through the silence.

He doesn't move, doesn't speak. Instead, he watches me, as if weighing the truth of my words.

What if I stop? he finally says, stepping closer and holding my hand. I hadn't noticed he was shaking. What if I leave all of this, will you love me? His voice trembles with uncertainty.

For a moment, I feel pity for him, but I don't. I can't, Black. I say, the weight of my words hanging between us.

You hate me? he laughs, a bitter edge to his chuckle.

No, I don't. But I don't love you either, I reply, my heart a mix of pride and resolve. He stares at me, searching for something I can't give.

Black's anger simmered like a storm barely contained, his sharp words slicing through the air. "See why I take what I want by force? Gentle conversation doesn't get the job done," he hissed, his dark eyes burning into me. "I really did wish you'd say yes. Or even lie to me."

I met his gaze, unflinching. "You can force people to do whatever you want, but that's all. They'll end up hating you," I said, my voice steady despite the tension thickening around us.

His reaction was swift and brutal, a fist to my mouth that sent pain radiating through my jaw. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth, and I spit it out, letting the crimson streak his face. He flinched but didn't wipe it away.

"That'll be all," he said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. "'I will see you tomorrow."

I didn't bother replying. I turned on my heel and walked away, my steps echoing in the silence of the step. But one thought burned clear in my mind: This will be the last time he will ever see me.