Fear

45

"Everything," I said, and the word lingered between us like smoke.

His arm stiffened around me, but he didn't move. For a long moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of the heating vent and the soft patter of rain outside. His eyes searched mine, wary, like he already knew where this was heading.

When I tore my eyes away, I stared at the floor, at the spot where our clothes had been only last night. Even after everything — his care, the food, the gentle way he'd bandaged my knee — something inside me was still not satisfied. And somehow, I snapped.

As if I was waking up for the first time in a long while, the tension in my head finally snapped, and all that was left was a raw, unfiltered clarity.

I realised how ludicrous it was. Us.
How foolish I'd been to want him. How ridiculous it was to call what we had 'love' after everything he'd done to me.

The words I wanted to say clung to my chest. I knew I couldn't keep them in. We needed to talk. Properly.

Turning to him, my voice sharpened, quiet but edged. "We can't just pretend that what happened between us was natural, Ty."

His brows knit, lips parting like he might argue — but nothing came out. His mouth closed again, jaw tightening with something that looked suspiciously like guilt.

"Why am I only just realising? We just had sex. And it's like I'm forgetting who you really are. What you did to me."

Once I started, I couldn't stop. The words spilled too fast, faster than I could hold them back.

"You kidnapped me," I pressed, my throat tight. "Brought me to this place — God-knows-where."

Tyler's eyes dropped to the floor. His hand flexed against his knee, the other falling from my waist.

"You tortured me for months," I whispered, bitterly. "For seemingly no reason— but your own fucking sadism."

He winced. Actually winced.

"Then, suddenly—" my voice cracked, raw with disbelief, "you decide you like me, you bring me to your room. And then we're having sex... like it's normal."

The words hung between us, jagged and bitter. My chest heaved, but he stayed silent.

"What, no answer?" I demanded. "No snarky comeback?"

His silence stunned me more than any retaliation. The Tyler I knew — the one who always had a cruel taunt, a sharp reply — was gone. What was left was this hollow version of him, shoulders heavy, eyes downcast. A man who couldn't even look at me.

I hated it.
I needed him to speak.

"Why me?" I asked suddenly. My voice trembled, but I forced it steady. "Why did you stalk me for weeks and then kidnap me from a nightclub?"

His head lifted a fraction, dark eyes meeting mine for the briefest second before darting away again. His throat worked, but no words came.

I swallowed hard, my heart thudding. "Why do you even do this? All of this—" I gestured vaguely to the house, the institution, him. "Why build a life around torturing people?"

Still nothing. Just a sharp inhale through his nose.

The heat rose, forcing the next question out before I could stop it. "Why did you hurt me?"

I leaned forward to stand up despite the pain in my knee, but he pushed me back down.

"The Acts, Tyler. The psychological games, watching me writhe in pain and smiling through it like some— some— sadistic bastard! Everything you put me through..."