|| Inevitable ||

XVII

Selfish.

He was being selfish. I was here because he had decided to be selfish. Whatever that truly meant, I was too afraid to ask now. He had sat in silence ever since those words left his mouth. His hands roaming through my hair and the occasional touch at my waist, were the only signs he was even still awake.

Romantic, intimate touches from a psychopath.

We sit in silence, the uncomfortable kind that makes you fidget and trace the lines of the roof. I stare out across the room. The milky shield over my eyes has barely faded and I hate every second of it. Every time I make out a shape, a table, a couch, maybe a chair, it changes into something else; distorted by the white swirls layered upon my gaze. My frustration only grows as time stretches on.

Then, a soft murmur. "You aren't what I expected," he says, almost too quietly for me to hear. His mouth presses against the back of my head, and I'm reminded of the subtle pressure of his arm around my waist. "I watched you for so long, and you were so impressive. You survived and fought and it almost made me excited to meet you, only for the fact that you would be a challenge. Then, I brought you here and you just cracked." The hold around my waist grows tighter. "You keep falling apart and trying to take the easy way out. And it makes me so angry."

I shift uncomfortably, the hairs on my neck at a stand. 'Taking the easy way out' is still an issue for me, so I focus on my real question. There will be a time for that, when I can address the ghosts and ghouls in the mirror and the dark allure of sharp things. "How long exactly have you been watching me for?"

"Longer than I care to admit."

His hold loosens, and an exhale has his entire body relaxing against me. "I watched them beat you, you know. The men from that poker club on Milner Street. The ones with metal pipes and steel-capped boots."

Thump.

I feel the memory as if it were a physical shock. My palm stings. Those scars are as fresh in my mind as they are on my body. His voice is a dark murmur: "Cornered in a dark alley, alone, the rain pelting down and you didn't make a sound." My knee has never been the same since, always aching, and pinching in my sleep. It's a brutal, constant reminder of one of the many times I came too close to the clutches of Death. "Silly girl."

There is something like pride in his voice as he says, "You even grinned at them. Those big, cruel-eyed bodyguards with brass knuckles, and you grinned." A short laugh tumbles from his mouth. "Shit, I gave you points for sheer brave stupidity. You looked like crap, with blood squirming out from between your teeth and dribbling down your chin, and then that stupid pocketknife in your hand."

Phantom pain shoots up my arm. A sharp reminder of the wrist they broke. "Leave it alone."

He was there, and he just watched.

Gloved fingers twirl and tug strands of my hair. "And then they came at you. So violent," he coos, tugging almost painfully on my hair. "But you kept getting back up. It was surprisingly vicious, probably the most horrific attack I had seen in a while. They just kept punching you and kicking you and you just smiled through it. I was so sure there wouldn't be any of you left. You'd fall down, and they would pick you up just to smash your face into the bricks again."

Memories flash before my eyes. I was stupid to ever think I could get away with it; even if it was to protect the ones I loved.

"Come on, you little bitch," the big one snarled, his teeth rotten yellow. "Think ya can cheat Mr. Oline like that? He's a powerful man. Didya' think we wouldn't notice ya little tricks?"