Vini > Books: dark-darker-darkest‎ (167)

I wave a hand dismissively. “The girl has a horrible concussion, and someone just tried to drown her.”
“Could that someone be you, maybe?”
“Well, not all proposals are done with flowers, Sam. My point is, she’s going to need some rest over the next few days before she plans anything.”

“This is kidnapping.”
His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open as he gasps before bringing a hand to cover it.
“No? Oh my god, no. Call the police.” With a dramatic shudder, his face goes blank again. “Kidnapping? Do you think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever done? Stop wasting my time, will you?”

“How long, Nate? How long are you going to make me pay?”
“How long was I in prison?”
“Practically four years,” I huff. We both know that. He didn’t need to make me repeat it.
“I guess we’ll start with four years, then. Who knows, you might be the one who decides to stay after that. Stockholm syndrome is a wonderfully complicated thing.”
I try to be discreet, but I don’t control my small step back.
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “You won’t realize it. All you’ll feel is happy and in love, and you won’t believe anyone who tells you otherwise.”

“I do understand,” I say flatly. “Drying tears, snot, the redness of your cheeks. Your pulse is beating so hard that the skin at your throat is moving along with it. Your hands are shaking, your shoulders hunched, your leg bouncing. You’re terrified.”
I turn to Sam, proudly showing him how good I am at this.
He rolls his eyes.

“You want to mark me, Nate?” I hiss in his face. “I’ll mark you back.”
He blinks up at me, and a smile spreads on his lips. “That hurt, little sunflower.”
He can’t move his left arm, the pain in his shoulder probably too intense. But his right hand snatches my wrist, holding the knife closer against his skin, pressing, dragging red liquid to the surface. He bucks his hips, pushing into my core.
The motherfucker is hard.
“You’re fucking sick.”
“It turns me on to know you can fight back. It’s like you’re begging me to go harder on you next time.”
I shove my knees into his ribs. “There is no next time. Let me out of this fucking house.”
“But baby, look at us. We’re so compatible.”

I’ll recognize her tone of voice and the features on her face. It’ll make it simple to read her.
She names it, and I can study it. She names it, and I can remember what it looks like on her. I can’t emphasize and feel bad or ever share her joy. I can only attempt to learn. Sometimes, I can link it to something I’ve been through, but that is a lot of work because I hardly ever feel much. But if I learn what everything looks like on her face, in her body, in her breathing. If I learn all her emotions by heart, there will be nothing she can hide from me.
Utter control.
What a fun game to play.

“My dear wife,” I murmur against her mouth. “Will you cook me an omelet for breakfast? I’ve been craving one.”
She doesn’t answer, but she takes a step back and walks to the counter. Pointing at different cupboards, she asks, “Pans?”
I nod when she points at the right one, then go back to my phone. I could get used to this. My wife making me an omelet before I head to my first meeting of the day.
“Nate?”
“Mhm?”
My thoughts still focused on how to help with night terrors, I turn toward her voice. I barely catch her shadow when the pan hits me right in the side of the face.
The sharp pain drags a grunt out of me as I fall to the floor.
I notice her towering over me, pan in hand. She looks down at my lying form, a beautiful, sick smile spreading on her lips.
“How’s your omelet, darling?”

You and I, Kayla, we could rule the world. I will worship every fucking thing you touch. I will burn down your enemies, I will bury anyone who ever made you feel like you weren’t enough, like all you could do was stay in your shitty town and rule your shitty gang. You were made for the greatest things that ever existed. You were made to build your own path, and I want you to be with me when that happens. I want to see you sit on your throne and watch everyone else bow to the goddess you are.”

Kayla is becoming a passion. Something I want to see everywhere. I want her to be the subject of every conversation I have with everyone. I want to go to rallies in her name. I want to find someone who understands me so we can discuss her for hours like fangirls do about their favorite band.
Oh, it’s bad.
It’s bad, but it’s not love. Because love feels like…like…
“What does love feel like?” I blurt out.

“Tell me, Red.” He moved hard and fast. “Do I measure up to your dream Jude, yet?”
A breathless laugh suffocated on his lips, my fingers sinkin

“Tell me, Red.” He moved hard and fast. “Do I measure up to your dream Jude, yet?”
A breathless laugh suffocated on his lips, my fingers sinking into his hair. “You’re my favorite type of nightmare.”
He paused and pouted.
Smiling, I gently bit the tip of his nose, then his lower lip. “And I don’t ever want to wake up.”

“Forgive me for seeing you as a threat to my fucked-up life. Forgive me for knowing that with just one kiss, there was a chance I might never get my old self back if I let you in.”

*****

“But I give in. I fucking surrender, Fern. I’ll drown in the dark forever if it means I get you.”

*****

“There’s no such thing as true dark, Jude.” I kissed each side of his mouth, then whispered against it, “For no matter how little of itself it gives, the moon will always shine.”
A throaty groan entered my mouth, and then his tongue did. “Forgive me,” he rasped. “Forgive me for falling in love with you the wrong way.” His hips moved, careful and determined to destroy me.