Page 106 of All The Pretty Little Lies

"She taught me to find beauty in suffering," Alex says, his words dripping with disgust. "To see the human body as a canvas, pain as my palette. But she also taught me control. Precision. How to keep someone alive and coherent through unimaginable agony."

I feel my stomach churn, but I force myself to listen. To understand.

He turns to me, his eyes blazing with an intensity that both terrifies and captivates me. "Every time I step into that room, every time I pick up a tool, I feel her ghost over my shoulder. Urging me to go further, to indulge in the artistry she tried to instill in me."

I take a step towards him, drawn by the raw vulnerability in his voice. "But you don't," I say softly.

Alex shakes his head. "No, I don't. But the temptation is always there. Like a voice inside my head.”

I swallow hard, my mind reeling from Alex's confession. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the antiseptic scent and the soft, rhythmic beeping of the medical equipment. I find myself taking a step closer to him, drawn by some inexplicable force.

"How?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. "How do you keep yourself from going over the edge?"

Alex's eyes meet mine, and I see a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. For a moment, he's silent, and I can almost see the war raging within him, the constant battle between the man he's chosen to be and the monster his mother tried to create.

"Because," he says finally, his voice low and intense, "the world needs monsters like me to balance the scales."

I furrow my brow, trying to understand. Alex continues, his words coming faster now, as if a dam has broken.

"There are true monsters out there, Vesper. People who inflict pain for pleasure, who destroy lives without a second thought. And sometimes, the only way to fight that kind of evil is with a controlled version of it."

He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled. "I use the skills she taught me, yes. But I use them with purpose. To protect. To gather information that saves lives. To maintain a balance in our world that keeps the truly depraved in check."

I watch him, transfixed by the raw honesty in his voice, the vulnerability etched across his features. In this moment, I see Alex as I never have before, not just as the skilled interrogator or the dangerous enforcer, but as a man constantly walking a knife's edge between light and darkness.

"It's a choice," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every single time, it's a choice. To use these abilities for a greater purpose. To be the monster that hunts other monsters."

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, a low moan cuts through the air. We both turn, startled, to see Natasha stirring on the table. Her eyelids flutter, and her fingers twitch against the restraints.

The moment shatters, reality crashing back in around us. Alex's expression hardens, the vulnerability I'd glimpsed moments ago vanishing behind his usual mask of cool detachment. He moves swiftly to Natasha's side, checking her vitals with practiced efficiency.

“She’s starting to wake up,” he mutters to himself. “She needs a higher dose.” Alex starts to shift to find another syringe, but I stop him. His blue eyes locking on mine.

I reach out, my hand gently grasping Alex's arm. "Wait," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I need to talk to her."

Alex's piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, searching my face with an intensity that makes my breath catch. For a moment, I think he might refuse, might remind me of the danger, of the foolishness of showing mercy to our enemies. But something in my expression must give him pause.

"Vesper," he says, his voice low and tinged with concern, "I can't leave you alone with her. It's too risky."

I open my mouth to protest, but he continues before I can speak.

"However," he says, his tone softening slightly, "if you'll allow me to stay, I can wake her up for you. You won't have to wait."

I hesitate, weighing my options. The thought of being alone with Natasha is both terrifying and oddly compelling, but Alex's presence offers a safety net I'm not sure I'm ready to do without. After a moment's deliberation, I nod.

"Okay," I whisper. "Wake her up."

Alex nods, his movements precise and controlled as he reaches for a small vial and a syringe. The glass gleams dully in the dim light as he expertly fills the needle. I watch, mesmerized, as he approaches Natasha's prone form.

With a gentleness that surprises me, Alex tilts Natasha's head to the side, exposing the pale column of her neck. The needle slides in smoothly, and I see his thumb depress the plunger, sending whatever concoction he's prepared coursing through her veins.

As promised, Alex steps back, moving out of Natasha's immediate line of sight. He positions himself near the plastic curtains, a silent sentinel ready to intervene if needed. The air in the basement feels thick with anticipation, the soft beeping of the medical equipment the only sound breaking the tense silence.

Moments pass, feeling like an eternity, before Natasha's eyelids begin to flutter. A soft moan escapes her lips, her brow furrowing as consciousness slowly returns. I find myself holding my breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I watch her struggle back to awareness.

Finally, her eyes open fully, unfocused at first, then gradually sharpening as she takes in her surroundings. The realization of where she is, of what's happened, dawns on her face in stages – confusion, fear, and finally, a desperate, wild hope as her gaze lands on me.

"Vesper," she croaks, her voice raw and broken. "Oh God, Vesper, please."

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