Page 9 of Scary Suitor

“I don’t,” she snaps, distraught.

“You do,” I quip as crisp air overthrows her sweet scent from my lungs.

I look forward to burying my face into her neck, selfishly taking many lungfuls until suffocation ends this limbo of misery. Alina, the infuriating object of my obsession, is ripe for the taking, yet I’m struggling with my dictum.

A man of his words. I said she had until Valentine’s Day to win against me, so I’ll wait in a cage of brittle iron and broken locks, held together by sheer pride.

I doubt she can move to a new city and hide with only a few weeks left.

“Ow,” she yelps, hand jolting from my harsh grip.

I loosen it, but am still very firm on the idea of holding hands. The silence never bothered me; it allows me to think and plan strategically as a businessman. I’m used to watching her from afar, in silence, so our walk is comforting.

“I don’t know my strength,” I say as an impromptu apology for hurting her.

Growing up as a foster child meant I had to defend myself for survival. Scraped knuckles and busted lips were normal, unsightly bruises and broken bones amplified my strength, and manipulative lies ruined lives for pure curiosity.

When I fight, I don’t think about how hard I punch or how fast I kick. Time goes by, I stop realizing how strong I am compared to others.

“You’re a liar,” Alina reckons. I can hear the cynicism in her quiet voice as if her words convey more than it implies.

“You probably lied about everything,” she clarifies after a moment of pregnant silence.

She wouldn’t believe me if I explained most things I said to her weren’t lies. Maybe some twisted meanings and unspecified explanations, but I’m doing my best to keep her opinion of me favorable.

As positive as it can be.

I’m not known for being the moral compass for saints. On the bright side, she will never see how unpleasant I can be.

That is until she runs my patience to the ground by being a pretty little brat. I’m doing my best for her. Alina will let me dote on her, spoil her with luxury, or accept the perverse love I kindly give.

A purr sings in my throat. “Little lies never hurt anyone.”

Alina chokes, gasping at the brazen tone. “You just threatened to break my hand.”

She must be imagining things; I did not threaten her because I don’t give notices when I break bones.

“It got you to behave, didn’t it?” I note crassly, stopping at the front entrance of her gated apartment building.

I spin her around, laying a fierce kiss on her pouting lips. She squeaks, shouting incoherently while wiping my kiss from her skin with her coat’s sleeve. Her cheeks turn a bold red, beckoning for my fingers to sink into the plumpness.

“Don’t think of them as punishments; they are the reasons you’re alive,” I state as I type in the front entrance’s code and usher her flustered body inside.

“See you soon, pretty.” I wave and chuckle at the fear climbing onto her bewildered face.

Chapter Three

Alina

Hope is traitorous.

It’s consuming, a grand work of expectations, but its outcomes are lamentable.

I would compare hope to a horse. The animal looks harmless, peacefully chewing on hay with teeth resembling those of a human and bathing in the warm sunlight as the rays bring out the shiny coat color. I go to pet it because uninformed people exist, expecting to feel the horse’s coat. What I get is a hindquarter kick to Neptune and drown in my stupidity.

“I don’t mind your weird thoughts, Alina. I don’t, trust me. I just don’t need to be forced to dream about horse’s teeth tonight.”

Finny’s voice tugs a frown on my lips as I turn to face her, my hair sliding down my face like a thick curtain. I fling the strands away and shudder at the floral shampoo, but it’s what Finny has on hand.

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