Page 80 of Nocturne

And every single time she crosses my path, she tests it with a mere fucking glance. Emotions aren’t what I let myself feel. They pull you back, they cloud your judgement and are useless.

For the better part of my life, I’ve lived without feeling shit. Indifference has become my existence, and the responsibility I need to uphold is burning inside me. But anger tears at my insides every time I see tears in her eyes.

I thought I knew anger when she was hurt by Leo. It is a child’s play compared to the rage when I saw a crumpled expression on her pretty face last night. With her shoulders down, her features shut down in utter disappointment, her bottom lip wobbling, and her wide eyes filled with… something as she looked up at me. And it irritates me to no bounds that the look got to me.

I look down when Burke grunts on his knees, his mouth bleeding profusely from where I cut his tongue. The organ holds no value if its existence has caused her hurt.

Something wild and possessive dances inside me whenever someone provokes Ara’s tears. The obsessive need for me to be the only reason she cries is demented, but there. And to know that she has been marred by this useless vermin, to understand that this fucker has been her first, has set something inside me ablaze.

I don’t let the beast control my actions often, but today, I give it all the control as I let it loose on the unlucky fucks who dared mess with her. I’m not sure what Ara is to me, but she is something. The repercussions of hurting her are no short of death.

A slow, painful one where death seems like a gift.

Iblis begged when I wanted to shoot the fucker in the eye after Ara walked away. He said it could’ve just been a bad break-up, which wouldn’t warrant any explosive reaction. Wanting to follow her as she stubbornly walked all the way home without a damn fucking coat was the only reason I didn’t spill Berett’s fucking brains on the ground.

I ordered Iblis to get the details of their story. What happened between them wouldn’t have changed Burke’s fate of dying in my hands. It was only to know how deep his torture should run. I once again resorted to stalking the pretty brunette who wore a dress that evoked illogical reactions from me.

It isn’t that I hadn’t seen someone more pretty than her before. Because I had.

But every other woman I’ve known and fucked—they’re shadows next to her, faint sparks that die against the raw, maddening light she carries. I don't know if it's divinity or some curse that draws me in, but nothing else... no one else could ever match it.

I wish it was just her body that had my attention. But I know that it isn’t. She is a being that beautifully holds both the light of the sunshine and also harbours the darkness of the pit-less chasm. A contradiction of existence. A seduction-wrapped enigma that is proving to be the fucking bane of my life.

I don’t believe in the gentle caresses Eero does before he plunges his knife into his prey. I need my prey to see the violence coming their way. I need them marinating in fear so deep that when I finally end them, I want to taste it in their blood. I want to see their soul shuddering before it leaves the body.

Burke cries in what I assume is both pain and fear. I’ve kept him for the last. I let him see the carnage. I let him stew in horror as he saw the torture and pain that awaited him.

Four bodies lay dead on the floor, all their tongues removed before they got here, courtesy of Nico. The organ was used to disrespect her and drive her to almost kill herself. Seems like the little nerd had somehow crawled into the heart of my guard as well.

There isn’t much this world has which could offer it to me so that I don’t burn it down. But her existence makes me hate it less. And these cunts almost took her away.

The knife glints under the light before I use it to flay his skin. I don’t do it with precision or gentleness. I need to hear his guttural screams, his mouth gurgling blood as I tear into his flesh and tissues. It’s been a while since I’ve let myself performa kill. And I forgot how the screams of the prey soothe my beast, sings a lullaby to the voices that purr in delight.

This particular kill soothes me the most because it feels personal.

I lose track of time as I strip him of his skin. I know he is going to die soon, but I take my time. I drive the knife deeper every time I recall his disrespectful words towards her outside the restaurant. I use the driller to make holes in his kneecaps when I recall the tears in her eyes. I cut his dick and balls off after skinning them when I recall that he was her first. I give him an adrenaline injection to keep him awake until I get to his heart.

My fists clench tight around the knife after I pull it out of his thigh. I clutch the blade and smash into his nose, the urge to punch him into oblivion overtaking me. It’s nothing compared to the fire twisting inside me.

The thought of someone else—this undeserving vermin—touching her, tasting her skin, pressing his hands where mine should have been first... it’s a poison, dark and relentless, eating away at every last shred of reason and control I have left. Instead of treasuring her, he broke her. Not only is he worthless, but he is undeserving to sully this earth where she resides.

Why should I even care? Why should it matter to me that I wasn’t her first?

I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to be drawn to her, pulled under by something that makes me so fucking weak, makes me feel like I’m drowning in jealousy. Jealousy so potent and dark that after being done with him, I want to hunt down the doctor—Sean fucking Lloyd—she went on a date with.

There’s this relentless, gnawing need inside me. It’s maddening, consuming—this craving to have every part of her attention fixed on me, to be the one she thinks about, the one she smiles at, the one she cries for. I want her laughter, her mindless rambling, her quiet moments, her everything. I want to be the sole orbit of her world, the centre of her existence, the one she can’t look past.

And if anyone tries to take that from me, I want to tear them apart, limb from limb. It’s an urge that digs deep, a need to destroy anyone trying to take that attention which is only mine. I want to destroy them so completely that even the ghosts would cower, trembling at the thought of haunting me.

The fury doesn’t go away; it just digs in deeper, a twisted need to find this fucker she went on a date with and make him regret he ever dared to touch her. I want to rip him apart, see the look in his eyes when he realises he has no right to what was never his, to begin with.

I grit my teeth as I let the knife travel lower. Burke’s cries are grating on my nerves now. Every sound he makes, every second he continues breathing, is proof that I cannot touch her. I cannot own her the way I want to.

I dig into the space where his heart should be, tearing away the skin and muscles until I see the beating heart beyond the ribcage.

His cries are dulled now, but he is alive. I step closer so that he wouldn’t miss the words even at the brink of his death.

“You shouldn’t have touched her,”

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