Page 71 of Deviant

Even now, even after tonight’s games, she didn’t break, instead, she chose to fight in a different way. She chose to deny me what is rightfully mine.

I huff, leaning back into the cold hard wall. I’ve never met anyone as bloody minded as her, as defiant, as truly perfect.

And I fucking hate it.

I hate that I’m impressed.

I hate that in some way, I admire this bitch.

I should be gloating right now, I should feel victorious that I’ve pushed her to this point, but that’s not what I feel. I feel furious.

“You could just let her die.” Conrad says quietly.

“No,” I growl.

“You can’t keep her like this forever, Magnus. Sooner or later you will go too far.”

“But it will be on my terms, when I decide.” I state. If she dies now, then she wins, and I can’t have that. I refuse to have that.

“What will you do when the others realise how you feel?” he asks in a low voice.

“What?”

“You clearly care for her…”

I let out a laugh. It sounds twisted, completely inappropriate considering the circumstances and a few of the nurses glance at me in obvious confusion.

He thinks that what’s driving me in this is love? He thinks that I’ve been so stupid to fall for my captive?

“I’m not capable of love.” I spit. I know that’s true. I know such emotions are beyond me, but I can’t deny what Iamfeeling. I can’t deny that the thought of not seeing her, of not being able to reach out and touch her, it’s too much.

On some level she has wormed her way in, has conditioned me as I was conditioning her.

No, it’s not love. But itissomething. A compulsion. An obsession. Call it what you will, it is there.

I’ve moulded this woman, I’ve carved her anew and I refuse to say goodbye to the perfect creature I’ve now created.

“Save her.” I repeat again. Feeling more desperate this time. Feeling more helpless too.

Conrad squeezes my shoulder and we stand, mute, watching as they work away, as they stitch her back up and mend her broken body, not just from the fall but from the hours of abuse she’s endured at my hands.

When she’s all done, I step forward, taking her hand, needing to feel her pulse, needing to prove that she is alive, that she is here, that I am not losing her.

Her eyes flicker open, only for a moment before they close again.

Does she see me? Does she realise it’s me holding her hand?

Would she shudder and cry if she did? Or would she feel relief that I’m here, that I’ve got her, that she is still, as she always will be, my pet, my toy. My plaything.

My head feels hazy, my eyes struggle for a moment to open, and all I can focus on is the softness of what is surrounding me.

It smells good too. I feel like I’m floating. Like I’ve somehow lost all sense of gravity and my body has no weight whatsoever.

And then it all comes back. Every horrific moment.

I blink more rapidly, realising that that comforting embrace is a duvet. That I’m in a bed, an actual bed. As I roll over, as I take in the fancy surroundings, my mind still can’t commute what is going on. It’s like I’m so used to the darkness I can’t even register the light.

“You’re awake.”

---