Page 173 of Cain
Time chips at them, and doubt sneaks in. The world whispers bullshit in your ear until you start to wonder if you ever really meant what you said.How can you love a psychopath? He is a killer; he is twisted.
So I did what I had to do.
I made sure the world couldn’t touch her again. They couldn’t offer her freedom or convince her to run away.
I made sure that even if she ran, she’d never be clean again.
I broke her where no one could see. I got into her head and twisted it until her will dissolved into mine. That’s what I stole. That’s what I made mine.
I fucking defiled her. I marked what was pure and dragged it into the dirt with me.
Now, there’s nowhere left for her to go. There’s only me.
Call me dangerous. Insane.A psychopath.I see the compliment.
Perhaps she’ll feel the walls I built around her and realize they’re mine and hate me for it. Maybe she’ll figure it out and look at me like I’m the monster they say I am.
I can live with that.
I didn’t do it because I didn’t love her. Quite the opposite. I love her more than I love myself. I worship her more than any god or any religion I ever knew. I’d torchthe world to fucking ash, stack the ashes like altars, and still kneel with her name on my lips.
Because real love doesn’t always come dressed like a fairy tale. Sometimes, it crawls out of the dark and takes everything with it. That’smykind of love.
A kind of love no one ever warned her about.
Don’t tell me you didn’t actually see that coming.
Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure you did.
It was everywhere. No, scratch that. Itiseverywhere.
My paranoia about loyalty wasn’t just present; it was hosting a damn party, testing people around me with every step they took.
Because loyalty is a sick joke in my hands.
Unless she passes the test …
It’s been three days …
Three damn days that I haven’t stopped crying or pacing around this stupid, fucking rat hole they put me in. My eyes hurt. They burn from the tears and from this horrible neon orange shit they make us wear.
Three days that I haven’t been able to pause my thoughts from running. Running to him.
Damn it, I hate it here. It’s so quiet I can hear my heartbeat. Cain’s house was silent like this, but it was different. There, I started feeling safe. I knew that no matter what happened, he’d be there to protect me. Kill for me.
But here … here, it is different.
I’ve counted the cracks in the wall. Twice.
I stopped crying yesterday. Or a while ago. I don’t know anymore.
My body’s still waiting for him.
Some part of me thinks he’s just late, like he’s stuck in traffic or bleeding somewhere or tearing through someone for touching me.
Because that’s who he is, right?
That’s what he does.
