Page 33 of My Kind of Monster

He punishes, he does. He fucks hard. He draws blood.

However… I fail to see his bad intentions for what they are. Is this some sort of fucked up Stockholm syndrome? Because if it is… I am not entirely sure how I can stop its progression.

“They’re my mother’s,” he sighs.

Huh?!

“The jacket and shoes,” he explains without stopping or turning to look at me. I do not know if he thinks that is why I am giving him the silent treatment and he is trying to make good, but the information shocks me.

Obviously, I know he did not just magically land on this planet from freaking Asgard itself, but… thinking of him as an actual human being, someone’s son… it is strange.

“Your… mom,” I whisper.

“My family comes maybe once or twice a year. Last time they came she left those here… I think she just wanted to make sure I knew she was coming back.” There is conflict in the tone of his voice.

I appreciate the explanation, I do, and involuntarily I relax. Was that why I was so tightly wound up? The last thing I need right now is to be bothered by the prospect of him having a girlfriend or wife. No way in hell am I going to care if he does.

“Your family does not live close?” I ask.

He sighs, “No. On the West Coast.”

“Oh... “

We walk in silence for quite a while. Suddenly, I want to know more, but I have no clue what to ask. There is an internal battle inside of me that does not actually want to know him, humanize him. I do not want to look at him differently than the monster he wants me to see. Because he is. A ruthless monster that gives no shit about consent. He takes whatever the hell he wants, corrupts, draws blood, wreaks havoc, and then abandons.

Damn it!

“Why did you leave?” I ask, and watch his steps pause for just a fraction of a second.

“Life got too... complicated. Too much work, little reward, there was nothing for me there.”

“But there is here?” I frown, and he stops walking. He is slowly turning around, his eyes reaching mine before he is completely facing me and there I am again, a deer in the headlights.

He does not say anything. He just holds my gaze with an intensity that brings cold shivers from the base of my spine to the base of my neck, and I cannot move.

My palms get sweaty, my nipples get hard, and my pussy clenches.

His dark blue eyes grow darker, and he barely puts any effort into looking like a savage, yet he does look like one. I should run, but I know by now that doing that will get me fucked, quite literally, fucked.

Is that ayesthough? Is there something here for him? Besides the mountain and the material things.

“We’re here.” He breaks the silence and releases me from the spell he put on me, and I slowly breathe out air that I was unconsciously keeping trapped in my lungs. I cannot do this, not for much longer. The intensity, the fear, the threats, the tension… I need to get the hell down from this mountain. I need to get away from him, otherwise I will not survive this. Physically, mentally, or emotionally—he will destroy me.

I take another deep breath, exhale slowly, and look around. I have absolutely no idea where I am, there are just trees around us, nothing else, no distinctive marker that gives me any clue.

“I think you were running from that direction.” He points to a random spot in the woods, ahead of us, and I wonder if he’s making this shit up. Everything looks exactly the same in every direction. To the point that if I spin a couple of times and someone covers our tracks, I will have no clue where we came from.

He does not wait for me to say anything. He just turns around and heads in the direction he just pointed at. I have no idea how long we have been walking, but it must be a while, because the sun is high in the sky now and I could use a break. No matter the difference the socks make, the shoes are still a bit too big for me and my already battered feet hurt.

“Niklas…” he stops dead in his tracks, like saying his name has some sort of strange effect on him. He turns slowly. “My feet… Could we stop for just a bit?”

His gaze softens as he looks down at me. There is a broken tree a few feet away from us. He cleans the snow off it and points for me to sit.

“Thank you.” Those two words feel strange coming from my mouth. Not because I do not thank people when they do something nice for me, but because in the last few months I have been forced to say them… too many times. Adrien made me thank him for everything he did to me. The beatings, the abuse, the rape…

“Did you live in town?” He breaks my dangerous train of thought.

“What town?” I ask confused.

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