Page 105 of Completing Her

“It’s cold,” I said.

“We’re supposed to get rain. It’ll get damp too. Colder. Maybe you’ll warm up to me then.”

“Don’t do this,” I pleaded. “Let me go home.”

He narrowed his eyes, pulling the glasses off his face. “You are home. This is where you will be living. With me.”

“Andy or Stewart?” I asked, some of my ire returning.

“Maybe someone else.” He flashed an evil grin, making me shiver.

“Don’t hurt Deb,” I asked. “Please, she’s innocent in all this.”

“Other than being a fly-by-night slut, yes, she is.” He leaned on the doorframe. “I’ll use her until she no longer has any purpose. Then I’ll dump her.” He rolled his eyes. “She is so tiresome, but then again, how does anyone compare to you, Raven?”

“You don’t even know me.”

“We were meant to be. As soon as I saw your picture, I knew it. You’re even named after my favorite poem. ‘The Raven.’ Edgar Allan Poe. You must know it. It was a sign.”

“A sign?”

“That you were meant to be mine.”

“You’re insane.”

He only laughed, the sound slightly crazed.

I tried to hold down my building fear. His laughter, his words were signs that he himself was descending into madness like the man in the poem.

“I’ll read it to you later,” he offered as if we were simply passing time.

“No thanks. I hate that poem.”

He waved me off. “You haven’t listened to it properly. I’ll teach you to love it.”

The same way he wanted to teach me to love him. It was never going to happen.

He straightened and approached me. I scrambled back until I hit the wall. I trembled as he stood in front of me, shudders of revulsion racing down my spine.

“You must be hungry,” he said softly. “Thirsty.”

I refused to answer.

He lifted a finger, tracing it along my cheek. “How long do you think you can go without food or water, Raven?”

I stared at his feet, trying to escape his touch. It filled me with dread.

“Stubborn little pet.” He traced a finger over the collar on my neck. “Such a pretty little pet.”

I lifted my head, meeting his eyes. They were cold, empty.

“I’m not your pet, you bastard.”

Then I drew back my arm and punched him. As hard as I could, right in the nose. Blood spurted, and he howled in pain. I smiled in satisfaction.

He grabbed the collar, yanking me close, furious. His cloying cologne washed over me, and I tried not to gag. Punching him had drained the last of my energy, and I stumbled. He held me up by the collar, cutting off my breath. I gasped, fumbling, clawing at his hands. He held me until black spots formed in front of my eyes, then he stepped back, dropping me to the ground where I lay, terrified and gasping for air.

“Let’s see how you feel tomorrow,” he muttered and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

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