Page 27 of The Darkest Half

“Whether or not she’s innocent.”

Seraphina crawled off the woman’s naked lap and fell between her quivering legs tied to the chair's legs. She dragged a blade over the damp flesh of her inner thighs and then father up, parting her womanly lips with it. The second I saw the pink flesh glistening with moisture, I was beside myself; every cell in my body ached and throbbed.

My dark love buried her head between the woman’s thighs, licking and suckling and pulling with her teeth until the woman cried out in pain and pleasure. But Seraphina wouldn’t let her come—she always knew when to stop—and this brought tears to the woman’s eyes; she bucked her hips, trying to make herself come from the motion alone.

I only watched for moments before I fucked Seraphina from behind, and I forced myself to stop and learn control, which nearly brought tears to my eyes.

But Seraphina was always in control. And she could never be controlled. No matter how hard I’d tried in the few months since I’d met her and fell in love with her, I could not break her.

Present Day…

“You could not break her in vatvay?”

I look into Willa’s eyes, still as dark and eerie as ever, but now with a tiny spark of interest instead of the typical vacancy.

“She was so strong,” I say, recalling her beautiful face. “When I met Seraphina, she was the teacher; she was the all-powerful and wise who couldn’t be swayed, tempted, manipulated, or tricked; she was immune to weakness—Seraphina was immune to love.”

“I, too, am immune to love, Freedrik. Tell me more.”

Despite my gradual understanding of why Willa has brought me here, I don’t press her for answers. I know I need to wait before I risk opening another vein and bleeding out in this room.

“I believe Seraphina wanted to love me the way I loved her in the beginning, but she knew where to draw the line. And that’s how I couldn’t break her. I wanted her to love me with the same passion and desperation with which I loved her. I wanted to know, to feel, that she couldn’t bear the thought of losing me. It’s what everyone wants, is it not? Someone who believes we are their whole world, who claim they would die without us.” The question wasn’t meant for Willa since she wouldn’t know how to answer it; it was more a statement of fact.

“Seraphina could love me and give her black heart to me, but she would go on with her life if she ever lost me. She would never kill herself over me, or any man, for that matter. She was not jealous; if I fucked another woman, she could never be hurt; she was far too strong and proud. But she was loyal to me. She was a woman addicted to sex but was in full control and never slept with another man. At least, not until much later…”

Memories of Seraphina admitting to infidelity course through my mind. I shake them off.

“But I could not break her. Not in the beginning. Seraphina was the strongest woman I have ever known. But also the most emotionally unstable. And I had no idea how thin the edge was upon which she walked.”

Years Ago…

Without letting the woman come—none of us did—Seraphina plunged the knife into the victim’s heart. By this time, it was clear to me that she was, in fact, a victim. But a willing participant, too, at least for a little while, until she knew she was going to die.

I stumbled backward until the wall stopped me.

“Why did you…?” I couldn’t understand not only what had just happened and why, but everything about Seraphina both intrigued and shocked me. I got mental whiplash just sitting next to her at times. And this was one of those times.

First, she was beating the woman. Next, she was giving the woman pleasure. Then, without the faintest hint of what she was about to do next, she killed the woman.

Seraphina walked over and stood before me; she put the bloodied knife into my hand, and subconsciously, I accepted it.

“What happened to your instinct, Fredrik?” she asked, and I heard the disappointment in her voice.

I couldn’t look at her, not out of shame, but I was still reeling from the chaotic sequence of events that just transpired, all of which made no sense—the reason why it was so shocking.

She walked away from me; I only realized it when I felt the heat of her body standing so close disappear, replaced by the coolness of the air-conditioned room.

“You are too easily manipulated by your desires, my love,” she said.

She sat down on the end of a giant bed and lit a cigarette. I stared at the floor, seeing Seraphina only in my peripheral vision, too focused on the carpet to give her my full attention, though my ears hung onto her every word.

“For a moment,” she went on, “you knew that woman was guilty—you never would’ve participated in hurting her if your heart, your instincts, told you otherwise.”

I raised my head. And I looked right at her, understanding her words not because they were new and true but because they were familiar and true.

She was right. And it took me until this moment to see that, to believe something I already knew about myself.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” I told her—and myself. “I never would’ve let you hit her; I would’ve untied her from the chair and set her free.”

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