“This will end badly for you,” he says.
This is the first genuine smile I’ve produced in years. “I fucking hope so.”
The seconds are passing, and I’m getting impatient. Sure, he could decline, but nobody like him would pass on such an intriguing subject. But what if the Profe?—
“What’s in it for me?” he asks, and I know he has already made up his mind.
“Only you know that. I’m taking what I want from you, and you can do the same. We’re going to use each other, do our own thing. It just so happens we are going to do it together.”
He nods once, then he places a folded piece of paper between us that I hadn’t seen him holding, and starts to write down what I can only assume are notes of what I just said. Minutes later, he pushes the paper toward me.
It looks like we’re signing some sort of destruction contract.
Rules
There will be no safe word. We only stop if you leave. That’s the only way out. Once you’re gone, you don’t come back.
I film. You watch. Always.
I will hurt you on purpose, in more ways than you could imagine, and you will thank me for it.
Bleeding, begging, crying, or screaming are not reasons to stop.
You will obey every command I give.
Kill me, please. Why does everyone want to have rules and contracts? But this is not the moment to make fun of his “paperwork.” Look at that, I got myself another Alex, just less annoying.
I trace the edge of the paper with my finger, considering the possibility of this being just as stupid as it looks.
“Why cameras?” I ask the most obvious question.
“Because memory is unreliable, and the brain tends to lie about how bad the pain was after you start healing. This is just to make sure it refreshes the memory of it. You need to control the variables if you want to control the outcome.”
Too poetic for my taste, but it makes sense.
“What happens if I beg you to stop because I’m in too much pain?”
I would never, since I want this, but I need to make sure he is just as psychopathic as he pretends. This will only work if he has no limits.