Yeah, it’s killing me too. I need her, even more now I’ve tasted her, seen her. I want her so damn badly. Every second I’m in the same air as her, I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind. I want to destroy her, fuck her until the sound of her screaming my name is the only thing echoing in both our minds for eternity. But I know—I know—the end result will be worth the blue balls.
I stare at her, my mind racing back to how her wet pussy felt against my cock and how she clenched around the tip, it all floods back. I reach out quickly, my hand locking around her wrist and drag her behind me, my pace fast as I lead her to the room I’ve prepared for the next few days.
Her small feet patter against the cold wooden floor, her pace struggling to match mine as I pull her along. When we reach the door, I yank her inside and lock it behind us. I release her wrist without a word, turning and walking toward the warmth of the fireplace. I settle onto the floor, pulling my backpack closer and unzipping it. I feel her presence edging moving toward me, her curiosity clear.
I start unpacking Tupperware containers of premade pasta and other food I got from the store today, placing them on the floor in front of me. It’s not much, but it’ll give us the energy we need. We’ve got chaos ahead.
I watch from the corner of my eye as she carefully sits a few feet away, opposite me as I set a plastic set of cutlery down for her.
“Eat.” I order without looking at her.
She settles onto her knees, wary of the situation, but I continue to pull out a couple of cold beers. I need a fucking drink. This freedom is going to be the death of my liver. After yanking the tops off with my teeth, I set them down and light a cigarette.
Kitten from the corner of my eye, stares at me, but she does eventually start eating, knowing she needs it. As I smoke, I observe her now and then through the haze, her head bowed, taking small bites of the pasta in silence. I wonder what’s racing through her mind. I’ve already gotten under her skin, that much is obvious. But what else is she thinking?
“Do you have family waiting for you back home, Kitten?” I ask, taking another drag of my cigarette, testing the waters. I need to know if anyone will be looking for her.
Her chewing slows, her head still lowered. She takes a moment, then swallows before giving a small shake of her head.
“No, I’m on my own.” Her voice is calm, then her eyes flick up to meet mine. “Don’t worry—no one will be trying to find me.”
It’s like she’s reading my thoughts, peeling back my intentions before I can mask them. But that’s what therapists do. They weigh every answer, every question. Calculated. Precise. They’re as careful as the psychopaths they deal with, treading the same dangerous waters.
But I don’t want her to be my fucking therapist. I want her to see me for who I am beneath the diagnosis. I want to strip away her polished armor and see the raw, real person underneath. I want to see her as if no one if watching. Like I’m not watching.
“What happened to your parents?” I question.
She shrugs, closing herself off and I can see the unease creeping through her, stiffening her spine. I grab a beer and flick it across the wood floor toward her. The bottle scrapes against the grain, stopping just by of her hand.
Her eyes dart to it, then back to me and there’s a beat before she picks it up, taking a long swig with her head tilting back, throat working as she drinks. God knows she probably needs it.
“They’re dead. My mom died when I was young,” she says simply when she’s finished, her tone a mirror of my own detachment. “And my dad, he…” She trails off and I feel my brows pinch. “He killed himself three years ago.”
I just stare at her as she avoids eye contact, but I can see it’s something that upsets her. Unfortunately I can’t relate. I wonder how she feels, knowing I willingly took both of my parents’ lives, when she lost hers without warning. She doesn’t know my reasons, but one day she will and maybe she’ll understand or maybe she won’t.
“I guess that’s why I wanted to get into all the mental health side of things…” she admits, pulling her sleeve further down her arm with a shrug and I observe her carefully, thinking about what she’s telling me.
“You didn’t know he was unwell?” I ask curiously, wanting to delve into the dark mind of the woman I’m obsessed with.
She shakes her head once before letting out a deep sigh.
“Nope. I didn’t even get a reason or a note. I was just the one who found him and picked up the pieces after.” I soak in her words, and she continues, “I fell into some deep depression for a while, but clawed my way out and here I am.”
My chin raises slightly, something stirring inside me at her confession. My kitten has felt the darkness. That’s why she went to that asylum. She was using it as a power to try to help others. To help herself.
Interesting.Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to her.
I watch as she lowers the bottle onto the floor, then I flick my cigarette into the fireplace and grab my fork, stabbing at the pasta idly.
“I know you said you have no one when we were in SHA,” she says, her tone laced with interest now, switchingthe conversation to me. “But does that mean no one? No grandparents, no cousins? Not even a friend?”
I pause, my fork dragging through the sauce as I think about how to answer, my eyes staying locked on the food even as I finally speak.
“No one at all,” I say, the truth cutting through the air. “I did have a little sister once.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her freeze mid-bite, her gaze snapping to me.
“Did?”