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I wanted to ruin her. Ruin her so fucking fully–so completely–that I was
the only man who would ever know how to put her back together again.
“No, little lamb. I’m not going to kill you,” he said, his eyes roaming my face in the dark, making me feel his intentions like a fire held too close to flesh. “I’m going to keep you.”
She was exquisite. Her body deserved worship. Men should kill and die to have her. Men had done just that. I fought the cloud of lust in my mind to remain focused. She didn’t control me. She didn’t possess me. She belonged to me. Mine. Mine to touch. Mine to mold. Mine to break.
I wanted to possess her. Wanted to twist her into something that could fit against my
broken parts. I didn’t just want her body. I wanted her heart. Her fucking soul. “I want it all.”
When I told her I wanted everything, I didn’t realize how deeply the meaning ran. I wanted her whole heart. I wanted
her to love me like she would never love another person on this vile planet. When I was finished with her, I’d hand her the key to her freedom and I wanted her to drop it at my feet. I wanted her to stay.
I wasn’t alone because people left. I was alone because anything that came too close died. Starved for sunlight in my hollow darkness. I won’t be the death of her. I won’t let her be the ruin of me.
Emily didn’t make me weak. She wouldn’t be my end. She made me strong. She would be my new beginning. My salvation. The light in my darkness. The thread of purity woven into my ugliness. My reason for existing.
