“Killing isn’t a hobby of mine, I’ll have you know.” I felt like I needed to say it. Felt like I needed to admit that to her, to myself. What I do—what I’ve done—has had a purpose, a reason. I’m still a monster, just not the kind that loves the hateful things they do. There’s that look again. It’s like she’s seeing straight through my many masks, tearing down my walls, stripping me bare with nothing but her gaze. I hate it—I love it. I feel free—I feel trapped. The thought that a single pair of blue eyes can leave me so vulnerable, so exposed, is alarming.
