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I’d rather live my twenty-one-year-old life listening to hard rock and having as little contact with humans as physically possible, thank you very much.
The best way to kill bitches? With kindness.
Partly because I have no intention of being trapped in my head. That’s not a very comfortable place, last I checked.
“Because it doesn’t. The less you care, the less you’re attached and the freer your mind is.”
One moment, I’m walking, and the next, Sebastian turns around, grabs me by the waist, and tugs me against him. “The reason is her,” he says, and then his lips meet mine.
“I don’t want to let you go, Naomi. I rather like it here. Just like this.”
“You hate being a cheerleader and throw every tantrum under the sun to be kicked off the squad. However, the dean and the coach keep you on because of the checks your mommy writes to the college. You were raised by a single mother of Japanese origins and you have a tendency toward passive-aggressiveness and straight out aggressiveness when your race is brought up. You use sarcasm and self-deprecation as a defense mechanism, but you don’t react well when those tactics are directed at you. You barely smile because you like being angry at the world and everyone in it and prefer to be an asocial
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“Now I know what you truly are,” he says. “And what is that?” “Tsundere.” “What?” “It means someone who’s hot and cold. Violent on the outside, despite being soft on the inside.”
How does someone get used to depravity? Does it help if it has flowed in our blood since the beginning of time or that every generation had done its best to deepen its impact?
She can deny it all she likes, but there was something between us last night. Something beyond the crowd and football and cheering. Something beyond normal.
A predatory smirk curls my lips as I stand up. She wants a game? I’ll show her what playing is really like.
“You don’t know me either!” “But I want to know you.”
Because right now? He’s not even attempting to hide his true self behind it.
He let it loose, allowing me to see what type of deviant he actually is. One who gets off on chasing. On catching me. On making me helpless and at his mercy.
The day I dreaded is here. The day where I can’t keep my mask in check. The day where I can’t control my sick, twisted cravings.
I’ve always fantasized about violence, but the chase? Fuck me, the chase nearly had me come in my pants from the thrill alone.
A weird sense of possessiveness grips me by the fucking ball. She’s like this for me. Only me.
He strokes my cheek with his nose, making me shiver. “Because it’s night and you become my whore at night.”
I looked forward to spending time with her, to hearing her talk about stupid serial killers and the latest podcast she’s obsessed with. Even her rock music is growing on me.
Because even without the sex, I feel something is missing if I don’t see her for a few hours.
“Next time you look at what’s mine or run your loose mouth, it will be your last. Watch your fucking back.”
“That’s the thing.” He looks at me funny. “My urge for violence has become less important since you.”
“Whether it’s a bet or a game, it’s none of your or anyone else’s business. If I catch anyone, and I mean anyone, trashing her or bullying her, I’ll fuck them up until they wish for death. And I don’t mean physically. I’ll find the fault in their existence and screw their lives over with it so they’ll never be able to be functioning pieces of shits again.”
Because there’s one thing my toy doesn’t realize yet. Or maybe it’s buried too deep for her to recognize it. She’s mine. Body and fucking soul. And it all started the day she got off on having me chase her in the woods. Or maybe it started the first time I saw her three years ago when she smiled while she was crying.
