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“What if they’re not scared?” I fetch a cigarette, lean against Gareth’s chair, and light it. “You can’t punish or threaten someone who’s not familiar with the concept of fear.”
Creigh won the championship last year is because Killian walked out on another adversary mid-match. When a girl asked him why he retreated, he was like. ‘Oh, that? I got bored and remembered I would rather be sleeping.’ I know. He’s that crazy.”
“You’d be bleeding out and I wouldn’t even notice. In fact, I’d use the blood to mix colors on my palette.”
Well, guys, I’ve been kind of kidnapped by what I’m sure is a serial killer in the making, but I forgot about that as we sat and watched fireflies. Oh, and he made me orgasm while speeding, in his damn car, and I liked it.
Deep down, you like this, don’t you? You want to be forced to lose control. That way, you’d be comforted by the fact that you didn’t agree to this. It’s your mind’s way of assuming you’re not the twisted one who actually fantasizes about this. It’s fine, though. I’ll be your villain, baby.”
“Have you ever heard of the suspension bridge effect? It’s when people experience psychological responses related to fear, but they mislabel them as romantic arousal. The actual term is called misattribution of arousal, I think.”
“The one I need to satiate with some form of stimuli. Usually, I’d be all in for the hunt, but today…you were surprisingly enough. Is that interesting or what?” No, it’s downright horrifying. I don’t want to be his fixation or the catalyst to his madness.
Did a murder happen while I was sleeping—or trying to? What type of blasphemy is that? I demand a redo.
“Oh, my God,” she breathes out. “That’s right, your god. Worship at my altar, baby.”
Creighton—who was the one grabbing my shoulders all this time—releases me and stalks to the door without a word. “Where are you going, punk?” Eli asks. “Out. I’m bored.” And then he leaves as if he was never there. “Fucker needs his head checked,” Eli says with fake sympathy.
