Monster in His Eyes
Page 22
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
He goes longer this time, every few thrusts bordering on ruthless, that agony stabbing me again and again. I let out small yelps, unable to help myself, strangled cries of pleasurable pain echoing through the room. It seems to do something to him, rousing something inside of Naz. Every time I cry out, he lets out a throaty groan, the sound prickling my skin.
He's enjoying it.
He pulls out again when he's done. I don't know if it's intentional, or if it's instinctual, but he comes on my stomach instead of inside of me.
My body is a ball of tingles, my legs weak, like he's knocked the bones right out of me. Naz wraps his arms around me as he shifts us around in the bed, squeezing in behind me. There isn't room for him to move away from me here, not enough space to feel any distance between us. It doesn't seem to bother him, though, as he nuzzles into my neck, his hand resting on my bare stomach.
And just like that, I go to sleep.
The room is dark when I come around much later, the light turned off at some point while I was asleep. I'm still naked, but a blanket covers me... one I rarely use... one that's kept stored in the cabinet.
The bed feels empty, no body beside mine. I instantly feel the void. I sit up, clutching the blanket around me, and jump when I catch sight of the form in the shadows.
Naz is still here.
He's standing in front of my dresser, fully dressed, holding a picture frame he picked up from it. It's a photo of my mother and me the day I graduated high school. It's hard to believe it was less than a year ago.
His head turns my way as he sets the frame back down on the dresser. "You're awake."
"You are, too," I say. "What are you doing?"
"What I shouldn't."
"What's that?"
"Thinking."
I laugh lightly, wrapping the blanket tighter around me as I survey his face in the darkness. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that I like you, and that's a problem for me."
His serious tone startles me. "Why's it a problem?"
"Because I don't like people," he says bluntly. "I deal with people. That's what I do. But rarely do I particularly like anyone... like them enough to want to deal with them in ways that aren't work to me."
"I don't get why that's a problem."
"Because I wasn't supposed to like you, Karissa."
I'm baffled, unsure what to make of that. "When you say you like me, you mean...?"
"I like you," he says again, as if that answers my question. He pauses for a moment, glancing back at the frame on my dresser. "There's something about you... something I've sought for a very long time. Something I've always wanted. And now that I've found it, I don't know if I can let it go."
"Then don't," I say.
"You don't know what you're asking," he responds. "I'm not a man who just gives up in the middle of something. If I go any further, if I don't walk away now, I won't be able to."
"I don't want you to walk away," I say. "I like you, too."
"You don't even know me."
His voice has a hint of anger behind it, a bit of bitterness that makes my stomach knot.
"You don't know me either," I say. "You don't even know my favorite color."
"Pink," he says. "You've had on something pink every time I've seen you… your phone case is pink… so are your sheets."
Maybe that was too easy. "My favorite food."
"You'd probably say Ramen. You accept what you think you deserve, but you deserve so much more, whether you admit it or not. You want to indulge. You like to give in to cravings. That's why your real favorite is chocolate."
"What kind of chocolate?"
"Whatever kind of chocolate you can get your hands on."
Okay, he's right… I do like chocolate. "How about my favorite movie?"
"Peter Pan."
He answers without an ounce of hesitation. I just stare at him, stunned. "How can you possibly know that?"
"Easily. You still see yourself as a child, and not an adult, like you believe you'll never grow up." He pauses, eyeing me peculiarly. "Not to mention you let a strange guy whisk you away with promises of magic, and he had you floating on cloud 9 all night long."
"I, uh..." What the fuck? "How...?"
Before I can get out a coherent thought, he laughs and continues. "You have a copy of the cartoon on your shelf. There's a Tinker Bell poster beside your bed. It wasn't a hard guess."
I feel silly and am immediately grateful the room is so dark so he can't see my blush. "Well what about my—"
"It doesn't matter." He cuts me off as he steps forward, closer to the bed. "We could play this game all night long, Karissa, but those things mean nothing. My favorite color's black, my favorite food is steak, and if I had to pick a movie, it would be Twelve Angry Men, but that doesn't tell you who I am."
"Who are you then?"
He takes another step forward, so close that I can see the blue in his eyes now. He stares down at me on the bed, his expression serious. "Someone you should stay far away from."
Those words make me tremble. I believe it—he has a way of making someone believe whatever he says—but still, they don't stop the traitorous feelings inside of me. Maybe I should stay away from him, but I don't want to.
He's enjoying it.
He pulls out again when he's done. I don't know if it's intentional, or if it's instinctual, but he comes on my stomach instead of inside of me.
My body is a ball of tingles, my legs weak, like he's knocked the bones right out of me. Naz wraps his arms around me as he shifts us around in the bed, squeezing in behind me. There isn't room for him to move away from me here, not enough space to feel any distance between us. It doesn't seem to bother him, though, as he nuzzles into my neck, his hand resting on my bare stomach.
And just like that, I go to sleep.
The room is dark when I come around much later, the light turned off at some point while I was asleep. I'm still naked, but a blanket covers me... one I rarely use... one that's kept stored in the cabinet.
The bed feels empty, no body beside mine. I instantly feel the void. I sit up, clutching the blanket around me, and jump when I catch sight of the form in the shadows.
Naz is still here.
He's standing in front of my dresser, fully dressed, holding a picture frame he picked up from it. It's a photo of my mother and me the day I graduated high school. It's hard to believe it was less than a year ago.
His head turns my way as he sets the frame back down on the dresser. "You're awake."
"You are, too," I say. "What are you doing?"
"What I shouldn't."
"What's that?"
"Thinking."
I laugh lightly, wrapping the blanket tighter around me as I survey his face in the darkness. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that I like you, and that's a problem for me."
His serious tone startles me. "Why's it a problem?"
"Because I don't like people," he says bluntly. "I deal with people. That's what I do. But rarely do I particularly like anyone... like them enough to want to deal with them in ways that aren't work to me."
"I don't get why that's a problem."
"Because I wasn't supposed to like you, Karissa."
I'm baffled, unsure what to make of that. "When you say you like me, you mean...?"
"I like you," he says again, as if that answers my question. He pauses for a moment, glancing back at the frame on my dresser. "There's something about you... something I've sought for a very long time. Something I've always wanted. And now that I've found it, I don't know if I can let it go."
"Then don't," I say.
"You don't know what you're asking," he responds. "I'm not a man who just gives up in the middle of something. If I go any further, if I don't walk away now, I won't be able to."
"I don't want you to walk away," I say. "I like you, too."
"You don't even know me."
His voice has a hint of anger behind it, a bit of bitterness that makes my stomach knot.
"You don't know me either," I say. "You don't even know my favorite color."
"Pink," he says. "You've had on something pink every time I've seen you… your phone case is pink… so are your sheets."
Maybe that was too easy. "My favorite food."
"You'd probably say Ramen. You accept what you think you deserve, but you deserve so much more, whether you admit it or not. You want to indulge. You like to give in to cravings. That's why your real favorite is chocolate."
"What kind of chocolate?"
"Whatever kind of chocolate you can get your hands on."
Okay, he's right… I do like chocolate. "How about my favorite movie?"
"Peter Pan."
He answers without an ounce of hesitation. I just stare at him, stunned. "How can you possibly know that?"
"Easily. You still see yourself as a child, and not an adult, like you believe you'll never grow up." He pauses, eyeing me peculiarly. "Not to mention you let a strange guy whisk you away with promises of magic, and he had you floating on cloud 9 all night long."
"I, uh..." What the fuck? "How...?"
Before I can get out a coherent thought, he laughs and continues. "You have a copy of the cartoon on your shelf. There's a Tinker Bell poster beside your bed. It wasn't a hard guess."
I feel silly and am immediately grateful the room is so dark so he can't see my blush. "Well what about my—"
"It doesn't matter." He cuts me off as he steps forward, closer to the bed. "We could play this game all night long, Karissa, but those things mean nothing. My favorite color's black, my favorite food is steak, and if I had to pick a movie, it would be Twelve Angry Men, but that doesn't tell you who I am."
"Who are you then?"
He takes another step forward, so close that I can see the blue in his eyes now. He stares down at me on the bed, his expression serious. "Someone you should stay far away from."
Those words make me tremble. I believe it—he has a way of making someone believe whatever he says—but still, they don't stop the traitorous feelings inside of me. Maybe I should stay away from him, but I don't want to.
