Chapter 21
What have I done?
I am his.
I am his after my consent, after my demand. But consent is a fragile thing, isn’t it? A word spoken in a moment drowned in the weight of his knowing. He knew it from the beginning, and now I do, too.
He wasn’t waiting for me to cross the line. He was waiting for permission to erase it.
And now, here I am on my bed—my bed—drowning in feelings I can’t even explain. Maybe it’s because I finally understand the depth of that word—not for me, but for him.
Mine.
Perhaps it’s because the truth is clawing its way up my throat, whispering what I’ve been too afraid to admit: this is what I wanted all along.
Someone to consume me, to tear me apart and still cradle the ruins like they’re something sacred.
Someone to need me so much they’d rather shatter me into pieces than ever let me slip away.
Someone to care about me. Unconditionally. Madly. Insanely. And the more I hide it, the weaker to resist I become.
How sick does this make me?
A knock on the door makes me jump in surprise. I hesitate for a few seconds, debating who it could be, but eventually, I speak.
“Yeah?”
The door opens.
“Hey.” It’s him. Why did he knock? He never knocks.
My heart jumps. I don’t speak; I merely look away, trying to hide my feelings once again. But why does his presence make me feel so strange? Like a shiver crawling up my spine?
His footsteps draw nearer, and suddenly, my breathing becomes shallow.
Slowly, he takes a seat on the bed, facing me, and lets out a deep breath through his nostrils.
“This is for you,” he murmurs.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye and see him extending a ruby-red rose.
I don’t react. I don’t reach for the rose. Instead, I lift my gaze, locking eyes with him. How can someone be such a two-faced bastard? One moment, he makes me tremble in fear, and the next, he feels like the safest place I’ve ever known.
“It reminds me of you,” he exhales. “You, like the rose, are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Elegant. Radiant. You seem fragile, but only because you’ve wrapped yourself in thorns, begging someone to bleed for you.”
“But you’re not afraid of getting pricked.”
“I am not, little rose.” He sets the flower on the beige, sand-colored duvet, its velvety petals brushing against the back of my hand.
“Thorns weren’t my choice,” I mutter, feeling my eyes well up as I recall all the awful nights I spent locked in my room, neglected by my parents.
He lets out a soft chuckle and looks away. “No one chooses their thorns,” he says quietly. “But you wear them so well. It’s why I find you so fascinating. You’ve been broken, but you’re still standing.”
“Just like you.”
His response is a soft hum, and his face turns solemn. I can tell he doesn’t like talking about his past, and from what I’ve heard, I understand why. It still haunts him because of the awful things he’s been through.
Sometimes, it seems we’re more alike than I thought.
Just like he said, we’re both the unloved child.
The ones cast aside, left to wither in the neglect of others, forgotten and broken by those who should’ve cared.
Left to fend for ourselves in a world that never wanted us.
It’s as if our existence was nothing more than an accident.
A burden. Something to be overlooked and erased.
Maybe …
He had his mother’s love even for a while. I had none.
He had something to lose. I had nothing at all.
But I didn’t turn wild and butcher, threaten, or kidnap people.
“Is the cop alive?” I ask.
“Do you think I’m that savage?”
“I do.”
He stands up and puts his hands in his pants pockets. “Well, you’re wrong.” I raise an eyebrow, unsure whether I believe him or not. “I didn’t kill him. I’m not some mindless animal.”
“Then why do you keep me here?” My voice raises. “Huh? Answer me! For once, be completely honest and tell me the truth!”
His eyes linger on mine for a few more seconds, intensifying my anger. “Do you believe in ghosts, r??i?ko?”
“What?”
“Do you?”
My eyes roll back involuntarily. “No.”
“I don’t either,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on me. “But lately, I’ve started to. Because if ghosts aren’t real, then I have to believe I’m losing my fucking mind.”
“What do you mean?” My anger dissolves as I realize I have a bigger issue to deal with right now.
His fingers twitch at his sides, as if he wants to do something instinctively. I bet he wants to light up a smoke. I hope he doesn’t … although when it comes from him, the smell doesn’t bother me so much.
Instead of caving in his habit, he exhales sharply and presses the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
“I killed him. I swear I did.” He sighs.
“Who?”
“My father.” He raises his dark green eyes and gazes at me.
“What did you just say?”
“I killed that motherfucker!” he shrills. “There’s no way he survived the fucking explosion!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I made sure,” he mutters, his eyes darting all over the room. “I made sure.” His hands tremble. His fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He shakes his head, the words tumbling out. “I made sure …”
But then, his brows furrow, and his mouth tightens.
“Fuck, I didn’t make sure!” he hisses through gritted teeth.
He pants, almost choking on the rage and panic clawing at his insides.
“I was so dead set on ending him. I was so fucking sure I had it! I thought I had him right where I wanted him, and I was a goddamn fool. I thought I’d end him with a simple bomb in his car,” he growls, turning red. “I was a fucking fool. A stupid fool.”
He staggers back, his hands pulling at his hair like he can’t escape the madness of his mind. “How could I be so fucking careless?”
For the first time since he brought me here, he seems so … vulnerable. Scared, I’d dare to say. But why?
“Why did you kill him?” I ask, choosing my words perfectly, aiming to get under his skin and make him confront it all without losing control.
“Because he deserved it!” he spits, widening his eyes even more. “He was worse than my brother. My brother was a lying, manipulative, twisted bastard, but my father—oh, my father was pure evil. He had nothing to win from me, and yet, he took everything.”
His voice cracks as he keeps his gaze on the ground now, refusing to lift it.
“What did he do?”
“He wasn’t violent. Violence was too simple for him, you see. He never beat me or shouted. He just hollowed me out in ways my brother never could.”
I don’t talk. He needs to relive every moment of it. I know. To some extent, I feel what he feels.
“That’s what you deserve,” he growls, his eyes vacant as he repeats the words his father told him.
“You don’t deserve to die. You deserve to be tortured.
Every single day of your pathetic and meaningless life.
A life that this cheating, lying whore gave you.
I’m generous enough to let you live in my house and carry my name. But that comes with a price.”
“That’s what he told you?” I ask, my eyes welling up. My dad is cruel and cold, but nothing can compare to the monster he describes.
“I saw him walking the streets of Prague.”
“What? When?”
“Seven months ago. I went there after spotting him on a street camera.”
“I was still in Prague back then,” I mutter, trying to put the pieces together.
“I know. That was the first time I saw you. And in that moment, I realized he was walking the same ground as you, and I snapped even worse. I saw his disgusting, disgraceful face roaming free. Alive … daring to breathe the same air as you. But I never found that piece of shit no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I paid or tortured every useless scumbag that could give me the tiniest piece of information about him. No one knew anything that would lead me straight to him. It was as if he was never really there. As if my mind had tricked me.”
“How’s that possible?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” he says, walking closer and sitting right next to me again. “After that, you were suddenly in danger.”
“What?”
“The robbery in your apartment … it wasn’t the first one,” he mutters, blinking slowly. “But it was the first that caught me off guard.” His head shakes. “He came in, and I followed him.”
“Who?”
His jaw flexes. “I didn’t see his face.”
A shiver traces my spine. “You—” I swallow. “How? You said you were following me?”
“Yes. But by the time I got close, the lights were off. He knew the layout. He moved like he belonged there. I didn’t get a good look before he slipped out the fire escape.”
“But you were right there,” I whisper.
He tilts his head slightly. “I was. And I still didn’t see him. I walked inside after he left your apartment. He must have heard me.”
“And what did you see?”
“He wasn’t trying to rob your place. He was looking for you.”
My breath catches. “How do you know?”
He exhales slowly, like he’s deciding how much to tell me. “Because nothing was taken.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Every drawer in your place was closed. He wasn’t searching for valuables. He was searching for you.”
The room suddenly feels as if it’s shrinking, and my breathing hitches. “That doesn’t make sense. I wasn’t even home.”
His gaze stays locked on mine. “Exactly, little rose. But then I looked down, and I saw it. The lighter. His lighter. The one his beloved son gave to him with his initials carved on it. W.F.”
My breath stutters, and I barely manage to force out the words. “You … are you sure it was his?”
He nods, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I remember it vividly. I’ve seen him hold it between his fingers like it meant the world to him. He wouldn’t leave it behind unless it were an accident. Or unless he wanted me to find it.”
“But why?”
Slowly, he raises his fingers and, with a hand shaking from anger, points to his temple. “To mess with me. To mess with my head,” he says, his teeth clenched.
“But why …” The knot in my throat becomes tighter. “Why me?”
“Because he knows what you mean to me.”
My heart skips a beat at the confession, but he doesn’t give me much time to think about it.
He slowly kneels in front of me. His hands firmly grab my thighs as he spreads them and slides between them.
“You’re mine to protect,” he murmurs. His fingers trail up, tracing my jawline.
“And I will protect you from everything, even if I have to burn it all to the ground. Even if I have to burn myself as well.” He leans in, his lips nearly brushing mine.
“As long as it takes him first. As long as you’re safe. ”
My lower lip trembles, but I can’t understand why. I don’t know if it’s fear or desire. I don’t know if I should be terrified of him, of what he’s capable of, or if I should crave it.
“I know I scare you,” he breathes, his thumb brushing tenderly against my cheek. “But being locked in here will keep you safe.”
“You don’t,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“What?”
“You don’t scare me.” His lips form a faint grin against mine. “Not all the time.”
He slides hand to the back of my neck and grips it tightly.
“Good. Because you need to understand something.”
My heartbeat pounds in my throat. “What?”
“I won’t let anyone touch you. Not even for a second.”
I nod as if I agree with him. As if he doesn’t sound like a madman.
“You’re mine, little rose. All mine.”