Chapter 1
Leila
I watch his hand recoil from my chest, pausing in the air for a moment as if he is planning his next move.
His fingers curl around my neck, the pressure heavy and yet not enough to cut off my air supply.
His movements are swift and seem to flow with the precision like that of a viper as it strikes toward its prey.
My chest heaves, pulling in quick shallow breaths as my body betrays me, showing him the anxiety that I try so hard to keep hidden within.
The corners of his eyes lift. He is smiling beneath the cloth.
Maybe it’s more of a sadistic smirk. He doesn’t remove the black handkerchief that has a white paisley pattern on it ever, but tonight it lays tighter against his skin.
I squint my eyes, studying the outline of his mouth.
His lips are not over full, but they aren’t thin either.
They have the perfect fullness to them and are definitely pressed together in a taunting smirk.
He enjoys tormenting me in silence, and the sad part is, I let him.
But I refuse to let the undeniable fear swimming in my veins to find its full volume.
I do not want to feel it. It’s not welcome inside of my body but doesn’t ask for permission before it arrives.
I never cry or whimper. Not anymore. I will not add it to the list of things I’ll hate myself for later, even though that should be the last thing I worry about.
My focus should be on self-preservation, which in a way, I guess it is exactly that.
But it isn’t the immediate threat. He is.
I should be kicking, screaming, pounding on his chest, or at the very least flailing beneath him as I struggle for my life.
But the thing is, I know he doesn’t want to kill me.
At least I don’t think he does. He’s never said the physical statement, but his actions—or lack of trying to kill me— fill the gaps that his voice does not.
It is a dangerous game knowing at any moment his mind could change, tightening his grip as he loses control, and he could end me, but I play it without hesitation.
I would never admit it to another living soul on this planet but knowing my life could end at any second excites me.
The danger almost suffocates me, but as air passes freely through my lips, it reminds me that despite everything, I am alive.
Knowing that, both grounds me and gives me strength.
When he first came into my life, he terrified me.
I tried running, fighting the inevitable, and even thought I had won the battle once by stabbing him in the stomach.
In that moment, the seconds ticked by so slowly it felt like hours while I questioned my actions.
I wasn’t sure if I regretted what I had done or if I felt relief.
My heart thrashed beneath my rib cage with such force I was certain I would die from a heart attack and meet death right alongside him.
He didn’t fall to his knees and wail in agony as I expected, though.
He grunted, tilting his head to the side and he arched an eyebrow in my direction.
My body shook uncontrollably, while my eyes darted from his and to the handle buried in his flesh.
I kept waiting for blood to spill out of him by the gallons, keeping my eyes glued to the area.
His eyes followed mine, and a dark laugh came from him.
He quietly shook his head and pointed to wear his heart lies.
And then with a slight speechless nod, he cupped his hands over mine, using our hands to yank the blade free from his body.
I didn’t understand anymore that day than I do today.
He should have died. He should have bled out.
But I guess there are no rules when you are not sure if your opponent is really there or not.
After that day, I accepted there was no escaping him and eventually, grew accustomed to him.
I learned that I had the ability to get away from the world within his torture and once I figured that out, I craved his escape.
It’s always him. The same monster in the form of a man who haunts me.
Always pushing me to the brink of insanity where pleasure and pain collide underneath rough fingers that should not be able to caress my cheek softly, but they do.
I don’t have a logical explanation for any of it, and I stopped trying to find one, honestly.
It’s weird, but through all the years that I have envisioned him, those eyes have brought me more comfort than anything else—a sense of peace washes through me when he stares at me, and I can’t describe the exact reason.
Searching for them outside of where the two of us meet is also behind a lot of the trouble in my life.
So, he is my double-edged sword that glistens with temptation but holds the strength to kill me.
Is he some kind of bizarre vision or a conscious dream that I can’t shake?
Who knows? I do not. Truthfully, I have no clue why I see only him or what seeing him really means.
The doctors say I am unwell, that what I so vividly remember is simply figments of my imagination, and somedays I believe them.
Other days, like today, when what takes place is so unbelievably real that denying his authenticity seems like a more of a lie than accepting him as made up, I can’t do it.
I’m not able to wrap my brain around him being imaginary when every fiber of my being is screaming otherwise.
I don’t understand how someone whose played such a large role in my life couldn’t be there.
I have watched his chest rise and fall as he breathes.
I’ve broken beneath the strength of his strong yet delicate touch.
How can I deny his veracity when his hot breath is against my skin and his familiar sweet metallic scent is intoxicating all of my senses?
I can’t. It is impossible, so I don’t try.
Not today. Today, I give into everything I’ve been taught to ignore.
Today, I give into him, losing the battle and my grip on reality once more.
His attention shifts from my neck to my face, but I keep my eyes on his chest. He wants me to look back at him, I understand his unspoken request perfectly, but my eyes remain right where they are.
I don’t give into him. Not right away. As soon as our gaze meets, I’m done for, and he will vanish again, leaving me to deal with the wreckage of my mind crumbling around me alone.
I hear the command, “Look at me little fox”, but he does not speak the words.
I’m not a telepath, or at least I don’t think I am.
I have never had this deep of a connection with anyone else, so maybe that’s the key factor.
Maybe it’s the fact I’m the only one who sees and hears him, but I don’t worry about it.
After the demand, I can’t fight the urge to glance at him, and my eyes lift to his on their own accord.
My mind is quiet, the endless thoughts that are usually running rampant abruptly stop as if they were never there to begin with.
It feels like I can finally breathe without the weight of the world shoving against me.