Chapter 8
AZRAEL
It wasn’t her message that triggered me. It was the fact that I’ve been waiting for it, sitting here like some desperate teenager anticipating a hookup text.
The moment her name popped up, everything else shut off. My subconscious bothered me for days now, ever since she went dead silent, trying to figure out a way to return the subject to where it belonged. And now it is.
She came crawling the second I touched someone else. That’s all it took. I fuck one student and suddenly she’s back, marking her territory. Predictable. Almost disappointingly so. Yes, because a predictable stalker and a hypocritical professor are such a good match.
The entire conversation from last night was almost like a dependency confession.
Break me.
It could be just a stupid attempt to grab my attention—and yes, it worked—but the way she asked for pain like it’s what she’d always wanted, and not in a pretty way…enough to keep me going.
Most people fantasize about getting hurt, but only under safe conditions and with a safety net to fall back on. Just enough heat to feel alive, not enough to permanently damage them. But not her.
No one sees a bottle of gasoline and thinks, pour it on me.
No one asks for a lighter.
Not unless they mean it. And I so fucking hope she means it.
She just handed me the match and begged for ignition. And now? Now it’s time to light her on fire.
Another Thursday, another fucking class of useless students to be taught.
The lecture hall is half filled with the usual dead, transcription-obsessed undergrads.
I never truly understood why they bother vomiting everything I say on their notes when, in the end, they do nothing with all the semi-meaningful information I’m providing.
But that’s beside the point. Today, this class is about something else. Or someone else.
By the time the class starts, the hall is full, yet my eyes only search for one person.
And there she is.
Finally, back in her seat, back to her place.
I start with the usual time-wasting monologue—deadline extensions, marking the attendance like anyone would even care. Useless actions I’ve gotten used to.
With each minute passing, I can feel that something has changed. The sweet, familiar, sensation of the beginning of a new experiment. The same sensation I had the first time I descended into the Facility. Another monster to create, a new puppet to play with.
And she just sits there, less than fifteen feet away. Unmoving. Unblinking. Undeniably present. Just a few steps and she’s mine to touch, to chain, to implement sensory deprivation, every step of the process I so badly want to start. I could hurt her, and she would thank me for it.
I will hurt her, and she will thank me for it.
She wants to play? She wants to be broken? Then I shall oblige.
I change the lecture mid-slide, mid-sentence, stopping the class and starting the experiment. A deviation? It is. But she’s here, and the opportunity is too perfect to be wasted.
“Let’s discuss operant conditioning. The reinforcement only decreases the risk of the behavior repeating if the punishment was applied prior.
You don’t merely punish; you engage in shaping until the subject’s original, undesired behavior is completely extinguished.
You must pair the exquisite terror of pain with pleasure, repeatedly. ”
My gaze finally locks on her for the first time.
Does she understand what I’m doing? Does she understand this lecture is just for her, and this is the beginning of an experience she’ll wish she was never a part of?
The twitch in her posture confirms it, but instead of fear, she resembles nothing but excitement.
The almost imperceptible shift over her desk only implies craving.
She wants this, and there is no fear in sight.
Welcome to your personal hell, little ember.
“Next week’s session will be open only to select attendees. The list will be posted tonight.”
I end the lecture early—by choice—for the first time ever and wait for everyone to leave the room. There will be no next lecture and no attendees, for that matter. But I want her to know this will be a lesson.
She stays put for a second longer than the others, questioning me with her eyes, waiting for a confirmation. If she thinks it will be that simple, she has a lot to learn. When I refuse to give her any sort of confirmation, my subject leaves the room as well, without a word.
Stage 1 initiated. Let’s see how long your rope will let you hang before you realize you cannot breathe.
Azrael: Tomorrow.
user26093003: Time? Location?
Azrael: Use your stalking skills for it.
user26093003: I knew you liked it, Professor.
Azrael: Not in the slightest.