Page 26 of The Predator

But not all monsters are villains. Some are victims of circumstance.

Part of me wants to tell him I’m sorry. That it’s all a lie. But I can’t make the words come out. Through blurry tears, I watch him disappear out the door, and the relief I thought I might feel at his absence never comes. Strange enough my chest feels heavier. Like someone is standing on it.

It’s like without him in the room there is no oxygen for me to breathe.

It takes me a long time before I can close my eyes, as I find myself waiting for him to return, but soon enough I realize he’s not coming back, and I allow myself to sink into the darkness…praying the next memory to resurface will be the one that brings me back to him.

CHAPTER 8

SEBASTIAN

It’s a fucking miracle I make it out of that room without destroying every piece of furniture, without taking her by the throat and fucking her into submission. The harder she fights, the more I want to exert dominance and control over her, but there is no room for control in a safe relationship.

I know this, and yet I can’t seem to let go.

I’m not even angry the memories from that night have resurfaced. I always intended to tell her the truth when the time was right. If anything, I’m relieved. It’s one less lie, one less thing I have to pretend didn’t happen. I had imagined the moment she would remember so many times, but it never played out like this. It could be worse, I guess.

She could remember thewholenight, everything that happened…but she doesn’t. She doesn’t know the truth. I grit my teeth against the pressure of defeat.

If she thinks she hates me now, I can’t imagine how she’ll feel once all her memories return. Fucking fuck!!I try to banish the thoughts, push them deep into the back of my mind as I stand outside the bedroom door, but the thing about anger is the more you try to swallow it down the harder it becomes to control, and I’ve reached my breaking point.

Two steps. That’s as far as I get before I snap. With a sweep of my hand I clear the table in the hall, sending whatever expensive decor is in my path of destruction onto the hardwood floor. Glass shatters, the shards scattering about the hallway and onto the rugs.

I stare at the destruction I’ve caused.Feel better?Fuck, no. I slam a closed fist against my forehead, trying to reason with myself.

For one second—one fucking second—I thought maybe...maybeshe'd finally accept me. I expected her to be pissed off about the forced marriage part; that’s understandable. At some point I would’ve been able to woo her, seduce her into submission, but now… I can’t unsee the disgust in her eyes. It’s there every time her gaze meets mine. My heart squeezes in my chest. She doesn’t see me anymore; she sees a murderer.

Is that all I am? All I'll ever be now?

What’s the fucking point in trying to make her love me?Why not be the monster she thinks I am?I could do it. I could show her how good she had it, how merciful I was to her.

No.

I can’t.

I can’t do that to her. She deserves more than that.

I suck a ragged breath into my lungs, but it doesn’t even feel like I’m breathing.

Do it. Become the monster.Something dark and twisted inside whispers of my darkest fantasies.

Rage grips me by the throat, and my body is moving before I can think of the consequences. I grab the table and toss it across the floor, watching as it splinters into pieces.It’s not enough. It will never be enough.My chest heaves with the exertion of breathing. There's nothing left in my eyeline to destroy, but the rage still lingers. It’s a poison that will eat me alive if I don’t dosomething to stop it. Turning to the wall I clench my hand into a tight fist.

Monster. You’re a fucking monster.The words rattle around inside my head.

Rearing my arm back, I slam my fist into the wall. My knuckles ache at the impact, but I don’t stop. Not until my fist is through the drywall. There is no relief, no release of pressure. Instead my anger ripples through me just as hot as it was.

“Then what? How long until you kill me? I mean, just because I’m your wife, that doesn’t automatically make me safe.”Her words echo in my head. Does she really think so little of me? That I would save her, marry her, only to turn around and kill her? I don’t understand.

Maybe it's a result of her kidnapping, or maybe it's my own fault. I spent so fucking long trying to keep her at a distance, trying to stop myself from falling for her, stop myself from giving a shit about her that inevitably that’s what I did. It shouldn’t have taken until now for me to pull my head out of my ass. I should’ve proved to her what she meant to me earlier, proven I could keep her safe.

Now I have to start all over again. Prove no one else will ever make her fear for her life again, because if they do, I’ll kill them.

I hate myself—for making her fear me, for not telling her the truth. For fighting against fate. All at once the pain rushes out of me like lava spewing from a volcano. I’m out of control, spiraling. I slam my fists into the wall. My knuckles scream as the skin breaks, and red stains the pristine white paint. I smile. I fucking smile. Euphoria rushes through me at the sight of my own blood. Why do I crave this bite of pain? Pain reminds me I’m alive. I know I’m fucked up.

It’s only when a bone deep ache settles in my wrists and fingers that I pause.It doesn't matter.I’m just a killer. Lying in wait for the perfect opportunity to pull the trigger.

Murderer. Murderer.