“Do you want to know how I control him?” Damon asked.
I didn’t give a shit…
“Food,” he explained. “Most animals, including humans, can be controlled by a system of consequences and rewards.”
Something hit the ground, I heard Mikhail move, and his jaws yapped as he ate whatever Damon tossed him.
“We want to eat, so we do what we need to in order to be fed,” he said. “And all animals have that in common. They can’t synthesize their own nourishment, so they easily become subject to whoever provides it. It’s how animals are domesticated. How humans can be enslaved in soul-draining jobs and relationships.” He leaned in, his breath wafting over my face. “We all need to eat, Winter.”
I jerked my head, trying to pull away from him again.
“And humans are complex,” he went on. “More than just our stomachs need to be fed.”
He raised my hand, and whatever was in it, to his face, and even though I gritted my teeth, trying to pull away, he forced it against his skin and glided it up his neck to his jaw. He forced my hand, and I stopped fighting as it grated against his stubble. Then he lowered my hand to the sink behind me, rinsing it clean.
A razor. A straight razor. I brought up my other hand, carefully feeling the object in my hand. Cool and metal, the blade was smooth and sharp, while the handle featured filigree etchings, making for an easier grip. Was it an antique? No one used these anymore.
He lifted me up and planted my ass on the counter, his hand on both sides of me.
“Keep going,” he said in a low voice.
Keep going? Did he want to die today? Or did he think I wouldn’t use this on him?
“Why?” I asked him. “So you can prove how well I can do what I’m told? Like a dog?” I put my free hand on his chest, trying to keep him from getting too close. “I don’t need you to feed me.”
“Maybe I need you to feed me.”
What did that mean?
“Do it,” he urged.
I held the blade, liking how easily the handle fit in my fist, and loving how he was right in front of me, putting a weapon in my hand, and this could all end now.
Did he trust me? Or did he think he could stop me in time?
He was definitely testing me. Seeing how much I did or didn’t hate him.
And he was willing to put himself in danger to find out.
All of a sudden, I felt like I did the night I drove his car all those years ago.
Like I was dangerous.
“I’ll cut you,” I warned him.
“Yeah.”
“And if I slit your throat?”
He breathed a laugh. “My kind of fun has a price, remember?”
I stopped breathing for a moment, remembering those words. Remembering that he was him. My ghost. The one I kissed and made love to.
At first those words had filled me with dread, because it meant he’d had no limit. Then they excited me, because I wanted adventures with the boy I thought I loved.
I brought my free hand up and gripped his face, tipping it back and keeping it still. Then I drifted my fingers down his neck, feeling where the skin was smooth and already shaven and where the shaving cream still sat.
“Come in, closer,” I told him.