The thought makes me pause for half a moment, and our gazes collide. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.
I tighten my hold on her hair, but she doesn’t so much as whimper.
“Tell me, did you plan to use these on me in the middle of the night? Or were you saving them for a special occasion?”
She tries to shake her head, but I want her words.
“Speak!” I yell into her face.
I need to terrify her, to remind her that I’m in charge and that no matter what we’ve done together, nothing will ever change that.
“No.” Her voice cracks. “I… I took them to protect myself.”
My lip curls. “From what? Have I hurt you? Have I tried to use a weapon on you?”
“No…but…”
Before she can continue, I bring the blade of the scissors to her throat. I watch with delight as her throat bobs, and I press the blade harder, watching as a thin line of crimson appears on the blade and her creamy white flesh.
I can see her pulse pick up, but she doesn’t dare move. It wouldn’t take much pressure for me to slit her throat and watch her bleed out on the floor, but I don’t want to kill her. I want to terrify her. I want her afraid, worried that if I ever find her with a weapon again, she might die at my hands.
“I hope my intention is clear, Delilah.” I speak the words into the shell of her ear. “Because I know yours were. You planned to use these scissors, if need be, against me. That’s very brave of you, but also incredibly stupid.” I ease the pressure on the blade a smidge and watch the relief fill her features before I do it all over again and press the blade into her skin a little harder. “If I ever find you with another weapon or the knowledge that you might try to kill me, your ending will be far worse than this. Do you understand me?”
The warmth of her body against mine, and the way she’s trembling, makes my cock rock hard. It wouldn’t take much to have her on her hands and knees, myself pounding into her from behind, but that’s not what this is about. It’s deeper than that.
“I understand.” The words come out as a whisper, and I pull the scissors away and release her like she is on fire. She stumbles, and her knees knock together as she tries to regain her balance.
My eyes move to her throat and the tiny rivulet of blood that mars her skin. This strange urge to smear her blood across her skin overtakes me, but I clench my hand into a fist and ignore the ache.
“Get out of my sight before I do something that you’ll regret.”
Like a wounded animal, she scampers away, a hand to her throat as if I’ve gutted her, and she is bleeding out. I walk in the opposite direction and go into the kitchen to make myself a drink.
I could’ve killed her, I think to myself, but you didn’t.
27
DELILAH
“Bitch.”
I don’t even bother pretending to care anymore. That’s the thing about hearing people calling you names every day. Eventually, it stops mattering. So long as they keep it this way and don’t start getting physical, I can take it.
Aside from that, things haven’t been too bad the past few days. After the scissor incident, Lucas is up my ass most of the time. I can’t make a move without his approval. He won’t let me sleep alone, but he hasn’t touched me since that night in his bed. That part, I’m trying not to take it personally.
Besides, it’s not like he won’t eventually break down and give in to what he wants. I feel the way he looks at me. I bet he can’t stop thinking about that night. I know I can’t. I’m actually a little sad that the bite marks are fading. I wonder what Doctor Lauren would think about that. It must mean I’m a complete freak.
“Hey.”
I was so busy fantasizing that I didn’t notice Marcel falling in step beside me on the way down the hall. He’s not so much walking with me as he’s walking nearby. I get it. He doesn’t want anybody connecting us.
“Hey,” I murmur, looking at the floor. “Where were you this morning?” He doesn’t understand how my life revolves around our meetings in class. Not that we talk about much, but I need the reminder that I’m not alone.
“I overslept.”
“I was worried.”
He only grunts. “How’s it going with her?”
I don’t answer until we’re past a cluster of girls, all of whom shoot me dirty looks. It gives me a second to come up with an excuse, at least. “I haven’t had a lot of time to do anything. I don’t get a lot of freedom.”