He won’t pity me.
He won’t judge me.
He just listened, and for some reason, that’s comforting in a bizarre way.
His grip remains firm on the trigger and his body language doesn’t change.
But then he pushes my finger.
Click.
My sobs echo around us as the rush of life surges through me with a ferocity I’ve never felt before.
I could’ve died just now, but I didn’t.
It’s like I’ve been reborn.
Calmly, almost methodically, Jeremy pulls the gun from between my clammy, numb fingers and places it against his temple. “Your turn.”
“Stop, please.” I barely see him through my blurry eyes.
“Don’t you want to see if I survive or blow my head off? If it’s the second option, you don’t have to worry. It’ll be ruled a suicide.”
I whirl around and fist both hands on his jacket. “You might be content with this game, but I’m not. I don’t want to watch you die.”
“Is that worry I hear in your tone, Lisichka?”
“It’s common sense! Who in their right mind would play a death game?”
“Me. So either ask the question, or I will.” He starts to remove the gun.
I have no doubt that he’ll keep his word.
Jeremy is no different than an unmovable mountain. A merciless apex predator.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I blurt, my voice hoarse and my nose clogged from all the crying.
“Because your darkness calls to mine. I want to unleash that repressed part of you and toy with it, with you, like when I smeared your innocence all over my cock. I want to own you, Cecily, every part of you, what you show and what you hide beneath self-imposed shackles. I won’t stop until you’re fully, thoroughly, and undeniably mine.”
I shudder at each of his calmly spoken words, at the assertiveness behind them, the determination coating them.
And for the first time since I stumbled into Jeremy’s path, I realize just how screwed I am.
Because this man won’t stop. No matter how far I run or how well I hide, he’ll flip the world upside down just to find me.
He doesn’t want me for me. He wants me due to his fixation on me or whatever image he’s created of me in his twisted head.
So when he pulls the trigger, a sane person should wish for his death. As he said, it’ll be ruled a suicide and I’ll get rid of him.
But I find myself holding my breath, trembling and pining for the thud of his heartbeat beneath my fingers.
The evidence that he’s alive.
That he’ll keep his promise and strip off my every self-imposed shackle.
In a last-ditch attempt, I reach for the gun and I gasp when he pulls the trigger. I slam my eyes shut, not wanting to see the bloodbath that could explode on his face.
A click sounds in the air and a long breath whooshes out of me.