I don't know whether it's another way to torture myself or if I'm just being plain stupid, but Pandora's box is open now, and I want to bring out more demons.

"You've killed someone before, haven't you?" I whisper.

Jasper laughs.

At first, I think it's because the idea sounds ridiculous. A moment later, I wonder whether I'm being naive by thinking he's only killed one person.

"You want an answer?" He approaches me, grabbing my arms and pinning them behind my head. I struggle, but it's useless. "The fucking truth and nothing but, right, Pet?"

I let out a cry, pleading silently for him to stop.

He doesn't.

"Of course I've fucking killed," he hisses. "I'd do it again just to watch them die."

I recoil in disgust, the sheer force of his words spiraling me out of control. "Let go of me, you monster!"

"You wanted the truth, Pet. Now it's time to fucking handle it."

"Stop! Please, just stop!"

He grabs my hip with one hand, the other keeping my arms above my head. He slams my hips against the wall, and I cry out. "I love seeing the life leak out of them, Petal. I love watching their eyes go fucking dead. I revel in it. I live for it, to watch others die."

“Stop it.” My voice trembles with pure unhinged fear.

“This is your fucking truth and you get to hear it out.” His icy eyes turn bottomless like an ocean. “Remember that little doctor of yours? The one who dined and wined you? He didn’t get to say a word as my knife sliced him open.”

My eyes widen as I stare up at him. He killed Andrew. Oh, my God. He killed Andrew before I even met him.

Does that mean he’s been watching me since then?

His voice drops to a terrifying range. “I stood right there as life left his pathetic eyes.”

I start to cry then, and he finally seems to realize he's gone too far. He lets go of me, and stumbles back, as if he's shocked by his actions, too.

I open a drawer and pull out a pan with shaky fingers, pointing it at him. "Get the fuck out, Jas."

He stares at my would-be weapon. "You know I'll be back."

"Not if I can help it."

"Then, my little Petal..." He takes a step forward and I extend my arm with the pan, making him lift his arms in mock defeat. "You'll have to sleep with one eye open."

"Out, you... monster." I point to the door and push him forward with my free hand. "Out. Out. Out. Now!"

He stumbles opens the door and walking into the hallway. I toss his hoodie and leather jacket after him, and he glares at me from outside.

"You're the worst of the worst, Jas," I tell him. "A stalker. A fucking killer. I never want to see you again."

I slam the door before I can see his reaction.

The moment we're separated by the wood, I slide down the door to the floor, sobbing my heart out. I wait for the knock that never comes. I count seconds, all the way to five-hundred, before I pick myself up and drag myself to the shower. I spend an eternity scrubbing my body, at the same time wanting to get every trace of Jasper off my skin and hating losing his scent. But I keep scrubbing, anyway.

After my skin is rubbed raw and red, I dress in a pair of comfortable PJs and wait by my phone until seven a.m. Then, I call a number I've written down on a Post-It, shakily leaving a message at the beep.

"Hello. I would like to request someone to change my locks as soon as possible. Today, if you can. Yes, it's urgent."

 

 

17

 

 

Jasper

 

 

Fear.

Deep, raw fear.

If I knew her expression would turn that exquisite, I would’ve come clean before.

After all, I was never ashamed of how I invaded my little Petal’s life.

She has always been mine to own, mine to break and to destroy.

Some would call this stalking, but I call it keeping an eye on her.

My little Petal has a problem with her sensory world. She often ignores the predators lurking all around her, waiting for the right moment to strike and harvest her soul.

Lucky for her, she has the most notorious of all. No one will hurt her under my watch —or rather, no one will come near her.

She said she doesn’t want to see me again and has been watching through the window most of the night, hugging the very unwilling orange cat to her chest.

In the morning, she had her locks changed.

My poor little Petal doesn’t know that the darkness can seep under that door and suffocate her in her sleep.

I could walk away and focus on the Costa game, play my role, and find more lives to finish.

This is my way out, and yet it isn’t.

The problem with my little Petal is that she thinks she can tell me what to do, that she can erase me from her life whenever she wishes.

It doesn’t work that way, and I have to find a way to drag her back inside, kicking, screaming, and hitting.

Doesn’t matter, as long as she’s back.

I retrieve a cigarette and light it as I lean against my balcony. The first drag of nicotine adds a sense of clarity to what I have to do next.

There isn’t a choice anyway. It’s either the boring road of letting her go, and probably coming back more obsessed and dangerous, or I can finish what I started and teach my little Petal that there’s no way out.

She has just left the apartment for her shift, looking over her shoulder, and in the parking lot, and even when she’s in her car, as if expecting to find me.

Her lips were parted, and she had no makeup on. The roundness of her eyes is still engraved in my head. The way they darkened like a storm brewing in the distance, waiting to come out and play.

It’s not only fear. It’s not the usual excitement either.

There’s something curious about those eyes that I can’t wait to unravel, to break, and maybe, just maybe put it back together again, if I like what I see.

I could’ve followed her and made myself either noticeable or unnoticeable, depending on my mood. I could’ve fucked with her head until I’m the only thought inside it.

But I have better ways to do that.

I leave my apartment and head to hers. My little Petal has closed her window and balcony. She even let the blinds down, disallowing me any view to the inside. I never thought I’d miss seeing those cats lazing around.

The only way to go inside is to break the window, but I have a better idea.

I reach under the fire extinguisher and smirk when my fingers touch the small piece of metal.

My little Petal is smart, but she’s a creature of fucking habit. She thinks because she never pulled her spare key in front of me, then I wouldn’t know where she hides it.

Sometimes, it’s so easy to read her mind. Others, it’s like a fucking chore.

The lock opens after I insert the new key.

The orange cat stands at the entrance like a little demon, glaring at me.

I swear he snuggles up to her more when I’m around, demanding she pets and caresses him.

He doesn’t hiss at me anymore, which is progress, but he’s still taunting me with his close relationship with her.

He’s at his first strike.

Fucking hell. I can’t believe I’m giving strikes to cats.

I stride into the silent apartment and the cat follows in a lazy walk.