“I didn’t refer to you as a dog, now did I?” His smirk says asshole, but his body says I can have you if I want you. I hate it. I love it. I really want to shoot him.
“Where were you?” I ask, changing the subject. I know it sounds like a typical housewife to be asking where he was, and since we aren’t anything, I have no real reason to know. Except I want to know.
He smiles, and his eyebrow raises. I am afraid he won’t tell me since there are numerous things I know he has to be keeping from me.
“Jealously doesn’t really suit you… “
“You don’t know what suits me,” I point out, pursing my lips
He covers the distance between us. I am still lying in his bed, surrounded by his scent. I am drowning in a sea of Alzerro King.
I smell the bourbon from his drink as he swirls the brown liquid in his glass. The motion mesmerizes me, putting me in a trance. The liquid sloshes over the side, and eventually he brings the glass to his lips, drinking from it. His lips lick at his drink as if he wants to get every last drop.
“I know this much, sweetheart…” He is on me, surrounding me. The monster has captured his prey. His eyes skim over my lips and up my face before landing on mine again. “Jealously is something that you’re feeling. I know because I see it in your eyes. It’s cute, in a way. There’s something you must know about me, though, I don’t care if something bothers you.” He is whispering, hypnotizing me. I can’t tear my eyes away from his.
“I’m the king. I do. Whatever. The. Fuck. I. Want.” Every word forces his hot breath onto my face. I want to bite him just to see what he tastes like. As fucked up as all this is, I want him. I want him even when he is telling me he doesn’t give a fuck about what I think.
“No. You’re a prick. A self-righteous-I’ll-shoot-you-at-point-blank-range prick.” The air shifts around us and my skin feels as if it is on fire.
Zerro stares at me with an expression that shows he is very much annoyed with my talking.
I open my mouth to say something, but no words ever come. The air hangs between us, and I look down to his hand around my throat, clasping it. He pushes me to the back of the headboard, and I can feel the oxygen deprivation.
“I’m not scared of you,” I inform him with everything inside me. Even if I am going to die, I will do it in a fashion that is me. He will know I died unafraid of him, and to me, that is the most important thing.
A war rages within him as his muscles constrict. He can’t decide if he wants to strangle me or not… He unclasps his hand, and I swallow a breath of air just in time. His hand clenches again, and I swear I feel the bones in my neck snapping.
Or maybe it is all a dream. I know the moment he makes his decision because a tenderness shows in his eyes.
“You should be…” he mumbles against my throat as he kisses the bruises that I am sure are there. There is a tenderness in the way he caresses me. It is as if he is trying to scrub away the bad, as if he wants to take the hurt away. He is conflicted and fucked up. I can’t even begin to fully describe him.
“I’m not. To be scared would be to show weakness, and I know better than to show weakness in front of some self-righteous asshole.” My words are laced with so much hate. I feel as if I am trying to make myself like him less, as if saying the words out loud will make him less appealing to my body, and to my heart.
“Being scared doesn’t make you weak…” His eyes glaze over, hazy with a memory, I’m sure. He had to have had a fucked up childhood to have turned into the beautifully damaged man he is. He never speaks of his mother or father. He never says he had any siblings, and although he doesn’t ask me about my life, he knows a lot more about me than I know about him.
“In the eyes of a monster like you, it does.” His lips lick over one of my bruises and trails up to my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck stand, and I feel a surge of adrenaline go through me. His teeth nibble at my lobe, and I feel myself growing weak against him. My defenses are nothing when it comes to the things he can do with his mouth.
Hot breath can be felt against my ear, but my body is long gone when it comes to talking. I want him. Despite how mean and ugly he is on the inside, my body craves him.
“You forget that every fallen angel was once an angel themselves. Monsters don’t really want to be monsters. We’re just like everyone else, waiting for someone to come save us from our very own damned darkness.”
I pull away from him, frazzled and warm with need. Confusion is evident on my face as he looks at me smiling. Maybe that’s how he’s wanted me this whole time—confused, broken, and lost with no purpose here. If I don’t know anything, then I can never leave.