Twisted - Esme Devlin Page 0,60

to stare at our reflection, just as he did that very first morning.

Even with the painted face, I can see the blood there. The more I stare at myself, the more I have the urge to wash it off me. To scrub everything clean. I hate looking at myself like this. I don’t even recognize my own reflection.

“I want to go in the shower now.”

Baron pulls the tie from my hair and brushes the long dark tendrils through his fingers, before pulling it all back behind my shoulders.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, barely audible above the sounds coming from the shower. “So beautiful. So… alive. My perfect little monster.”

I have to look away.

His voice when he does this… he sounds so mesmerized.

It’s uncomfortable, but not in an unpleasant way. The discomfort comes because I realize now that I don’t hate it. Even though I should.

“We will shower together,” he says.

His hands run down my bare arms, causing me to shiver. He stops at my wrists, his hands circling around them easily. Then he lifts them up, as if I’m a puppet on strings, and places them on the mirror in front of us above my head.

It takes me a second longer than it should to realize what’s happening.

The candles are directly below me now, and I can feel the heat from them across my bare chest.

I try to pull away from the wall, but his hands have mine locked in place.

“You’re going to burn me,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice calm and failing miserably.

Baron chuckles in response. “You like that, though, don’t you? Playing with fire. In fact, I recall it was you who introduced me to this little game.”

I shake my head. “That was different and you know it.”

“Hmm, perhaps. Last time you gambled that I would save you. This time I’m gambling on you saving yourself.”

I force my body back against his, and it’s like slamming into a wall. My arms are still stuck and there isn’t enough space to build any momentum. Instead, I try to stamp on his feet, kick him, turn my head to see if I can bite him. This is what he clearly wants, after all. He wants me to fight him.

It just makes me even hotter.

Even more breathless.

And to add insult to injury, nothing I do has any negative effect on him. In fact, he’s laughing. My efforts are comical to him, a source of hilarity.

I’m burning up now, both from the candles beneath me and the frustration and anger inside me.

“Stop it,” I tell him, forcefully this time. “I’ve had enough now!”

“Then save yourself,” he says, forcing his body against me, as if to hammer home the point.

My head hangs as I sigh through my nose in defeat. The candles are hot against my face, and my chest feels like it’s on fire. They flicker slightly from my heavy breaths.

I’m an idiot.

He wants me to blow the candles out.

I blow down on them, my effort pathetic at first because I’m too ashamed to make it obvious that I’m trying. But the candles only flicker.

Baron, now realizing what I’m doing, chuckles in delight.

I hate him. I really fucking hate this man and his incessant need for amusement.

I want this over with.

Filling my lungs, I let the air out in a huge breath. This time they really flicker, and one of them goes out.

“Fuck!” It seems like the only appropriate word for it.

The minute he lets me go, I’m going to kill him.

Yes.

Another huge breath, and the room grows visibly darker.

The only thing driving me on now is his laughter and the thought of getting to join him in laughing when I’m hurting him.

A final blow and the room falls into complete darkness.

My head slumps even farther while I try to catch my breath. I feel the cold press of metal against the back of my neck. His face. I’d give my left hand just to slap him—really slap him—with my right one.

“See. You just needed to engage that little brain of yours.”

I spin around, and to my surprise, he lets me. “Little brain?” I push against his chest in the darkness. “My little brain is tired. Tired! You play with me and it hurts.”

“It hurts? I’ve never hurt you.”

“You abandoned me,” I tell him, pushing him again. It’s all I can do, and it feels so much better than shouting.

“And that hurt you?”

He sounds like he’s genuinely asking.

As if he hasn’t even comprehended that him just leaving without a