Psycho ➳ H.S.

Chapter 3*

NOTE: THIS CHAPTER HAS GRAPHIC, DETAILED MATURE THEMES. Please read at your own discretion.

May mornings were the most bearable out of all the months in the year. The heat from the sun warmed the pavement just enough so that Carissa didn't have to walk to work with a tank top on and change once she got there. It was much to her delight when it was cooler out- she wasn't a fan of the blistering Californian heat.

She came up to the sight of a grand, cube-shaped building made nearly entirely out of gleaming, triangular panels of glass from floor to ceiling. She sighed, always dumbfound by its architectural beauty. Luckily, Le Troisième Ravier, 'The Ravier' for short, made profits high enough to pay off the expensive rent and whatever costs it required to maintain its aesthetics. Carissa lingered to admire a little longer until the time on her watch read 7:00. Her hand extended to give the main doors a push, leading herself inside.

It was a rarity that The Ravier was quiet. They opened everyday for breakfast at nine, and the volume picked up as the day went along. Every Saturday, they had performances by special guests- piano players, lesser known musicians, acrobats- and on the last Sunday of the month, they hosted a formal dinner and dance for those who wanted to attend. At the current time, all she could hear was someone in the kitchen having a conversation.

She made her way into the back, hanging up her purse on the coat rack and fixing her hair into a neat bun at the back of her head. She threw on one of the cardinal-coloured aprons and turned on the sink shortly after to wash her hands. She wasn't sure where her other co-worker was, but she could still hear chatter.

"Good morning, Carissa," greeted a voice from behind her while she was busy setting up her omelette station. She recognized the voice to be her manager's. He must have been the one she heard talking, perhaps on the phone, earlier.

"Morning, Mr. Dale. How are you?"

"Fine, fine. I'd ask you, but every time I do you always say-"

"Never better," she finished sincerely. Christopher Dale was the closest father figure she had that resembled her own in stature and eloquence. The only difference was that Mr. Dale did not go home more intoxicated than a heartbroken sailor lost at sea. He did not curse. He did not hit. She was not afraid of him the way she was phobic of her father. He admired her positivity in such a place where negativity came quite easily.

"Wonderful. Carissa, if it's not too much of a hassle, I have a favour to ask of you."

"What do you need?"

He hesitated to answer, his sallow, grey eyes searching her youthful, hazelly ones for certainty. Anxiety washed over her- Mr. Dale never hesitated. Before she could speak, he placed his hand on her shoulder blade and led her inside his office. She braced herself, but clearly not enough.

The sight before her blurred her vision and made her stomach churn. Sitting in one of the mustard-dyed seats to the front of his mahogany desk was the curly haired scoundrel she had encountered twice before. She hadn't had much time to think of him for the last couple of weeks, especially since she failed to run into him again. She did remember touching herself in a painful silence in the shower after she escaped him at the recreation center, however, and she recalled feeling no cleaner after the shower ended than when she had stepped into it. A heavy set flush threatened to change the colour of her skin again. As quickly as her confusion settled in, it dissipated- now she felt anger. Pure anger.

"Mr. Styles here- wait, do you prefer that or Harry?" he turned to him, awaiting his answer.

"Harry."

"Right- Harry is starting his first day of work, and I'd like for you to train him."

"I- what?" she faltered. This was a dream. A vivid nightmare. She would wake up any moment now.

"You've got the most patience out of all the staff. I want you to train him."

"Henry has four kids! Vince has three, and two dogs! Wouldn't it be more professional if a male were to train him? Is he even qualified to work at a five star restaurant?" all of her protests spilling out of her mouth at high speed. She did not want to train a newcomer, and she most certainly did not want to train the man who she fantasized about on more than one occasion. It was disastrous on both ends.

"I think it'd be best if you worked with him, considering your similarity in age, and I know you are more than professional. Besides, he assured me that he has all the right skills needed for his employment here," Mr. Dale dismissed her obvious dubiety and skepticism in his ability, turning from her to him, "Are you okay working with Miss Lim, Harry? She's one of the best in the state."

"It would be an honour, really," Harry smirked. She let out a small huff and forced a smile, nodding her head at Mr. Dale before walking out the door, reminding herself not to pause for him.

"Apron," she directed. He complied hastily, throwing one over his neck and fastening it securely on top of the open, olive checkered button-up he had on, a charcoal tee laying underneath. He rolled up his sleeves so that his bronzed forearms and a small number of little tattoos were visible. His muscles flexed as he tied the strings at the back. The red of the apron against the contrast of the the colour of his shirt made the luminance of his eyes intensify- she made a note to avoid them at all costs or she'd drive herself insane. He turned to wash his hands without a reminder- at least he's clean, her conscience praised. Cleanliness was something she held above all other morals in the kitchen.

"Can you make eggs?"

"Considering I'm a human-"

"Can you make omelettes?" she re-worded her question impatiently before he had a chance to finish speaking. She already knew he was going to be a headache. He snickered at her annoyance.

"Of course."

"Let's see, then."

He looked at the station in front of him, analyzing the ingredients with his eyes and making mental notes of where everything was. He searched around for a bowl and whisk, then placed the two on the counter. He grabbed an egg and tapped it on the edge of the bowl, but when he went to pull the shells apart, his hands missed and the contents of the egg plopped onto the floor. She groaned and clamped her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose. He chuckled anxiously.

"Sorry. Just nervous."

"Just...crack another one," she gritted, getting a rag from the bin under the station to clean up the broken yolk and whites. Thankfully the second egg wasn't wasted and made its way into the bowl. He turned on the stove, poured a bit of olive oil into a pan, and moved his hands quickly around the various chopped tomatoes, onions, peppers, meat, cheeses and spices. His large hands were clumsy, knocking over the spice bottles more often than not and dropping bits of food onto the counter.

"Move quicker, the oil's burning," she pointed out monotonously. True to her word, wisps of smoke rose from the pan and danced into the air. He flicked the fan of the range hood on and tried to move faster, but his fingers simply wouldn't allow it; he wasn't small and nimble like her- he was massive, and her imagination questioned whether or not he was as massive as she believed him to be down there too- highly inappropriate, Carissa! Not only do you know nothing about him, he is now a co-worker! Try to keep your sexual desires at bay, snapped her conscience. His phalanges were too lengthy for jobs around the kitchen. He can't do shit, she thought, but those fingers were probably crafted for more...purposeful activities. She bit her lip at the thought.

Once he finished whisking the mixture together, he poured it into the pan. Like she predicted, spots of dark brown and black surfaced, indicating the oil had burned. A look of worry flooded his face as he searched for a spatula. He panicked, flipping the omelette too early and breaking its form. His skin started to feel hot, aware she was judging his ability which was shifting under her pressure. He flipped it a couple more times and set it onto a plate, contorting his face at the sight of it. It looked- to put it nicely- absolutely grotesque.

She wanted to take the omelette and smash it in his face for all the times he had ridiculed her. It looked like the upchuck of a scavenger animal.

"I think we'll skip the part where I mark how pretty it looks," she said with a sly grin, mentally patting herself on the back for coming up with such a good indirect insult. He pursed his lips. He wasn't used to anybody throwing his own sarcasm and wit back at him, and he didn't know if he liked it or not. Coming from her, he felt the need to bite back twice as hard- metaphorically and literally.

She took a fork from the cabinet and poked the egg, scrunching up her nose.

"Too soft."

She broke off a piece and brought it up to her mouth, popping it in before nearly gagging it back onto the plate. It took all of her willpower to swallow it down.

"Salty. Really salty," she stated. Her words triggered herself to wonder if he was salty...no, he couldn't have been. He was most definitely sweet- Carissa, for the love of God!, her motherly conscience berated.

"But it's good, yeah?" he smiled hopefully. He looked like a toddler, but Carissa was never a remorseful person.

She snorted at his remark, cackling like the odd member in the audience of a stand-up comedy show that laughed much too hard at a joke that wasn't meant to be funny. His tender smile faded into a grimace- he didn't take criticism all that well.

"It wouldn't be good even if it were my last meal on earth."

"Don't be rude, Miss Lim," called Mr. Dale from his office, shutting the door afterwards. She immediately silenced herself.

"Yeah, Miss Lim," Harry whispered, staring straight into her eyes, "be a good girl."

She wasn't sure if her face had drained colour or if her heart stopped beating in that moment. Her memory flashed back to the bodacious daydream she had of him spanking her with his belt tied around her wrists to secure her to the bed frame. She fantasized about him demanding her to be a good girl, and punishing her if he wasn't convinced. She shuddered- his voice sounded just the same as she had pictured it, but warmer and alive, and filled with hunger. There was no way he could have read her mind- impossible! Did she let it slip from her mouth unknowingly?

"Staring again? When will you learn your lesson, princess?" he grinned, stepping closer to her. His hot breath- minty and addicting, in the way amphetamines clung to cells in the brain- could be felt skimming her lips. She had indeed been staring blankly at him, unable to find words to transmit her thoughts. His statement sent her back into the present, feeling a spiteful hatred fuel inside of her. She had had enough of his proud attitude- as if he thought she was wrapped around his finger!

"You know what? For that, you'll be doing the dishes. Start out right at the bottom like the rest of us. And you'll have garbage duty. And don't even think about leaving at ten, because I'm making you stay to clean tables."

"Fuck- you can't be serious-"

"I am. Now go- last night's dishes need to be unloaded from the dishwasher," she retorted. He scowled and cursed, dragging his feet to the sink and began the worst job one could have in a restaurant as large and busy as theirs.

Throughout the day, she caught quick glimpses of him from the corner of her eye. He was doing well, working at a doubled pace to keep up with all the plates and utensils coming in. She almost felt sorry for him as she observed the droop of his head and hunch of his shoulders. His hair was disheveled from being lazily brushed by his forearms, not wanting to use his dirty hands to sweep the curls away from his eyes. Occasionally his jaw would clench after she noticed him muttering inaudibly and furrowing his eyebrows. To her surprise, she desired to know what he was muttering about, even though she was fairly certain they were all directed towards her. At noon, he hauled the heavy garbage bags over his broad shoulders, throwing them out into the bin and returning inside to continue the dishes. Before the day ended, he had taken out six more bags of trash and had wrinkly hands from the prolonged water exposure.

But he still wasn't done, more so with her than with his work. If he had any idea what a hassle it would be to chase Carissa, he would have asked for a different trainer. In spite of the fact that she made his first day a living hell, he still wanted to pursue her. He couldn't understand why, and frankly he thought it was stupid to put so much effort into someone that couldn't give a damn about him, but something about her kept him running like an olympian on the track. He wasn't even sure if a gold medal was in store for him- it was a very real possibility that he wouldn't even stand a chance- but all the harm in trying seemed to be worth it.

After all the customers and the last of the staff had departed, and the sky had darkened to the deepest shade of blue, Carissa locked the doors, dimmed the lights and drew the blinds closed. Harry stood patiently by a table near the kitchen doors with a spray bottle and a rag in his hand- one single hand, of course, because his extremities were that large. She was somewhat afraid to look back at him, knowing he was most likely furious she had forced him to do all the work no one else wanted to do.

His eyes followed her, a cougar stalking its prey. The longer he watched her, the more irritated he became; he wanted- but couldn't have- something that was standing right in front of him. It was like luring a beast out of its cage with a cut of steak- he wouldn't mind devouring her in one sitting either. He saw her gulp; she didn't know that he was just as nervous as she was.

A silence was held between the two for what felt like millennia. She moved the cloth in her hand in circular motions, spraying here and there to give the tabletops a professional polish. Only after cleaning three tables did she look back at him and realize he hadn't moved; he was watching her, analyzing her movements the entire time, just as he did when they first encountered each other at the cinema all those weeks ago.

"Look, I don't want to be here any more than you do," she reasoned.

"Then why did you stay behind?"

She pondered her answer. Was honesty really the best policy right now?

"Because you would've left if I didn't."

Clearly honesty wasn't the right play. He slammed the spray bottle onto the nearest table with a loud clatter and threw his rag to the ground. Before she knew it, he was towering over her with dilated pupils and heavy breaths.

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No! I just-"

"Do you think I'm some idiot who doesn't give a shit about all of this? I applied months ago to get this fucking job and you, of all people, send me to do the shit that cooks aren't even supposed to do!"

His voice boomed through the empty room, vibrating off the glass walls and making her feel abnormally small. She suddenly regretted making him stay back.

"You were so bad at making the eggs, I-"

"Any fool could make omelettes! I did that so you'd have to train me longer!" he finally admitted with a huff of frustration, looking away to avoid her stare, afraid he'd seem vulnerable. Her eyes widened, though she had yet to decide if it was because she was surprised or afraid.

"What?"

"I figured you'd be stuck training me, so I purposely did a shit job with the eggs so you would have to keep teaching me until I got it right," he said through gritted teeth, turning his head back to her.

He looked as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His confession made her heart swell three times larger than it ever had before.

"I really didn't-"

"It doesn't matter anyway, Miss Lim," he spat, a sudden icy smile forming, "I've realized that you're just as vain as you are a prude."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Little Miss Carissa Lim, too fucking proud to admit she's wrong because she's 'the best in the state!'"- he even used the air quotes as he mocked Mr. Dale in a clownish manner- "and too prim and proper to even look at a guy who attempts to give her the time of day without her asking."

"Don't talk to me like that!"

"What are you going to do? Call the police and charge me for harassment? Let me tell you something, princess: those cops aren't going to be paying much attention to me when they're busy ogling at that pretty little face of yours-" he started, repeating her words from the recreation center. She was boiling with rage- hit him! egged her conscience, Fight fire with fire! Smack him! Kick him!

...Kiss him?

Her lips crashed furiously; heatedly; hungrily into his, preventing his words from continuing. What was she thinking? She didn't recall having anything to drink, and she wasn't an impulsive person. She wasn't in her right mind; she should've refrained- but he felt so good. She poured all of her anger into her kiss, grasping his shirt into her fist and pulling him closer. She ran her other hand through his hair and tugged harshly, eliciting a primitive growl to escape his lips and breaking the passionate contact.

She stared at him like a deer in the headlights when they stopped. His eyes were wild, his lips reddened and slightly swollen. His cheeks held a blush she hadn't seen on him before. His chest rose and fell in deep intervals.

And that's when he did it- kissed her back; just as ferociously, just as greedily. It was a kiss made for the 'triple-x' movies, but it was more than lust that ignited the spark. There was an underlying factor that kept them hooked to each other, but neither really cared about that factor at this point.

She could feel his hands dragging across every part of her body he could get a hold of- face, neck, chest- a touch that intensified her exhales greatly-, waist, hips, then down the curve of her ass, giving a squeeze and chuckling at her body's reaction. Her longing for him was needier than ever, but she still had the urge to mask it away from him. Control yourself! This will not end up well, Carissa. You barely know him, her conscience advised. Her conscience wasn't the one being touched by lustful hands, so she decided to shut it out for the time being.

He broke apart from her just long enough to murmur in her ear, "You punished me today- it's about time you learned your lesson."

She hadn't realized the threat in his voice- all she wanted was him. He hastily removed her apron, then her shirt, then his own, and discarded them off to his right. They stood there, nearly naked. His eyes were trained to her chest, biting his lower lip in approval, though he didn't want to let her know he liked how she looked.

Slowing his pace, he wrapped his arms around her to glorify the fact he was unclasping her bra; she didn't seem to mind. It fell to the floor. She was far from rational, but she was going to take any piece of him that he was bold enough to give.

He reached out and undid the button of her jeans. The feeling of the zipper being dragged down its teeth could be felt in her dripping core- this was so embarrassing, shameful, and so, so hot. His eyes glued to hers as he pulled them down her legs, leaving her to stand in the satin undergarments she had thrown on in the morning. His eyes grew darker at the sight- she looked like a pin up girl. He felt himself twitch under his pants; his cock ached, needing a release.

"Dressed up for me, princess? How charming," he teased, using his fingertips to trace patterns onto her hip. She shuddered. She didn't want to explain that she had forgotten to do the laundry, meaning she had only one pair of undergarments left. She usually reserved the pair she had on if she ever got lucky, and today was the luckiest day of her life.

She froze once he took his hand and leisurely circled her clit through the soft material. She could feel her legs wanting to squeeze together, but her mind begged them no. His other hand held onto her upper arm to steady her.

"Do you feel good?"

She nodded. He was moving too slow; she needed him. His fingers felt like heaven; his breath still smelled of mint; his gaze burned into her memory. Dirty whore, her conscience scolded. She couldn't care less if she was the dirtiest whore in the world if he was the one touching her like this.

His voice then became impossibly quiet, leaning into her ear to make sure she- and only she- could hear what he had to say.

"Do you trust me?"

Her conscience screamed no. Her head nodded yes.

He kissed her once again, harder this time. As she was trying to process everything, he peeled down her panties, getting rid of them, her pants, and her shoes, and circled her most sensitive spot straight on. Waves of pleasure washed over her- his fingers rubbed in patterns and her legs threatened to buckle underneath her. He backed her up into a table, knocking over a small flower vase and the salt and pepper shakers on impact, and continued his heavenly torture.

"God, you're so wet," he breathed. All she could do was whimper. Her arms clung to his bare torso, resting her cheek on the heated butterfly tattoo, unable to keep herself upright. Knots formed in her stomach; her eyes fluttered; prickles of senselessness travelled down her skin- put it in already! she screamed in her head. She felt her body betray her by pulling away from his touch, too sensitive to continue, but he was quick to react and brought his free arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his hand and holding her down in place. He picked up his speed and increased the pressure he applied, driving her mad. He stood between her parted legs to keep them open for him. Their breathing picked up, lost in ecstasy. Carissa's moans echoed about the room and his grunts did the same. She couldn't contain them- not when she felt this high.

As swiftly as he had brought her to near insanity, he flipped her around, bent her over with her chest on the table and held her hands behind her back, and sent a palm down on her ass with a loud crack, just as he had done in her fantasy. She shrieked at the sting it produced- it didn't hurt as much as it sounded; in fact it felt good, and she craved for more.

"You gonna do that to me again? Make me wash the fucking dishes?"

"Fuck- no," she whimpered.

"Do I make you feel good?"

"Yes."

He spanked her again. She jumped, sinking as far as she could into the table.

"Tell me."

"You make me feel good, Harry- god, please don't stop," she mewled in desperation. Her slit was drenched; he had to be attracted to her ass perched up in the air just for him. She struggled against his control, but he easily held dominance.

"Tell me what you want, princess."

This was her chance. He could make her wildest fantasies come true. He would comply; fuck her until she couldn't breathe properly in a highly coveted world that he could paint just for her.

"Fuck me," the words tasted strange on her tongue. Still, it didn't make her mean it any less.

A familiar clinking of a belt buckle; the zip of a zipper; denim shuffling down the skin of his toned legs- sounds she wanted to hold onto forever. She heard a thud thud and assumed it to be his shoes hitting the floor. There were no more confines- both of them were completely nude in the middle of the desolate restaurant. She craned her neck as far as she could to watch his eyes travel down her backside, as if he were famished and eating up the image of her bent over a table with her hands held hostage behind her back.

"Where?"

She didn't want to say it, ashamed that she had let her mouth spill so many filthy things already. But he knew exactly where she wanted him- all he needed was for her to beg for it; to plead; to drive herself insane with desire. He slid his throbbing head over her sex, up and down the length, tormenting her further. She shivered and her knees bent inwards, not knowing how long he was going to put it off for.

"Right there, Harry."

"What do you say?"

"Please! God, please fuck me right there," she cried, growing nasty as her impatience inflated.

"Please who, princess? Remember your manners," he challenged, gathering her hair and wrapping it around his fist before yanking on it. It caused her head to jerk backwards and stare up instead of having her cheek planted on the table. A stifled wince slipped from her mouth. Even if she wasn't looking at him, she could hear the smirk in his voice. He was loving it.

"Please, Harry, please," she corrected herself.

He pushed into her, and a shrivelled gasp left her lungs as she tried to catch her breath. He was huge, feeling him on every wall until her navel begged for mercy. Her hands and hair were released. He let out a throaty groan, burying himself deep. He leaned forward, his chest to her back, and bit her shoulder blade lightly, allowing her to adjust to his size.

"Fuck, Carissa- fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, kissing the spot he had just bitten. Her name sounded so much better when he said it, especially in the state they were in.

"Please move," she pleaded.

Slowly but surely his hips began to thrust, his cock sliding in and out, always going deeper each time he pushed in. The room filled with sounds of sex. He sped up, faster, faster, faster until she saw stars. The smacks she heard were from the skin of his pelvis pounding into her ass, ramming his cock straight into her core with palms grasping onto her hips. Her hands gripped the edges of the tabletop, holding on for dear life. It felt as if her hands were tethering the rest of her body to earth- she was floating away into another world, and he was taking her straight there.

The table shook with the force he put into making her feel good; it wasn't just about hearing her dirty words, or disciplining her for torturing him at work, or listening to his name leave her lips in the form of shaky moans- hell, it wasn't even about him. He wanted to show her that he could deliver more than anybody she knew, and anybody yet to come. He wanted her to realize that he could make her feel this way- feel this good- whenever she wanted. As much as she wanted this, he wanted her.

"Harry, I'm close," she breathed before moaning into her arm. She kept it near her mouth so she could bite into her flesh if she felt like screaming- it wasn't clear to her as to why, because no one except Harry was in the restaurant to hear her.

"No, you're not. Hold it."

"I can't- Harry, please-"

"I said hold it, Carissa."

Her brain was going to explode. He was tormenting her to the point of no return. Before she could protest, he pulled out of her, flipped her around, pushed her backside onto the table, stuck his cock in her again, wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her up, cupping her ass in the palms of his hands. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the sensation created by the new angle. Just when she thought he couldn't possibly go any deeper, he penetrated further and challenged her limits. He was standing up, pushed to the hilt, and carried her like that to the kitchen, progressing towards Mr. Dale's office.

They stumbled a few times, but his strength impressed her greatly. He navigated through the lackluster cookery and fumbled with the door handle until he let themselves in. He set her down gently upon the mahogany desk- thankfully, Mr. Dale kept it paper-free- and turned the table lamp on so he had enough illumination to admire her in the dim light.

She lay there looking up at him for a moment, wondering how he still managed to look so good after working so hard against her body. His curly, brown hair was once again bedraggled, his green eyes were encompassed by dark circles, and beads of sweat sat upon his brow- a proper mess, freshly fucked in California's number one high class eatery. Just the thought of him ploughing into her- merciless, relentless and fierce- gave her enough courage to bring her hand up to her clit and rub it herself.

"Mmm...keep doing that," he exhaled, running his hand through his hair with his eyes focused on her pleasuring herself, "you have no idea how fucking hot you look." He wrapped his palm around the base of his cock, sliding it up and down his length.

Carissa obeyed, circling faster and harder at the sight of him jerking off to her until her legs shook and her breath hitched in her throat- she was so close, so close...

"Fuck- come here-" he growled, tearing her hand away from her clit and pulling her body up so that their foreheads were touching, stares fixed upon one another. He positioned himself at her entrance then thrust in vigorously, resuming the abrasive strokes of her clit- he wanted her to feel so much fire and so many jolts of electricity that she couldn't tell which way was up. He hit the spot at this angle continuously, and it wasn't long before she clenched around him, well-deserved orgasms rolling into her one by one.

"Oh god- fuck, yes! Yes, yes, yes- don't stop," she screamed. Her back arched; her toes curled; her mouth formed the perfect 'O'; her hands tried to find something- anything- to grasp onto. The sight of her coming undone was too much for him to handle- never had he seen a creature so beautiful while so distraught. He pulled out, jacking himself off over the sight of her convulsing body until he came, groaning with pleasure and shooting the hot, sticky ejaculate onto her sweat-ridden stomach.

He collapsed onto his elbows, hovering close above her. He planted kisses on her lips, each one trying to convey what he could never tell her straight up: 'I've wanted you since the first time I saw you'; 'You are so, so beautiful'; 'I really care about you'. She didn't kiss back- he wasn't sure if she had been spent of all her energy or if she didn't want to reciprocate his feelings. Either way, she looked heavenly. He felt so good- not in a sense that he had gained anything, but in a sense that she looked absolutely serene and he was the cause. Her calmed breathing was a sign he had given more than he took, and oddly enough, it felt better than he thought.

She was close to passing out, but Harry's lingering body kept her on the edge of sleep. She felt a warm towel wipe away all the sweat and grime from her body- slowly, cautiously, as to not disrupt her euphoric state of mind. Not long after, he came back and sat her up, patiently dressing her in the clothes he had strewn onto the floor earlier. He helped her into the mustard-dyed chair, where she curled up and watched his silhouette push buttons on the surveillance machine through hooded eyes. The screen flashed and the video of their erotic adventure played. He was so ruthless, and yet so strong and protective- what even happened? She couldn't remember the details. It wasn't long before the word 'ERASED' flashed across the screen and her head drifted off into a wistful slumber.

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