Pure Obsession {WIP}

09 | Pretty When You Cry

  "It matches the bra.  It should all fit perfectly."  He hums as he glances over my body, calculating rather than lustful.

  I gulp, biting down harder at the insides of my cheeks as I nod sheepishly.  I wasn't worried about the bra and the panties matching before, but I guess it's one less thing I'll have to worry about now.  Thanks for that, Daniel.  Is was really at the top of my list of things to stress over.

  What I can't seem to shake is how he knows the clothes will fit or not.  And maybe it's just a coincidence that it's my favorite color.

  "I love that color on you."  He sighs, referring to the shirt.  "It brings out the golden rays of your hair and honey specks in your eyes.  My sweet Persephone."  

  My lips part in surprise as I look him up and down.  I can't help the blush that warms my cheeks at his onslaught of praise.  As much as I would love to be able to turn off the human part of me that appreciates compliments, I just can't.  As sick, and demented as it is, I curse myself as penance for thriving off of his silver tongue.

  "Is that what we are?"  I ask in a shaky breath, noting the way his eyes twitches.  "Hades and Persephone.  Is that what you told all those other girls when you took them?  Before you killed them."

  Ice runs through my veins as neither one of us can stand to tear our gazes away from the other.  Fear paralyzes me from making a beeline for the door.  I might have abandoned common sense by making such a bold remark, but it's keeping my mouth shut now.  The fury in his eyes is telling me the same thing my brain keeps repeating:

  Don't push your luck.

  If what I've seen on the news is accurate, his timeline suggests he kills the girls about three days after they go missing.  They'll find my body in a week if I don't tread carefully and stick to the plan.

  "I'm sorry."  I finally turn my head to the side and pretend to find a sliver of white in the marble interesting.  Anything to diffuse the tension and pull myself away from his deadly stare.

  "What are you sorry for?"  He hums, amusement and curiosity dripping from his sleek baritone.

  I shrug.  "Assuming.  I shouldn't have said anything."

  Shiny, black tips of his loafers appear out of the corner of my eye as he takes a few steps froward, standing inches in front of me.  I refuse to tilt my head up to meet his penetrating gaze, which is currently burning a whole in the side of my head.  There might be consequences for looking, yet there might be consequences for staying turned away.  I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't.  Instead, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for a harsh backhand or the tip of his blade into my side.

  A meek whimper escapes past my lips when my cheek is met with the feather-light touch of his knuckles rather than their sting.  I release a shaky breath and stand there like a fool about to burst into tears as he strokes the side of my face with the pads of his fingertips, his thumb tracing gently the outline of my trembling lips.

  "They loved each other, you know?"

  "Hades and Persephone?"

  He nods, humming an affirmative response.  The gentleness in his tone gives me the comfort and the courage to look back up.  It's not the crazed psychopathic killer I see in front of me that tied me to a bed and carved me up like a piece of meat, although he is still in there.  If I was crazy, I might mistake the expression on his face of longing and desperation.  Something deep within me is screaming to give into that.  The smart part of me is building a barricade to keep those intrusive delusions at bay.