Damien's pov:
As I slide my hand into my suit pocket, my fingers clasp around the familiar cooling sensation of my favourite knife. The very one I've used on her oh so often. It's kinda funny, I hate her so fucking much it makes my blood boil but yet I won't kill her. I guess it's just too much fun to keep seeing the fear and the pain in those big blue eyes. Everytime the chase restarts, it's like she wants to be caught, like she enjoys this and she's making it too fucking easy.
Seeing her bound to the chair like this, knowing I've won again, it gives me so much satisfaction. Stupid mutt should know not to fuck with me by now.
I never lose but again and again she shows up trying to save the day. She needs to learn to stay the fuck out of my business. Maybe then she'll move on for fuck sake.
One, two, three more cuts across her body and shoulders as she tries to act all brave and tough. It's the same thing every time. Her blood drips down onto her wrists, she uses it to slide out of the cuffs that were binding her arms behind the chair and runs away as fast as possible.
She'll be back. It's been this way for years now. Ever since the pitiful end of her dear bestie ugh.
He got in my way too. Difference is, he was no fun. He though he was too much of a big shot to lose so he had to die. That's when I met her. Such a plain little creature, grasping his limp body and begging, screaming for help. As if anyone cares.
She's still a crybaby, even if she tries to hide it.
Licking the blood off my blade, I sink down into my chair, directly opposite hers. Mines overstuffed and comfy as hell. The mutt only deserved a broken old wooden chair.
She'll be back. An endless game of cat and mouse