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With her shirt in my hand, I’m already out the door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Leighton
My fingers clutch onto the throw blanket. My eyes are glued to the white ceiling. My body is still in place.
My thoughts, however, bounce around my head like a deranged, rabid monkey.
On the one hand, I don’t hate Marcus. That much is clear. He might be the most unhinged person I’ve met. But I can’t and probably won’t ever be able to bring myself to hate him.
He’s taken me here to show me he loves me.
As deranged as he is, his intentions for me are pure. I see that now, behind the thick cloud of madness enveloping us.
His love for Rylan is just as obvious. He’s hiding me out here so that our…relationship…won’t hurt her. Until I accept his love. Only then will he figure out what’s the best way to tell Ry. That’s how he’s protecting her.
Another reason why I can’t hate him.
I might have the constant urge to choke him. I might feel humiliated to my core when a simple change in Marcus’s tone turns me into his toy.
I don’t hate him.
I’m not repulsed by him, either. I’m attracted to him. To his good and bad side.
The wetness dripping down my crack will attest to that irrefutable truth. My lingering need for him consumes my thoughts worse than before. The craving to have Marcus’s dangerous black eyes glaring at me again is strong.
This isn’t Stockholm syndrome.
I… Ugh. I love him. I wish to God I didn’t.
He’s deranged.
And I love his brand of unhinged.
What does that say about me?
A psycho.
I’m a psycho.
This isn’t a two wrongs make it right kind of situation. Hearing a psycho telling me being a psycho is okay doesn’t make this situation okay. Not in the slightest.
The realization weighs heavy on my lungs. I suck in a long, cleansing breath. Oxygen swarms into my bloodstream. I breathe again, and the suffocating fog dissipates.
I catch myself before I get all floaty.
Good, now I can think.
Who am I? Where did this depravity come from?
I’ve never been this person. I’m just like everyone else. Always have been, both at school and in college. Other than my pink hair, I’d say I blend right in.
That’s a lie. You’ve been peeping on him for years. That’s taboo as hell. You practically have been waiting for a man—this man—to see you for who you really are. The right person to flesh out every dark, perverted, and wicked desire.
The voice in my head sounds alarmingly like Marcus.
Maybe he’s right.
