Page 45 of Loving the Tormentor

Another step, and I sense my muscles locking in place as he gets too close for me to breathe. I can feel it, that I'm in freeze mode. I wince ahead of any dangerous movement he makes, and that makes him pause.

"Oh, Nyx," he growls with need. "See, that’s exactly what's getting you in trouble with me. Your nervous system is stuck in a sympathetic state. You're always in fight-or-flight. Something happened to you, maybe somethings, and I'm going to dig so far into your soul to find out what."

The way he reads me so clearly is a much-needed reminder of the fact that he's not only an artistic genius. He's a med-school-attending psycho whose own friends called his future psychiatric patients better off dead.

"Your fear gets me hard, and worse, it gets me creative."

He shrugs casually, and my mouth drops open at his nonchalance.

"It's unfortunate for you, but this is your situation. I’ll have you scared and at my mercy again. My gesture of kindness to you is that I can try to balance it with moments of care." His face twists, and he shakes his head. "Hm, that's a lie. I’ll try to be as caring as I possibly can. But let's start this whole thing with honesty: I'm not very caring. I don't know how to be."

I look up at him, blinking, shock rendering me speechless.

"So, should I pick you up and take you to classes on Monday?" he asks.

"You’re certifiable," I whisper, shaking my head. "You're a danger to society. You should be committed."

His eyes narrow, and it crushes my lungs. "I'm losing patience."

"Leave me alone," I rasp weakly as I take a slow step back, up and toward my door. I'm a prey backing away from the predator in front of her. "Don't ever approach me again. Or you'll regret it."

"Are you going to call the police?" he taunts me. "Please, do. I'm dying to see which one of us will end up waiting for someone to bail them out of jail. I can pick you up from there too when your boyfriend doesn't show."

Another step, and my hand feels for the door latch behind me.

"Come on, pretty girl," he insists. "Call them."

A noise resonates somewhere behind him, loud and jarring. And my eyes snap over Achilles's shoulder while his defying stare stays on me.

"We don't call the police here, rich boy," my neighbor, Roberta, calls out, her shotgun—now loaded, as we heard a second ago—pointing at Achilles. A cigarette dangles from her lips, and the bottom step of her trailer is bending under her weight.

My God, I love her so much. She lives opposite me, so when she comes all the way down, she’s right next to Lena's trailer. She bangs on it with her fist, a lot of strength in her gesture despite her old age, and then she goes back to holding her shotgun with both hands.

Lena isn't home; she's working at this time, but someone comes out. Justin, her seventeen-year-old brother, rushes over to us, forcing Achilles to turn around and face him.

"The fuck is happening? Nyx, are you okay?"

"Some pretentious South Bank asshole followed her here," Roberta mumbles. "And apparently, he thinks we use the police to defend ourselves."

I straighten up, feeling some strength coming back. "See, Achilles," I say with more power in my voice. And for the sake of it, I throw his own words back at him. "You have yet to experience what we're really like on our side of town, but I can simplify it for you."

Knowing full-well I'm not in danger anymore with my protective neighbors around, I walk back down to him.

"We get rid of problems by burying them in the woods. You might be powerful when you walk on SFU grounds, but no one has a daddy rich enough to protect them from a bullet to the head. And bullets flyon the North Shore,pretty boy."

"So get the fuck out of here," Justin adds, not without entering his personal space.

Achilles is much,muchtaller and bigger than him, but it doesn't scare my friend's brother.

He smiles politely at Roberta, then nods at Justin.

"My apologies," he says kindly, but his gaze comes back to me. Those threatening eyes that promise retaliation.

Worse is his smile. His friends were right. Achilles Duval smiles like he has a secret he won't share. Something that truly makes him feel invincible as he slowly enters his car without fearing Roberta's shotgun.

Something that puts him above everyone else without even trying.

And somehow, it keeps me in his hold. I want to rip it from his lips. I want to make it mine. Deep down, I want to ask him to stay, and I think that's what his smile is about.