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Chapter Twenty

Ren

I storm out of the room, leaving him there broken and full of shame. Sex without control means nothing to me, so why am I reacting this way? My heart beats in my ears, and I can barely contain the shakes in my hand... the urge and hunger to consume it all. Running a hand over my head and pushing my hair back as I step outside and take a deep breath in. Trying to erase the smell of him, to regain the control I almost lost when I heard his words. I wanted him willing but not to use me, no—this is not how it works. I control the narrative... down to his submission .

I needed to get away, to remind him that this is not some fairytale where the villain gets redemption. That’s not why he’s here... not why I brought him here.

“Ren,” her voice pulls me into a trance as I look at the trees moving with the wind as a tear slides down my cheek, warming up the spot. “Do you love me?” she asks. But I can’t answer that. I never could. I’m not capable of loving, only consuming and controlling. She made sure of that. My hand moves to my chest, something inside hurts, and I yell.

“AHHHH,” I scream, breaking away from her touch, her memory, but I remain tethered to whatever he’s doing to me. Looking behind my shoulder, I expect him to come to me, to help me... he did this. He created this obsession... this sickness. Byron thinks I did something to him but it’s the opposite—it’s me being affected and I fucking hate it. Everything changed for me. I can no longer create, live freely, or wear the mask I had perfectly created for myself. Instead, I’m here—stuck in the middle of nowhere, not knowing what to do. I have never not known what to do. But what can I do when everything inside me feels foreign? It’s like a stranger has taken over my body and I’m just the passenger.

I laugh as tears slide down my face, my knees giving out, sinking me into the cool ground, and I’m laughing so hard that I can’t tell the difference between if I’m crying because I’m laughing so hard or if I’m just crying. because it’s a natural reaction to have when something inside you is breaking?

I take a deep breath in, bringing me back to center, back to who I need to be to survive. I stand, and storm back inside to do the only thing a man like Byron understands.

He still lays there pathetically, and I hate it, so I kick him right in his ribs, my foot landing hard on his side.

Byron doesn’t say anything, doesn’t scream, and doesn’t fight as I kick him over and over.

“Fight,” I say, kicking him again—but nothing. At this point I’m past talking, but I need him to understand. “You don’t get to ask me for anything,” I sneer, as I grab a fist of his short curls, my nails digging into his scalp.

“You don’t make demands. I take. You obey.”

Smashing his head into the ground, “Whatever game you think you’re playing, quit it. Don’t think because I’m going through all this trouble that it’s because you mean something.” Bringing his face back up, I lean into him, making sure he can see my eyes. “You mean nothing. I just hate leaving things unfinished, Thorn,” I say before smashing his face in again and again. Until I see red, until his eyes roll back and he’s out like a light.

Letting go of his hair, I stand. Using my feet, I turn him over to see what damage I caused. His eyebrow was split from the impact and will probably need stitches but I don’t care. Fuck him for damning me, for ruining my life. If only he was like everyone else, I would have ended it a long time ago. But I know now how to end it.

End it all.

For a second, I lost who I am—distracted by all the inconveniences around me. But all it took was Byron begging me to make him forget. Begging me to make him feel. I didn’t need his terror. I wanted his submission as partnership in my darkness. I didn’t need his light shining through my cracks. I needed to remind myself who I am.

And that’s fucking Ren Sato. Fugitive and all.

Stepping over Byron, I make my way to the bathroom. My mind automatically looks for her as I turn on the faucet. The water stings as it falls over my body. Her manicured hands wrap around my waist anchoring me to my reality. To my essence.

And for the first time... I welcome it.

Closing my eyes, I wash my hair while accepting her touch, accepting my depravity. Allowing her darkness to swallow me as deep as she swallows my cock. Once I’m done in the shower, I grab a towel, stepping over the glass that Byron bashed in earlier. I leave the bathroom, and step into the bedroom.

He still sleeps. His hands—bloody with pieces of glass sticking out from his knuckles, and a small puddle forms beneath the side of his face. Walking over to him, I crouch beside him and dip my fingers in the small puddle.

“To love is to consume, Byron,” I whisper, as I rub my index and thumb together, playing with his blood before bringing them to my lips and sucking my fingers clean.

He looks so beautifully broken. Byron is a mosaic of shattered pieces—rough around the edges, his own masterpiece built from pain and violence. I stand, walking over to my nightstand and pulling out my sketchbook. I sit back beside him. Using my fingers and his blood, I trace the man who did what not even my mother was able to do and that’s ruin me.

The sad thing is that he thinks he’s the only one being ruined, but I am too.

The portrait comes out messy, bloody, its lines rough much like Byron. Tossing the book to the side, I grab his hand and remove a piece of glass. Couldn’t have my creation dying of an infection—learned my lesson the first time. So I take care of him, not because I care, but because I need him alive. I’m not ready to end things yet, but we definitely need boundaries.

I laugh to myself as I push his small curls back, moving his head to face me, to look at his gash.

“Did you think I would kidnap you and love you?” The gash is deep, the flesh torn, but the bleeding is stopping which means it will heal with an ugly scar, but doesn’t really need stitches.

“Or do you think love is why you’re here?” I ask, even though he’s unconscious due to the beating. “You did this, not me.”

Once I’m done cleaning him up and have gotten dressed, I lock the door to my room from the inside, and grab the keys to the SUV—the same one I used to bring him here. I leave to do the only thing I know how to do. I need to give him time to heal, only so I can break him again and again. Until I’m ready... until I’m done.

I was being reckless, I know, but what else do I have to lose? I’m a man with compulsions and nothing to lose. Stepping outside into the night, I get into the driver seat and leave the cabin that has kept me safe from the outside.

The trees become a distant memory as a new landscape opens up. My destination: a small, dead-end bar. What I’m looking for? Not sure but I will know when inspiration strikes. Slipping on a baseball cap, I use it as a mask. I look like an average Joe–blue jeans, black sneakers, and a normal red wine, long-sleeve shirt.

Taking a deep breath in, I control the shake in my hand. Scanning the area for cameras—I find none, but I still take my time looking at the locals until I feel satisfied with what I see. After a few minutes, I deem it safe enough and step out, and after locking the SUV, I make my way inside.

The smell of cheap beer, perfume, sex, and sweat invades my senses. Repulsion creeps up my spine, but I push it away as I walk past a couple making out. Once I make it to the bar, I sit in its darkest part. The man behind it welcomes me, and when I look at him—all I see is Byron.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” I ask, placing a twenty dollar bill on the counter. He nods and gets to work. After a few seconds, he slides the warm liquid towards me .

“You’re not from around here?” he says.

Cupping the glass in my hand, I swirl the liquid. “I am, just always working.” The lie comes out smoothly.

“I would have recognized you if that was the case,” he says cheerfully, as he props himself on the bar counter.

But I don’t look his way or give him the attention he’s seeking from me, and that’s when I hear my muse calling for me. Soft sniffles catch my attention despite the low music playing in the background. Looking for the source of my calling, I find it, startling me.

Her almond eyes—puffy, swollen from her tears. Short, thin eyebrows. Perfect button nose. And to her dismay, she’s in a red dress. Red lipstick. Her black short hair sits on her neck.

And I smile.

Closing my eyes, I hear the sound of her heels closing in. My body tenses, but still, in a perverted way, it anticipates. It willfully craves her touch... her attention.

“I’ll take another,” I say, trying to contain my excitement, watching her out of the corner of my eye. I keep my eyes on her, and obviously,. the bartender does as well. Containing my curiosity, I keep my attention on her while also appearing completely uninterested in her... in him, and I play the role of the loner who drinks at a bar with nothing to say. I order another glass just as she stands and heads towards the bathroom. It’s dark, and I’m taking a great chance that she’ll recognize me, but it was fate that we are both here. That I’m certain of.

I wait for her to be done and exit the bathroom, and in a rush, I get up and accidentally walk into her.

“Oh my God,” she says as she steps back, the warm liquid spilling on her breasts.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, hesitant to move out of the darkness. She turns back into the bathroom, and then I take my chance—risking it all for a redo.

She’s back from the dead to haunt me.

I startle her again. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking,” I say as I take paper towels off the roll.

“It’s okay,” she breathes as she accepts the paper towels from my hand.

The woman in red pauses for a second, her brow furrowing together. “Have I seen you somewhere?” she asks, trying to place me—but no evidence of recognition.

I shrug. “You could have seen me around town, I’m kind of a loner after my divorce.” The mention of divorce makes her soften.

“Divorce?” she whispers as she looks at the stain and presses the paper to it. “Welcome to the club, I understand.”

“Well, I’m Kevin,.” I lie with a tender smile.

“Vivian,” she says. I dip my chin, placing my hands in my pocket, pretending to be bummed out over something that never occurred, but I imitate her. A mirror reflecting her own emotions and insecurities.

“So you’re divorced too?”

She stops, angrily throwing the towel into the trash can. “Yes, as of two months ago. I was abandoned and blindsided with divorce.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. He cheated with his assistant, and well... now I get to start over and find happiness,” she lies, and I read her like a book.

“Is that why you had cried at the bar?” I ask, hoping I don’t ruin the moment but she smiles, and her fate is sealed.

“Maybe.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not good at interacting with people after…everything.” I look up, pretending to choke, playing the role of heartbroken husband. “To be honest, I don’t like bars, but I needed to get out. I needed an escape.” Her breath hitches, every reaction fueling the act.

“I understand.”

“Do you want to get a drink with me?” she asks timidly. “I’m also not good at this, but I don’t want to be here, and I also don’t want to go home,” I answer while holding back a smile.

“My place isn’t too far from here. I know I’m a stranger but—“ She silences me with a kiss.

I like her. Straight to the point. Thankfully, it was more of a light tap and not a tongue-fueled kiss, but it was enough to know I had won .

“I’ve done some very questionable things of late, so yes—one drink. It’s not too late and the creeps are about to swarm this place.”

Oh, even better to go now. “Okay. I also have some pot roast.”

“Food and drinks sounds like a date.”

I smile, reaching toward her and pushing her hair behind her ear.

“Do you love me, Ren?” her voice claws through my mind, and it’s no longer a stranger in front of me but the monster who had brought me into this world and consumed me whole.

“You came back for me?” I ask out loud, instantly regretting it when she pulls back a bit.

“What?” she asks, confused at my words.

But all I can do, in a moment of panic, is kiss her—whispering against her lips.

“You are beautiful to me.”

I kiss her again. This time I deepen the kiss, my tongue moving inside her mouth, the taste is unfamiliar.

My body rejects her, craving the roughness... the scar... and not the softness of her.