Once more, his finger follows the path of my spine, making it halfway down before deviating. I count the seconds in my head, waiting for his next move, trying to think ahead, as if this is a game of chess and I can plan a counter-attack. His finger reaches the nape of my neck and once again pauses, this time for longer. I almost wonder if that would be preferable. Every traitorous cell inside my body is coming alive from that touch, every nerve ending sparking like live wires. I keep my eyes closed as his finger trails up my spine again, willing myself not to feel it. I want to pull away.īut I don't, because I know he'll just catch me if I do. The air feels thick, like it's filled with the blackest smoke, or maybe my lungs are just too stiff, strained along with every muscle in my body. The wind would carry me right back to him. Even as a pile of ashes, I'd never get away. I want to douse myself in gasoline and set myself ablaze, melting away in the flames just to escape these feelings, but I know it's useless. I can feel my body coming alive, heating, like he's expertly kindling a fire, one only he knows how to stroke. Once he reaches the small of my back, his finger pauses, before tracing a line along the waistband of my panties. It burns deep, raw passion and desire mixing with the purest agony.

I hate the way he treats me, the way he affects me, the way his hands inflict the worst kind of pain before somehow igniting a fire within me. I hate the things he does, the man he is.

I hate the words he says to me and the raspy tone of his voice. I've never hated something or someone so much in my life before. I hate myself for it, almost as much as I hate him. Despite my best attempt at pretending to be asleep, I tremble at the feather-light touch, unable to contain my reaction. A single finger slowly traces the curvature of my spine, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake.

Monster in His Eyes by J.M. Darhower