“Because at least one of us should get what we want.” He kicked off the door frame, his feet carrying him to me in three strides. Hisfingers moved to my face as I turned.
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t avoid his touch, but I could avoid his image. I had to. . . he looked too close to perfect. . . too much like my dream man, in a new suit and an open shirt. His pale skin glowed like the moon. . . his eyes, too. His look was hypnotic. His taste, sweet but poisonous.
His lips landed on mine. . . soft and gentle. In the past, a softer version of him often kissed me in such a way. But their motives didn’t match. Hell had no interest in love and intimacy. He wanted access into my broken mind, and he knew he wouldn’t gain access to my deepest secrets, my harbored thoughts, if he rushed the process of digging into me.
“Why does it have to be you?” I whispered, breaking away. My words danced along his lips, still so close to mine. They tingled in the wetness of his stolen kiss.
“Because it can never be you.”
I pulled back, yanking myself free of his painful fingers. “I won’t marry you. I won’t.” My courage was false, like the smile on his face. . . sweet and angelic.
“You will. I guarantee it.”
“You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not wrong.” He loomed above me, stretching to his full height. “In time, you’ll want me. Just like last time.”
“You’re deluded!”
“Don’t do that. Don’t try to convince me something isn’t real when I know it is. My father did enough of that.” Hell swallowed, directly in my view. “I take pills now to help with my anxiety and the confusion. I’m more aware of reality; you on the other hand, you don’t know what the fuck is real and what isn’t. You need me. But you won't admit to that.”
“What I need, is you gone. . .”
“Then make it happen.”
I froze, staring at the blade in his hand, picturing how each jagged edge would feel as it forced its way into my skin.
“I didn’t think so.” My procrastinating tweaked Hell’s lips into a smirk. “I’m going to give you one chance to change your mind. Make your decision wisely, Jolie. You will marry me today, or you won't live until tomorrow. If I can’t have you in life, no one will. But in death, you’ll be mine.” Hell tapped the blade against the smallest part of my stomach, gifting another warning.
My final warning.
I tried to breathe out my fury but there was only room for air. My dress was too tight; the dress he had forced me into for this fucking pathetic charade. . . it was a nice frock, but I still fucking hated it. It didn't look like a wedding dress. . . it was black, just like his heart. And it thrived on my discomfort in the exact same way.
He backed off with a smile on his pretty-boy face and something unusual twinkling in his eyes. . . excitement.
He knew that my desire to live outweighed his threat of death.
He knew it from my past and he knew it from my present. . . I'd never allow him to end my life. . . I’d just allow him to ruin it. Because ruining it was better than racing through my afterlife with him in my shadow, because after driving the blade into my flesh, he'd drag it across his own throat.
He wouldn't live without me, that was clear.
He didn't know how.
I’d been cooperative, all the way from the hotel and in the taxi, the entire journey here. I stepped inside this small white chapel, willingly. I didn’t kick or scream. I didn’t fight for the freedom we both knew I desperately wanted.
The space was lined with flowers, all pretty and pink. Pink, like the stain of excitement blushing his cheeks. He was thrilled over the idea of spending his entire life with me. Thrilled over the idea he’d get to torment me for all eternity.
I recited my vows. “I vow to love. . .” I tasted the hate laced in the lie, but I swallowed it down. “I vow to honor and obey you, as long as we both shall live.”
The rise and fall of my chest, the tightening of my bodice, it all caught the officiant’s attention. His eyes lingered on me for a second longer than they should have.
Hell took my hand in his, maneuvering it to his mouth. My bones were in agony, probably broken, and untreated, hidden by a satin glove. They vibrated with my nerves, only steadied by Hell’s death grip. My nails beneath had been painted red. Red, like the blood staining my underwear from the ruptures his brutality had caused earlier today. He placed a gentle kiss on my knuckles. A false promise. A false smile on his lips.
“Don’t be nervous, my love.” Another kiss burned me.
I took a deep breath, exhaling sharply, trying to expel the dank and depressing energy from inside me. I lifted my eyes, focusing on my trembling hand.
“Shall I go on?” the officiant asked, unsure of the next step.
