"But a moment ago, you were telling me I should leave."
"So, why are you still here?"
She lifted her chin. "I don't know, honestly."
My teeth began to ache, and I realized I was clenching my jaw again. She was talking in circles. I didn't understand. "What the fuck are you trying to accomplish here, Luna?"
"I'm just trying to understand you."
"Maybe you shouldn't do that."
I was a ruthless killer—cold, calculating, and dangerous. This world was all I'd ever known. What good could possibly come from delving deeper into the twisted inner workings of my mind?
"I'm not a good man, Luna," I pointed out what she already knew. "The things I've done..." I trailed off as visions of the past flashed through my mind. Broken bodies and lifeless eyes staring up at me. Cries for mercy falling on deaf ears. "You don't want to know me. Not really."
She watched me carefully, considering my words. "I'm not afraid of your past, Tristan. We all have skeletons in our closet."
I let out a harsh laugh. "Some more than others,bambolina." Little doll. It was an apt name for her. My little doll in her cage.
Luna stepped closer, her eyes searching mine intently. "I know you think you're a monster. But I don't believe that."
I shook my head, astounded by her naivety. "Then, again, you're a fool." How could she not see the beast that lurked beneath the surface? The thing that lived inside me, that danced in the blood of the people I killed?
"Then tell me," Luna challenged. "Make me understand."
I raked a hand through my hair in frustration. Where could I even begin? The horrors of my childhood under Gino's sadistic hand? My soul-shattering first kill at the age of twenty-two? I sobered. Should I tell her about that one? Probably not while she was within reach of objects she could use as weapons.
The blood on my hands could fill an ocean.
"Please, Tristan," Luna pleaded gently. "Let me in."
I narrowed my eyes, becoming suspicious of her motives. What the hell was she doing? She'd done nothing but beg me to release her, denied her need for me over and over even though her body told me a different story, and now suddenly she wanted to stay? I'd spent my entire life building walls to keep everyone else out. No one had ever tried to scale them before. No one had ever wanted to truly know the monster caged within.
Until now.
I studied her, searching for any sign of deceit, and found nothing. If I let her in, allowed her to peer into the barren, twisted landscape of my soul, she would never look at me the same again. Instead, revulsion and fear would fill those striking blue eyes every time she looked at me.
But if I shut her out completely, I risked losing her. Not physically. I could keep her locked in that cell forever if I chose to. No one would fucking stop me. But still, I would lose her. Eventually. And then she would truly be like a doll that lived and breathed, but didn't feel, didn't live. She would sit in that cell just waiting to die.
She would become like me.
The thought sent an unexpected spike of panic through me. Swallowing hard, I tried to make sense of the mess inside my head. What the fuck was I supposed to tell her? What did she want to hear? Should I tell her of my childhood, of the cruelty I'd endured at her father's hands? Of how I'd learned cruelty myself, wielded it like a weapon to survive? Should I tell her how my first kill had numbed me, severing me from my humanity? How violence became my sole purpose, the only thing I was good at?
No. I couldn't tell her any of that. "I need to go take care of something, and I need you to go back to the cell while I do."
She stared up at me with tears in her eyes. "Tristan, don't keep locking me out."
"Do I need to drag you there?"
She drew back, blinking away the emotions as she composed herself. "No."
"Good."
With one last searching look, she grabbed her phone and walked out of my room and back to hers.
"Are you hungry?" I asked her once she was secured in the cell. "Do you need anything before I go?"
"How long will you be gone?"
