My movements are stilted and awkward at first. In my panicked mind, it takes several attempts before I figure out how to move my limbs in tandem. All the while, Dread stays quiet, letting me figure it out on my own.
Swimming is something he does nearly every day. He could swim in a goddamn coma, and here I am, subjecting myself to his scrutiny when I look no more apt than a toddler. In fact, I think a toddler would look less pathetic than me right now.
A small part of me is still waiting for him to pull the rug out from under my feet, whether that means actually drowning me or twisting his lips into that familiar cruel smile and laughing at me for how ridiculous I look.
But he does none of those things, even when I finally get the motion down, and he slowly pulls his hands away, allowing me to keep myself afloat.
“Am I doing it? I’m doing it, right? I’m doing it!” I ramble excitedly, forgetting about everything except the thrill exploding in my chest.
He grins, an emotion passing through his eyes I’m too distracted to dissect.
“You’re doing it, baby,” he says, his tone low and full of something that sounds a little like pride. It hits me directly in the heart, but I force myself to focus on my new accomplishment instead.
“Holy shit, I'm swimming,” I breathe, almost in disbelief. His smileonly widens as he watches me. “Do I qualify for the Olympics yet?” I joke, almost breathless from excitement.
He hums, his eyes glimmering. “I think I can pull a few strings and get you in.”
I pin him with a warning look. “Be careful. I might steal your thunder.”
“You think so?” he taunts, drifting back into my space. My movements falter for a split second, and any hope it went unnoticed vanishes when one side of his lips curls into a smirk.
“I know so,” I whisper, resenting how a different type of thrill ignites low in my stomach.
His messy black hair falling into his piercing eyes, the tiny bead of water clinging to the silver hoop in his nose, his bottom lip curling beneath his straight teeth—they’re all responsible for making him devastating to look at.
No matter what we do, we always seem to drift back into dangerous territory.
I’m flirting with death, but it isn’t the water threatening to take me. It’s the monster before me, staring at me like he wants to devour me.
The last time I found myself between Dread’s teeth, I met God, only for Him to kick me down to hell when He saw who I let disgrace me.
With his stare locked on my mouth again, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, the action way too erotic for him to be thinking about anything but the same memory.
We need to stop.
Ineed to stop.
Every time I fall into this trap, I come out battered and bruised.
For an entire week, he disappeared to one side of the country and then ignored my existence. But not before practically daring my father to come after us—afterme—then fucking me in a retort and leaving me there, covered in human ash.
None of that is normal. Despite his claim to having feelings for me, it doesn’t just erase everything he’s done.
He doesn’t erase everything I’ve done tohim.
He knows all my dark secrets, everything I’ve burrowed deep in my soul until the shame is only an aftertaste on my tongue. He pulled it out of me until it flooded from my mouth, leaving me to choke on the bitter truth.
I’m responsible for those women’s deaths.
I’m responsible for his mother’s death.
I may have not been the one to take her life, but I’m the one who made it possible.
Not only did I allow a monster to roam free, but I created one of my very own.
And I think that’s the hardest pill to swallow.
I created Dread. In turn, he’s done everything in his power to destroy me.
