If the devil ever needed lessons in temptation, he’d sit you down and take notes. That’s what you do without even trying; that’s what makes this so dangerous. My sweet little angel, staring at something youknowisn’t good for you, and you don’t even try to look away. Look at you, being such a good fucking girl for me right now. Does it feel good, baby? Fuck. You’re so delicate. Yeah, I said delicate. Something needy in a way you try to hide, something restless, something that aches to be seen and handled and understood without being judged for it. A pretty little thing with too many rough edges underneath.
Don’t you think I notice?
You think I don’t know exactly how to touch something like that?
God, I want you. It sits in me like something violent. I crave you in a way that actually makes me sick if I think about it too long. Like I’ve already gone too far and there’s no way to take it back. And the worst part? I don’t want to. If you left physical marks on me, little Ghost, I’d keep them. I’d wear them like something sacred, something earned, something I could trace with my fingers later just to remember exactly where you were, exactly what you did, how you felt. You think that’s normal? It’s not, nothing about this is. I don’t do things halfway. Everything I touch, I ruin. Everything I want, I take too far. And you… you’re not going to be the exception.
One day, I’m going to leave something on you that doesn’t fade, something that stays. Something that makes it impossible for you to forget me no matter how hard you try. But for now? I don’t need your skin, I’ll take your mind. I’ll take your thoughts. I’ll get into your blood, your rhythm, your fucking heartbeat, until every time it stutters, it feels like me. You haunt me, so I’m going to return the favor. I’m going to sit in your head the way you sit in mine. I’m going to follow you into those moments, late nights, those seconds where you think you’re alone… you won’t be. I’ll be there, turning everything just a little darker. You wanted this, and you don’t get to pretend you didn’t.
You knew exactly what you were doing when you stayed– you tied yourself to someone who doesn’t let go. A writer, out of all things. Immortality was never going to be optional after that. You’re in this now. Permanent. And listen to me carefully, little Ghost… because this part matters.
I don’t take from you what I’m not willing to take from myself. If anything breaks here, if anything bleeds, it’ll be me first. I’ll make damn sure of it. And now, I need you to show me just how fucking desperate you are for me. I need you to make yourself cum so fucking hard, and you better do it properly, make me proud, little Ghost. God, you’re perfect.
Don’t get shy now, not after letting me take you there. Breathe, come back down. I’m not going anywhere.
You feel how everything is still humming under your skin?
That low, restless aftershock that doesn’t quite settle?
That’s mine too.
I don’t just take the peak, little Ghost, I stay for the aftermath. Let it fade properly, don’t fight it. You always try to pull yourself together too fast, like if you don’t, you’ll lose control completely. Maybe you should. Maybe one day I’ll make sure you do. But for now, I just want you to feel it. All of it… Good girl. Fuck, I couldstay in this moment longer than I should, longer than is safe. But we both know that’s not the point of all of this, so listen carefully. Because this is where I let you go, not completely, fuck, never completely. Just enough to pull you back into what actually happened. Back into the part of the story where things don't slow down, where everything starts to fall apart again.
You can keep this, what just happened, carry it with you. Let it sit under your skin while I keep talking, let it remind you exactly what you let me do to you.
Now, we go back to the story.
The Profanation
Chapter 39
They put the cuffs on tight. Cold metal snapped around my wrists, the sound of it ringing in my ears, like it echoed somewhere inside my head instead of just in the air. My hands were pulled back, forced together, skin pressing against skin in a way that made it impossible to ignore where I ended and the restraint began. You don’t realize how much you use your hands until you can’t. Not even for anything big, just small things like balance and space.
The unconscious shit your body does to remind you it’s still yours, that disappears and suddenly you’re aware of everything. The angle of your shoulder, the pull in your spine, the way your fingers twitch even though there’s nowhere for them to go. They walked me through it like I wasn’t there. Voices over my head, around me, not to me. Words passed between them like I was just something they’d picked up off the ground and needed to move from one place to another.
I moved when they shoved me forward, stopped when a hand caught my shoulder, kept walking whenever they told me to keep going. My body followed instructions automatically while my head lagged somewhere far behind the rest of me. At first there was gravel grinding under my shoes. Cold air hitting my face every few seconds as one space blurred into another.
I remember the back seat of the car most clearly. The stiff plastic beneath me. That artificial clean smell they use in places where ugly things happen too often, strong enough to almost hide what sat underneath it, but not completely. My head leaned back for a second, eyes half open, watching the world pass through the window in broken pieces. Streetlights cutting through the dark in intervals, flashing across my face, gone before they settled. Ididn’t try to track where we were going, I honestly didn’t care. Because wherever it was, it wasn’t worse than any place I'd been before. Or maybe it was, hard to tell.
Time got weird after that, off in a way. The station didn’t feel real when we got there. Too many straight lines and flat surfaces, like everything had been built to make sure nothing could hide inside it. They moved me through it the same way, hands still behind my back. There was a moment, small, stupid even, where I thought about resisting. Not really to get away, just to feel something push back, but I didn’t. I didn’t have the energy for it or maybe I just didn’t see the point. The cuffs stayed on long enough that my shoulders started to burn, that deep, dull ache settling in like it belonged there now.
When they finally took them off, it didn’t feel like relief.
My hands came forward slowly, like they didn’t trust the movement, like they were expecting to be stopped again. They pushed me forward again. Another door, this one heavier. It opened slower and behind it, that was where it ended. Or started. Hard to tell the difference. The cell wasn’t big. Not small enough to cause panic, but not big enough to forget you were inside it either, just enough space to exist. Concrete on all four sides, a bench fixed into the wall, same material as everything else, like comfort wasn’t something that had ever been considered when they built it. The air was stale, it felt used. Like it had been breathed too many times by too many people who had nothing left to give it.
I stepped inside, they didn’t have to push me this time. The door shut behind me with a sound that didn’t echo– it just stopped, final. I stood there for a second, hands hanging at my side now, free, but not feeling like they belonged to me. Not yet. I walked over to the bench and sat down. It was cold, hard enough that it didn’t let you forget it was there. I leaned forward, elbows on myknees, hands hanging between them, head dipping as I stared at the floor.
There wasn’t much to look at, really– just some scratches and marks. Things left behind by people who had sat in the exact same spot, doing the exact same thing, probably thinking they were the only ones who had ever felt like that. They weren’t and I wasn’t either. Something inside of me had gone quiet, it wasn’t loud anymore, which was weird. After everything, the house, the fight, the grave, the fucking hole in the coffin, I expected something. Anything.
Instead, it was quiet, empty. Like something had burned all the way through and left nothing behind to keep going.
I sat there, staring at the floor, feeling my pulse slow down in places it shouldn’t have, uneven, dragging itself into something heavier. I sat there long enough for the room to settle around me. Not that it changed anything, but there’s a point where a place stops feeling new and starts pressing in instead. Where you stop noticing the details and start feeling what they do to you. That’s when my head started working again and it went straight to him.
Zwierek.
It didn’t feel like a question. It felt obvious– too obvious maybe.
Because who else would it be?
