Page 124 of Sinister

He’s here.

Sin.

He’s in my room.

How did he get in?

I just came back from the bathroom. I only turned my back for a moment.

But somehow, he’s here.

Quietly. Stealthily. Like a shadow creeping from the darkness.

He’s as handsome as I remember. But there’s something different now. A coldness in his eyes. Something darker, something . . . sinister.

“What are you doing here?” I breathe, my voice sharp with panic.

That we might be caught together by my family is the last thing on my mind. More urgent is the fact that I now know he is not what he seems. I fear for my own well-being, for my safety. Yet I’m not sure if it’s bodily harm that I’m afraid of.

I’m scared of the damage he’d wreak on my soul.

“Why haven’t you come to meet me, Petra?” His voice is slow. Tense. “Why haven’t you answered my letters?”

I stagger backward, my voice rising with fear. “You should’ve taken the silence for what it was. I don’t want to see you again. Please leave.” Yet my voice lacks conviction. Even to my ears, the pronouncement sounds weak.

He takes a step forward, his brows furrowed.

“You are scared,” he mentions quietly. “Why? I have not done anything to you. I would never do anything to you.”

Every step he takes brings him closer to me, closer to the light from the candle on my vanity that illuminates his features, his expression.

His features are ravaged by pain.

“Stop. Don’t come any closer,” I warn.

He pauses, confused. His eyes narrow. “I don’t understand you, Petra. What happened?”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

He doesn’t understand. He lies and manipulates and calls it love. And maybe he believes it. Maybe that’s what frightens me most.

That he thinks this is normal.

That he is.

“Please forget about me,” I say. “Forget everything and stop looking for me.”

“Why?” he asks. “Did something happen? Does your family suspect anything?”

I shake my head. “It was all a mistake,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have come to you . . . I shouldn’t have left my house in the middle of the night. I shouldn’t have let you touch me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Petra,” he states slowly, his eyes glinting in the dark as he steps closer.

I swallow hard. There’s something dangerous about him—something simmering beneath the surface.

My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t tell if what I feel is fear or excitement. Maybe both. But I know one thing: I can’t let him see the truth.

I know what he is.