Satan Reincarnate

Monsters Come from Monsters

***

He took my hand, again- softer than ever. I retained the usual shock I felt when he was gentle, I've adapted to realize it was only a phase. A phase where he wasn't constantly tempted to hurt me, to smell my blood, and please himself from the fear he brought upon me. Even when he was this way, he was still cruel. Still so cold; he always found a way to make me afraid, and think I didn't have much time left. Even if he did something as simple as yell at me, which he surprisingly has yet to do. He has done ultimately everything a person could fathom- not necessarily to me- but he's done it. However, I couldn't ever imagine him raising his voice at anyone. He goes from being as kind as a person like him could be, to holding a knife to my throat as he dragged me to a pit of battery, to finally sitting me down in a chair to force me to kill people I cared about. He's done that only once, but I doubt he swore not to do it again. There was a small in-between where he made me physically hurt, like when he would hit me or use me for things I didn't want to do.

But, through all of these things hes done, he still has ceased to raise his charming voice at anyone. Which as a matter of fact, makes me all the more afraid of him. Something about the symmetry of his face, to how calm he could stay while making anybody feel like nothing, slaughtering them sooner or later. The kindness a face like his could portray was unworldly, only to be twisted by a horrific scene of gore brought from his own two, raw hands. I remembered the feeling his face brought me as I laid eyes upon him in the ladies bathroom for the first time that one, wretched night. The way my presence was immediately known by him, how he grasped the top of the stall door with his silvery hands and effortlessly peered over with his ever-so calm eyes. The serenity in his eyes masked over with a look of triumph was something that still to this point made me shiver. His whispering laugh echoing throughout the empty bathroom was almost a message discreetly coded through my crowded mind. "Angelina, It's over." It whispered. "Angelina, your time is up." The message said. "Angelina, I own you know." His eyes told me.

The tapping of his steel boot and the silent knocks he left of the marble stall door still haunts me to this very moment. He knows everything about me. Every lie I had ever told, how my thought process worked, my issues at home, my records of self harm, past eating disorders, my fears, my turn-on's. Everything anybody could possibly imagine, he know's about me. What disturbs me is the fact that I don't even know his favorite color, or if he has any other family... nothing. He has pictures of my old home, my family, my friends, my school, social security number, pictures of me in the shower, pictures of me sleeping- if I did manage to get away, he would always follow me like my shadow. Everywhere I go, he too will be there. Even if I can't see him, it doesn't mean he can't see me. He was smart, he got me stuck in this spiraling web. He gave me chances and made me think I had opportunities to escape- but once I did, he was always right there. I was literally nothing, and he made sure of that.

I hadn't realized how far we made it down the hall until we finally stopped near the room I woke up in early this morning. The old rotted door made my skin crawl, everything did at this point. I didn't want to go back in, somebody would watch me sleep while I was in there.

I looked up at him through my wet eyelashes, my breath heavy as I watched him watch me.

"What're you waiting for?" He murmured, his face growing closer to mine. "Or would you rather share a bed with me." His eyes met mine, unusually smug-less.

"What?" I croaked. I was confused, my mind hadn't been right lately.

"I know you're tired. Everyone needs sleep, so do I." His eyes kept mine, unchanging with the change of his tone of voice.

Frankly, I would rather share a bed wit him. I would rather know who was watching me as I slept than have somebody unknown hovering over me. My heart was beginning to believe he wasn't horrible, nobody could be as dead as he acted. It was like he read my mind as he looked away from me, and took my by the forearm. He led me back down the hall to his bedroom, and ushered me inside.