Even when it means becoming the monster.
Especially then.
I stand, moving back into position behind her.
"Jino thinks we're building a slave," I say conversationally, tapping the crop against my thigh. "He thinks this is about breaking your will until you have no choice but to obey."
Crack.
The crop lands across the back of her thighs. She cries out, but it's different this time—less surprised, more resigned.
Good.
"But that's not what this is."Crack."I don't want a slave."Crack."I want you tochoosethis."Crack."Every single day."Crack."I want you to wake up and decide that being mine is better than being free."
Crack. Crack. Crack.
She's sobbing now. Full, gasping sobs that shake her entire body.
But she hasn't used her safe word.
Hasn't begged me to stop.
The monster purrs its approval.
She's strong enough. You chose well.
"Fifteen more," I tell her. "Count them."
Her voice is broken. Barely audible. "One."
Crack.
"Two."
Crack.
"Three."
I watch the marks multiply. Watch her skin turn from pink to red to something darker.
Watch her break.
And I hate myself for it.
For needing this. For needing her to understand that the only way I know how to love is through control. Through the careful application of pain that keeps us both safe from the real monsters outside these walls.
Because the truth is, the monster inside me isn't the thing I should be afraid of.
It's the only thing standing between Emmaleen and a bullet.
Between her and a shallow grave.
Between her and the same fate my father tried to give me when I was eight years old.
"Fourteen," she chokes out.
Crack.