7

I thought I knew fear. My parents’ death brought me raw, inexplicable fear. So much fear that I buried it all in a black, inaccessible box. As I stare at Aiden’s impassive face, I realise that I know nothing about fear. Or if I did, then I forgot it. Because Aiden, an eighteen-year-old, is giving me another definition of fear. I’ve never really known Aiden King until this moment when he has me at his complete mercy — or the lack thereof. Pride and dignity were the only things that got me through the past two years from hell. But now, as I stand with my hands locked behind my back and my shirt ripped open, that pride is crumbling apart like it was cartoonish. An illusion. A lie. “Aiden…” His name gets stuck in my throat like smoke. He’s like smoke. Suffocating, slippery, and undecipherable. “Stop this.” My voice drops, softening, pleading with any human part in him. But I should’ve known better. There’s no humanity in a monster. His steel gaze darts my way, and I cease to breathe. They