Chapter 5 Twisted souls
"Come on, we need to talk," Mira snapped the moment I opened the door.
She pushed past me, sinking back onto the edge of my bed before yanking my arm to pull me upright.
I endured her aggressive entrance in total silence, sliding onto the mattress and sitting straight, my cold gaze locked onto her face.
"I heard you went partying with Dickson last night," she began, her eyes narrowing. "You know how long I've wanted him, right?"
I remained silent, staring back at her devoid of emotion.
She gave a tight, bitter nod. "I've always loved him. Even if he's never given me the time of day, I'm here to tell you to drop whatever attachment you think you have with him. I know you're weird, and frankly, I'm surprised you're suddenly all over him. But listen to me..."
She stood up, smoothing her dress down. "I came to give you a warning, and I expect you to obey it."
I didn't utter a single word. I just kept my eyes fixed on her face until she turned around and slammed the door shut behind her.
One thing I had learned about Mira was that she was raised with an abundance of love and affection from both parents something that had spoiled her into acting so insufferably entitled. But I never really blamed her. After all she was just a normal girl living a normal life.
Unlike me my time was running out. Every move I made was calculated, following the exact map I had drawn for my survival.
Today, I was meeting Dickson.
Our meeting spot was set for the secluded gardens of the Dripson Estate—a lonely, sprawling sanctuary shielded from the rest of the world.
I left the house early, dodging the harsh morning sunlight. Direct sun had always triggered an excruciating burning sensation across my skin—another artifact of my condition.
I made my way through the estate grounds to the gardens where Dickson was already waiting. He sat on a stone bench, but his face lit up with a genuine smile the moment he saw me walking toward him.
He stood up immediately, and as the light hit him, my eyes caught the medical bandages wrapped around his arm, his side, and the edge of his cheek.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly, averting my eyes.
Did I just say I'm sorry? I asked myself, shocked by my own words. I was never sorry for anything—I wasn't even sorry for what happened to my birth parents. Yet here I was, apologizing to someone I had barely scratched.
Catching myself instantly, I hardened my glare and looked back at Dickson.
"I mean... I'm not sorry. I warned you that I would harm you, but you kept coming closer."
Dickson smiled softly, stepping into my personal space His dark eyes searched mine with intense devotion. "I found myself trapped in love so easily because I was never raised with it Claire. I just want to experience what it feels like to be loved."
"Is that... from the wound I caused on your face?" I asked, eyeing the fresh bandages.
"This?" He touched his cheek gently. "No This wasn't from you Claire. It was... it was a treatment from my father."
My eyes darkened with sudden shock. "A treatment from your father? What does that mean?"
He offered a faint smile and waved his hand dismissively. "You don't need to know, Claire. Just know that you didn't do this to me."
"Hold on," I commanded, stopping him as he turned to sit down. "Your father beat you after he saw what happened to you?"
Dickson's expression darkened, his gaze falling to the ground. "It's not what you think. It's different. He was just trying to 'help' me... don't view it as torture."
As he sat down, a strange, sickening knot tightened in my chest. Sympathy—an emotion entirely foreign to me was trying to take root. Part of me still felt the primal urge to tear into his wounds and deepen his pain, but another part felt a profound, aching pity for him.
This is insane, I thought, my jaw clenching as I fought the conflicting urges raging inside me. My fists balled until my knuckles turned white.
"Are you alright? Dickson asked, stepping forward to grab my arms tightly.
Before I could regain control over my body my reflexes took over. I shoved him backward with brute force. Dickson crashed hard against the stone pathway, a groan tearing from his lips as a spray of blood burst from his mouth.
He spat the blood onto the grass, wiping his chin with the back of his hand—and then, shockingly, he smiled. He stood up, completely unbothered.
My face went deadly pale. "You like this?! I just hurt you, and you're happy?
Dickson shook his head, his eyes burning with a desperate intensity. "I live in torture every single day, Claire! So this physical pain means nothing to me. It... it actually brings me closer to you. It makes me love you even more."
I took a step back in utter horror, staring at him as if he were a ghost.
He closed the distance between us, pulling me against his frame. Slowly, he reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a sleek, dark dagger, forcing the hilt into my trembling hand.
With his other hand, he ripped his shirt open, exposing his bare chest and the dark, curly hair across his skin.
"Hit me Claire," he begged with his voice trembling with a dark euphoria. "Wound me. Kill me! I would love to die knowing I was tortured in love!"
"No..." I shook my head frantically, trying to retreat, but he lunged forward, grabbing me by the nape of my neck and pinning me in place.
"Are you running away from torturing me? he shouted driving the blade further against my fingers.
I stared down at the sharp metal. My head began to spin violently; my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
The nightmare memories rushed back with terrifying force. The horrific vision of my parents—of holding a blade over their bleeding bodies—struck me with full impact. It was the sole reason I had avoided knives all my entire life.
And now, I was firmly gripping one.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but Dickson's voice continued to ring like a tolling bell inside my skull.
"Come on Claire! I love you! I love the pain! Yesterday, I pretended it hurt just to see how far you would go... because without this pain, I would be dead! I... I am cursed!"
The moment that last word left his lips, the knife slipped from my frozen fingers, clattering loudly against the stone.
"You are what?" I whispered.
Dickson's eyes went dark. Tears spilled over his lashes, cutting clean tracks through the dust on his face. His knees buckled, and he collapsed heavily onto the grass.
Without his shirt, the true horror was revealed. The jagged, cruel scars on his face were nothing compared to the fresh, brutal lacerations covering his chest, his ribs, and his waist. Wounds I hadn't inflicted,Wounds from his father.
I stepped toward him, a deep, overwhelming warmth blossoming in my chest.
This isn't me, I screamed internally. I don't feel pity for anyone. Why am I feeling this for him?
I reached out to touch him, but quickly jerked my hand back. Dickson's eyes were turning bloodshot, the tears flowing freely as he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
My head throbbed, my brain burning as the internal war raged on. But for the first time in my life, I forced the violent urge down. I conquered the darkness inside me surprisingly.
I reached down and grabbed Dickson by the shoulders and pulled him up from the cold ground into my arms.
For the very first time in my existence, I was hugging someone. I pulled him tightly against my heart.
And surprisingly Dickson didn't fight it. He let out a broken gasp burying his face into my shoulder as he wept openly and the two of us holding onto each other in the quiet shadowed garden.
