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| He treats people with a sort of aloof congeniality. Except me. The vicious cruelty he directs at me is that much more frightening when juxtaposed with the quiet voice and refined manner that is his usual mode. And it makes me feel oh, so special that he makes me the focus of his passion. I know that this brutality is the only way he engages with the world, and I'm lucky he has selected me to be an avatar of human interaction for him. I hoard these experiences in my mind to turn over and savor, like fancy gourmet chocolates, later, when he is spent and I am bleeding and dripping with the fluids of his malevolent love. He turns to me when we're alone and his eyes have lost the shielded look that keeps him separate from the world at large. Their warm brown intensifies to penny-bright. My skin ignites each nerve-ending a little match struck against a rough surface as he looks at me. His mouth can be generous, even sensual, but it thins to a grim line as he reaches for the n...
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