Hello. Happy sunday

I hope you find this chapter to your liking.

I really like this story

but anyways

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I could tell he was used to it. The light in his eyes tells me that he's given up trying to feel anything. Blaine had no emotion–because he could not feel. How he came to this, I don't know, but now I know why he didn't wince at all when I punched him the first time.

He didn't feel it.

I cleared my throat and pretended to be unphased. "You asked why I was afraid, but why did you kill those two men, in front of me, if not for control by fear."

"I did not kill them in front of you because of control. I killed your boyfriend because he disrespected me and the random man in the club because he was touching my wife. I kill wherever I want. You had nothing to do with it."

"You look like you enjoyed it." I whispered.

Blaine's eyes held amusement. "I did and I enjoyed playing with your fear, but I have grown tired of it. I won't kill you."

I scoffed. "I can't believe I'm talking to you like it's normal. Oh my fucking god." I covered my face.

Blaine didn't say anything, only drinking from his glass as I ate and tried to get comfortable. Yes, I yelled at him yesterday and cursed at him, but that's only because I forget that he's a killer whenever I get upset enough.

Maybe I am a weirdo. Maybe I'm inconsistent with my feelings because even though I'm afraid, I still want him around. I'm more afraid of being left alone. Abandoned. Autophobia, monophobia, isolophobia, or eremophobia the doctors called it. Each one that I used to go to before my dad banned me from seeing a therapist again. It's a problem, being alone, is a problem.

✩♬ ₊˚.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It was cold outside, it was the ending of December, and I just noticed that Blaine couldn't feel the cold. He didn't have on a jacket or anything to protect him. Whatever he has could potentially be dangerous. I felt a sense of duty to take care of him because I know nobody has ever willingly taken care of him. Not even his mother. If she did, he wouldn't be like this.

Blaine wouldn't neglect himself because he can't feel it or wants to feel it. In a way I felt bad for him. He's basically a walking corpse, he feels nothing, Blaine's empty. I know it makes him angry, but he doesn't show it.

Like I said he's given up on trying to feel anything. That's why he's walking around only a couple days after Christmas in just a black dress shirt and pants, no jacket included. He was a little pale with a little red tint, making him look kind of like a cute little boy, but he showed no sign of being cold. Not even a shiver.

The maids told him that he's not allowed to drive because he's been in over twelve purposeful accidents, not to kill himself, but they thought it was because he liked the pain, he was never sad or angry at the hospital, never been diagnosed with depression, but no, he was trying to feel it.

I know he could easily just drive now, but he has no interest in those things anymore. I wonder what else he did to himself.

Even though he probably couldn't feel shit, his body is still reaping the consequences of it. But I didn't say anything in the car or when we got home. I just took a hot shower and changed into my nightwear.

The maids were all gone when we arrived, so I just stayed in the room and Blaine came in the room with a half eaten slice of lemon cake that I had made while I was getting ready to jump on the bed. He looked at my legs and my thighs because this shit barely covered anything.

"Um, can I get my phone back?" I asked. "You never gave it back to me."

Blaine took his time and finished his cake, looking at me pervertedly before he answered. "Under your pillow."

My eyes widened as I checked and my phone was actually there. "How...?"

"It has been there for a while." was all he said.

"My dumbass," I mumbled to myself, plugging it into my charger before sitting down on the bed. "Um..." I looked around awkwardly. "You sleeping here?"

"Is this not my room?" He cocked a brow.

I shrugged, laughing nervously. "Well, um, I–"

"Come here." He said lowly, leaving no room for argument. It was so fucking fine, my god, this man bout to make me a simp on the low. Cus what?!

I calmly walked over to him even though I wanted to shout slurs and freak him out. I looked up at him from my short stature. "Yea?" I asked, trying not to die when his large tattooed hands gripped my waist. He didn't say anything, he lifted me up so I was closer to his face.

You can imagine how loud I screamed. "What?!" I quickly held onto his neck.

Blaine licked his lips. "Kiss me."

I blinked multiple times in confusion. "Now?" Blaine narrowed his eyes and I nodded. "Ok...?" I was so confused, but I kissed him anyway. Blaine always kissed with his tongue. It was never a calm kiss. It was always down and dirty, tongue-induced, pussy throbbing, French kiss.

I moaned into the kiss, my fingers subconsciously combing into his soft hair. I didn't even notice until his hand went up my flimsy nightdress that we were on the bed. I didn't know what I was letting this man do to me.

Fear was a big part of this relationship, yet, as soon as he showed just a tiny bit of tenderness, I crumbled. My body was his to use. I'd submit and listen to him.

I moaned, still kissing him when his finger pressed against my clit with my underwear still on. My breath hitched as Blaine moved on from my mouth, harshly pressing kisses all over my neck and chest, pulling down the top part so my tits fell out.

My breaths were hard as the man softly, but torturously pleasured me. With his finger, slowly, softly circling my clothed clit.

I almost whimpered in pleasure when his mouth went around my nipple, but then someone knocked on the door, but then opened the door right after so then I jumped away from Blaine to cover myself.

FUCK!

eheh...

byeee, see you next sunday