Warnings // yandere, strangulation, Stockholm Syndrome
His fingers dig into your jugular. The more pressure he applies, the closer you teeter toward the long sleep. Speckles of light filter through the darkness encroaching your vision. His eyes, narrowed and cruel, linger long past the point of consciousness.
Spluttering awake, your throat grates like sandpaper when you call his name. The moon moved mere inches while you were out. It shows little interest in your affairs – it never does. No one does. From a young age you learned a hard truth: in death we all walk alone. One can just hope they’re of no burden when their time comes to a violent end.
Once more you call his name and wait.
Akaza never strays too far, not when he has a point to prove. Not mere weeks ago you would’ve considered your punishment not only complete but also much too severe. Funny how things change. Funny how love can open your eyes, how it can liberate you.
Catching the flicker of a shadow you twist, kicking up dust in the process. Always so proud, his every step exudes strength. At least his anger abated. Your hand instinctively raises to your throat. It hurts to touch. For the briefest moment as you pull away, your fingers stick to the tender flesh.
“You were right,” you say, voice strained.
He stands before you in all his glory and you once again find yourself wondering when your fear transitioned to adoration. When, when, when did your heart switch teams? When did it choose to race for him rather than from him? You’re filled with thoughts of him. It doesn’t change anything, doesn’t make him yours, but you’re a broken record with a one track mind. ‘Tell me, my love, tell me you love me.’
“Have I ever been wrong?” he snaps.
There’s an edge to his tone but no real bite. Call it delusion, he’s much too sweet when it comes to you. Such a monstrous beast can only be tamed with kindness and you’ve given him every last beat of your tattered heart. That’s why he takes the time to correct you, to guide you with a firm hand. It’s too much – it’s too much! Too much for the you who deserves nothing, who should’ve died alone that day. Not worthy, yet chosen. Chosen. He chose you!
Gratitude pours from your broken lips until all you taste is blood.