A cold kind of love

'Sometimes I really wish I was somewhere else,' she whispers to herself.

'Where would you like to be then?' he answers, standing just behind her back which startles her. 

His voice sounds cold, dispassionate. She turns around, eyes cast to the ground. He is standing very close to her, almost looming over, and she can feel his breath. Her mind tells her she should run, but her legs fail to respond. She stays silent for what feels an eternity, trying to focus on what to say, and when she finally has found the words her voice trembles violently.

   

'I don't know, nowhere, I'm sorry... I just... ' 

She keeps staring at the ground, at his feet. She notices he is wearing sneakers, so unlike him. Her mind wanders off for just a second.

   

'You're sorry, are you now...?' 

He sounds so chillingly frightening. She can feel his eyes burning a hole in her face. Why couldn't I just stay silent, she scolds herself. She braces herself for his reaction but he just keeps standing before her, not making a move. Yet. Fear rolls down her spine and she can't focus on any coherent thought anymore. What is he waiting for?

   

'I can arrange for you to be somewhere else,' he says after some time, 'But I very much doubt you would like it.' 

He sounds so pleased with himself in this instant. The threat seeping through his words is almost unbearable. She fears her legs will give way so that she will fall to his feet. Exactly where she should be according to him, he has told her that many times before. He cups her chin with his fingers and tilts her head so she is looking right into his eyes. The touch of his hand is so tender and leaves her confused beyond recognition, but his eyes tell a whole different story. She keeps staring at him like a deer in the headlights, caught in his spell. If a look could kill, she'd be dead already, she has no doubt about that.

'Haven't I told you, again and again, you are not allowed to look me in the eye?'

Unable to move and still caught in his spell, she keeps staring into his eyes. They are blazing with anger. How can he seem so controlled, speak so quietly and without any emotion, while in his eyes she can she his wrath? She doesn't understand.

'Well?' he asks her, his voice low.

Just one word. This one little word holds so much promise. It tells a whole story on it's own, a story she fears. She casts her eyes downwards, away from his gaze, but she knows it's too late. With his other hand he strokes her long hair, so deceptively tender and caring. He tucks her hair behind her ear and moves closer. She shivers.

'Are you afraid of me?' he whispers into her ear.