Sociopath

I close the space. Perhaps the space closes itself. I was always drawn to him, and now I'm nothing but a foregone conclusion; in Aeron Lore's arms, it is a dangerous and blissful thing to be. I bear the scars to prove it—old and newborn, carved and sliced. He kisses me with lips and knives, and for seconds, I forget the dark things, the stars I reached for and the scars I found in their place. They're just flashes of shadow in the light.

"I love you," I tell him.

"I love you too, sweetheart." He says it with a confidence that I've never heard from a man. He told me once that it was a special kind of love—a mongrel of a thing born from desire and obsession, sealed shut like the tightest scar. "And I'm so proud of you," he adds.

"Why's that?"

He slides a hand up beneath my sweater, following the path of my spine until he settles on my latest dressing. Shivers follow, waking goose bumps on my skin. "Dr Yao in there."

"Oh?" I tug his waistband gently. I like to put my fingers beneath it, to feel hot flesh swell for me. "How come?"

He draws me up. His voice is a lush, ripe whisper. "You fool that bitch and you can fool anyone."