That's better, little bird," he speaks to me under his breath, and his words hit me harder than any whip of a belt could ever do. Little bird. Sam always used to call me that. My Sam, caring, protective, sweet Sam. Not this monster.

You said it to me once. It was the last day we had together. And that was 39 days ago. I can still hear your whisper loud as a horn in my ears, when you told me that you love me. This memory is so clear in my head, as if it were yesterday. Even though I am not sure how to describe your voice, how it sounds, these three words you said. I know. And I have to trust them.

You have not realized yet that both of you are mine, have you?

How can the most cruel and despicable create something as breathtaking beautiful as this?

Something strange started to rage inside me, hearing you inhale sharply as I tried to kiss those scars away or etch them deeper into your skin, wanting to mark you in an entirely different way.