Chapter 26: Lunatic

She tried to snatch her hand away, but he didn't let go. She frowned. "Leave my hand! What are you doing?!" she cried out.

"What do you want me to slit, your tongue or your finger?" His tone was serious. Dead serious. She gave him an unbelievable look. She couldn't believe what her ears were hearing.

The terror increased within her, and without her noticing, he had a blade lying at the base of her forefinger.

Her breath ceased for a second. She forcefully tried to snatch her hand away, but again, he didn't let her. She was trying her best to escape his hold, but his grip was tight. He had completely encaged her.

"Let go. Leave me!" she shrieked, trying desperately to release her hand from his grip.

She screamed when he began to press the blade against her skin, drawing blood.

"Ahhh! Let go! Let go!" she screamed out in pain as she felt the knife tearing her skin.

"Quiet," he uttered, but she kept on screaming in agony. She didn't want to lose her finger. "Quiet!" he shrieked suddenly, making her jump.

"I won't! I won't! Don't cut m...my fi-fin-finger!" she cried out, sobbing as her face began to turn red. The sight of blood never settled well with her, and this time, it was her own blood spilling from her finger and drenching her hand.

"You won't?" he raised his brow at her.

"Leave my hand! My finger, you're cu-cu-cutting my finger," she stammered. The sentence sounded too strange to her ears. Never did she imagine in her life that she would be uttering such words.

The man standing in front of her was a psycho. Nothing but a pure psycho. Normal people don't carry knives and holsters. And those dark grey eyes were enough proof of how unhinged he was. Normal people don’t pull out knives so randomly at others.

"Please leave me," she sobbed. Her face was blotched with tears, her lashes drenched. Her eyes were witnessing the cutting of her digit, and she was helpless.

"Now reap what you sow," he stated with a note of finality and held her middle finger, joining it with her forefinger, making the blade work on both digits together.

"Please, what... what... are you doing?" she cried out. She was no longer trying to snatch her hand from his hold, as there was a knife against her fingers. If she forcefully moved her hand, it could cut her fingers. She could already feel pain erupting from her skin.

"Le...leave my (hiccup) ha-hand," she pleaded, hiccupping.

"No voice out of your pretty lips," he warned.

Suddenly, she became quiet, trying her best to cease her sobs and hiccups.

"Please," her panicked voice said. Her eyes were focused on the knife that was cutting deeper and deeper, while his eyes were just on her. Struck and immobile. She had all his attention.

"Apologize," he uttered without blinking, looking at her when she looked up at him.

"For...for what?" Her chin wobbled. She suddenly winced when he pressed the knife deeper into her skin. She could feel her hand getting cold, her body hot, making her dizzy and nauseous.

"The next time I say apologize will be when I have your finger in that bin and this knife against your tongue. So apologize before it's too late. I won't give a second chance."

Her mouth hung open at his threat. She quieted for a moment.

Looking up again, she penetrated her eyes into his and uttered, "I'm sorry," she apologized, "let me go. I'm sorry." Silent tears cascaded down her cheeks.

"Well and good." He moved his knife away, making her take a breath of relief. He gazed at her for a second as she held her bloodied hand before strolling toward his desk.

"Come closer," he uttered while taking out a first aid box. Once he was done placing the equipment on the table, he didn’t feel her presence around him, so he looked up only to find her rooted to her spot, holding her hand.

"Step forward," he commanded.

She stepped back toward the door. He knew her intentions then and there; she was on the run.

He pressed a button, and suddenly all the doors of the room locked. His team had installed an automatic lock system in his room for emergency cases and his security.

Sheharzaad hurriedly turned back and violently began to shake the doorknob with her other hand, but it wasn't opening.

"Please open. Open!" her shivering voice uttered. Her legs began to tremble when she heard the striking of boots against the floor, meaning he was coming toward her.

She was wailing. She formed fists and began to tap the door. She had never felt as helpless as she felt now.

"Please, open. Open. Open," she cried out, but the door didn’t budge. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt his arms encaging her between him and the door.

She immediately turned around and harshly pushed him away before running from him. His eyes caught her running toward his table and thrashing things away to protect herself, particularly the knife he had used against her. When she couldn't find it, her eyes landed on the jug of water. She threw it on the floor so it broke into pieces. She picked up one piece and raised it to defend herself.

Sheharzaad was stepping backward as he began to move forward, though there was a considerable distance between them. But still she was taking multiple steps back from him. Dread had set deep within her.

"Don't come near me. I have already apologized," she pleaded with him, hating herself at the same time. There had never been such helplessness in her voice, and hearing it herself shattered her heart more. But at this time, what mattered most was getting out of here. She had to save herself from him. He could do anything to her right now, and no one would ever know. And given how lunatic his mind could get, she needed to run.