Nate Jacobs

You wish you could say that getting into a relationship with Nate was a good thing, but it wasn't. He was cruel. He needed you in ways you couldn't even comprehend. He wanted to ruin you, to break that stubbornness—to break you. It was toxic but tempting, a taboo that kept you on your toes.

Every now and then, you were familiar with the routine, breaking up and getting back together with him after a few sweet words. After another breakup, a real one—at least that's what you convinced yourself and surprisingly, so was he, somewhat unusual. While you were busy in the shower, Nate had entered your room through your open window. He was sitting comfortably on the edge of your bed, a gun held firmly in his hands.

"Come here." Nate demanded, gesturing to his lap. His voice was cold, demanding, and harsh, though he made the slightest, weak attempt to soften his voice rather than his words.