"It should hurt, little girl. Being with me will always hurt."

I don't know him, I have never spoken to him, and I have never seen him before.

He's a man wrapped in inky patterns, armed with scarred knuckles, and donned with selfish obsessiveness.

One look and I'm his; I'm his favorite victim.

I shouldn't have these complicated feelings in my stomach when I'm near him, but his presence had proven to be poisoning—far too late to stop the spread of the compulsive submissiveness that he commands of me.

"John Doe" is his identity; he's nothing, but everything at the same time.