The scrapes on his hand had already healed, but the wet blood lingered on the surface of his skin. He reached back up to stroke her cheek again, streaking red across her face, but not coming close enough to reach her lips. “You were jealous because you overestimated your place,” he corrected, voice calm and cold once more. “Your pathetic little feelings never warranted any kind of possession over any part of me.” His hand trailed back down over her throat to grip her shoulder, and he stood back from her a bit, still holding her in place against the wall. Couldn’t have her running away just yet. He wanted to make sure she understood her place. He’d agonized plenty over her, over his guilt and shame. She could handle taking on her own share of what had gone wrong with them.
...Or, maybe she couldn’t handle it. But that was her problem, and Peter’s pleasure to provide, really.
“Oh, oh, wait, I’ve got it,” he said, striking on an idea. “I know what I can do with you. How about first, I’ll take my time reminding you of how much you were worth to me. We can spread it out as long as it takes to sink in.” A slow deranged grin spread across his face as he watched her, eyes slipping back into black, blunt teeth and nails sharpening into monster's teeth and claws. “Once you’ve finally got that, I’ll tear your throat out. And then, I’ll fuck your corpse back into the dirt where it belongs. How's that sound?”