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“Shoot me,” he says.
I should. I really should.
But my finger refuses to budge.
I scramble to pull the barrel away, but he won’t let go of it no matter how much I try to jerk it free. Instead, he yanks it out of my hands with sheer force and chucks it away out of my reach.
He’s right in front of me now, blocking the way.
“See? You feel something.”
“I don’t,” I hiss back, knowing I’m like a leaf trying to fight an unending storm. We’re bound to clash, and I won’t win this. He will. But I will go down as a liar before I admit that to anyone and especially him.
His face is rigid as always. “Stop lying to yourself, Lillian.”
Just hearing my name come from his mouth makes the goose bumps appear all over my skin.
“Don’t you dare,” I say. “You have no right.”
“I know,” he says. “But I’m still here.”
“How did you even do it?” I ask.
“I won’t bother you with the details. Let’s just say some guards can be easily persuaded.” He shrugs. “I’ve done enough time.”
Of course, he thinks that. As if he’s the one to make that call.
“Tell me why you came here,” I say, my voice sounding more desperate with every uttered word. “Why now, why here, why is it like this?”
He scratches the back of his head. “I needed to see you.”
“Bullshit!” I spit. “Stop lying.”
“It’s the truth.” His face shows no remorse, no change in emotion. It’s as if he’s convinced this is the way even though he knows it isn’t right. None of this is.
“No!” I shove him away. “You don’t get to say that. Fuck no.”
“It’s the only reason I’m here, I promise.”
“How are you even here?” I ask, not sure I want to know.
“I have my ways.” He shrugs.
“Of course, you do.” I shake my head. His “friends” made it happen, of course. “Why should I expect any different? I don’t even know you.”
He makes a tsk sound and laughs it off as though it’s no big deal. “You haven’t changed at all.”
“Really? Because I don’t even recognize you,” I snap back.
“You don’t mean that,” he says, cocking his head and smirking. “You’re only saying that because you’re angry with me. And you have every right.”
“Yes, I do. You’re not supposed to be here, and you know that.”
“I don’t follow rules well, Lillian,” he says, still closing in on me. “But I’ll listen to you. Tell me to leave.”
I grate my teeth, trying to get the words across my lips, but no matter how hard I try, they won’t come out.
“Say it.”
I shake my head. I need these feelings to go away. I need to stop thinking about him in ways other than what he truly is … a stalker. I shouldn’t even let him get close. “I can’t.”
I back away slowly into the house, shoving and pushing anything in my way aside. I almost trip over a pair of boots and a cabinet but manage to regain my balance just in time. He follows me inside, taking one step for every step I take.
“I want you. Both,” he says.
“Shut up,” I say, trying not to listen to his sinful voice that pulls me in with every word he speaks.
“No. I did that once. It got me nowhere,” he says, clenching his fist.
Suddenly, I’m up against the closet door underneath the stairs, and he’s already placed his hand against the wood. Unable to move and helpless to stop him, my only option is to stare him down and speak up.
“This isn’t your home anymore.”
“That’s a cruel thing to say, Lil.” He scoffs, his hand reaching higher and higher, as if he means to taunt me with danger. And it’s working, all right, because sweat is dripping down my back.
“Don’t be scared,” he says, leaning in. “I won’t hurt you. I could never.”
That’s hard to believe, coming from him. “How do I know for sure?” I say through gritted teeth.
“Lil ...” He makes a face. “Really? You hurt me.”
“No, you did. You made your choice.” I push back again, rage filling my veins. “And stop calling me that.”
“What, you don’t like the nickname?”
“Nicknames are for good people. Not stalkers.”
“Oh, I’m a stalker now?” he says, setting my soul on fire with the guttural laugh that escapes his throat. “All right. I guess you’re right if that means I get to be close to you and—”
I smack him right in the face. “Don’t you say her name.”
It’s quiet for some time.
I hope he got the point, but maybe that was a bit rough.
Then again, he’s shown up on my property uninvited. I should’ve used the shotgun. Even if I couldn’t shoot him in the heart, maybe I could’ve shot him in the leg. Or the arm. Or both. For good measures.
When he turns around to face me again with a clear red mark on his face, he leans in even closer, and whispers, “I’m sorry, Lil.”
