“If they ever find Nicholas Grady, I hope he rots in prison for the rest of his miserable life. Death would be too easy for him. I want him to suffer every day the way my daughter did.”
—Statement from Patricia Dao, mother of Emily Dao, 2020
The TV’s on. Eden put on some late-night talk show. Said she wanted something to listen to. I understand the impulse. Silence can be heavy, especially after everything we’ve been through. The host is talking, but I stopped listening long ago.
Because Eden is asleep in my arms.
She’s lying on her stomach. Legs between mine. Head on my chest. The position puts pressure on my ribs, a steady ache that should bother me more than it does. It doesn’t matter.
Eden is asleep inmyarms.
I gently comb my hand through her hair, following the shape of her head to the nape of her neck, twirling soft strands between my fingers. She responds even in sleep, making a soft sound in the back of her throat. It’s a tell I’ve filed away, memorized like every other detail about her. I didn’t expect I could care this much about a sound, but I do.
I pretend it’s for her benefit. The touch clearly soothes her. But I need this contact as much as she does. I haven’t been able to stop touching her since coming home. I need the confirmation she’s safe. It’s the only way I can stop running through everything that could’ve gone wrong.
If the Game Master hadn’t been numb in Henley’s body. Had felt her pulse, knew she was playing dead. Or if he’d stood over me, expecting me to cut the key out of her. If Eden had killed me when I told her to. I know what the outcome would be in each scenario.
She’ll never be in danger again. I’ll kill anyone who lays a hand on her.
There was a time when such a thought would have scared me. I’d think I was slipping backward. That I’d lose control. Donny wouldn’t have worried. He always said I was too locked down, that the pressure I put myself under wasn’t sustainable.
I spent years building a foundation of control. Maintained discipline in every area of my life. I don’t drink. Don’t give in to impulses. Don’t allow emotions to impact my judgement. Every word is carefully considered. Every action deliberate. All to the point where sometimes I wonder if I’ve lost an essential part of being human.
I do lose control with Eden. I spent years perfecting the art of feeling nothing, but that fissured the moment she threw that punch.
One thing I’m certain of: I’ll never hurt her. Morrow forced me through every test, and I didn’t fucking snap.
She burrows deeper into sleep, adjusting her bandaged hand on my chest. Benji better track down Morrow’s anchor soon, or I’m going to march down there and fry that motherfucker myself for ever putting her name in his mouth.
She told me to let go when she kissed me. For those few minutes, God help me, I tried, but I still couldn’t suppress the voice in the back of my mind insisting I would slip, that I couldn’t let go completely.
I haven’t so much as touched myself since Billy. Every time I tried, their faces rushed back. Lila. Emily. Jennifer. Rebecca. Katherine. Celia. I could feel their hands clawing at my arms.Hear them screaming my name. It felt like they knew I wasn’t really there. That they might break through to the real me. But maybe that’s something I tell myself.
I would’ve let the Game Master kill me if I knew for certain Eden would walk away unharmed. Given how furious he was when I kissed her in the playing area, I should have guessed he’d want me to force myself on her. He said it was to prove that I’d snapped. Perhaps he thought replicating Billy’s M.O. would trigger me to, if I was lying.
I tried to shut down, ignore the twist of arousal. I was already losing the battle when I felt her respond. She made sounds that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with pleasure. There was so much trust in her eyes, and I deserved none of it. I couldn’t process it. Kept waiting for the screaming to start, for her to realize what I was and recoil, but all she did was pull me closer. For the first time since Billy, my body responded without the overlay of his presence.
It unlocked something I thought he’d destroyed forever.
I want her so desperately. I want to reach under her clothes and run my hands over her back, feel how her waist curves before flaring out to those hips that have been driving me insane, feel the weight of her breasts in my palms, nip that spot behind her earlobe until she makes those sounds that almost killed me.
I press my face into her hair and breathe in the smell of her, committing her caramel and vanilla scent to memory. She’s not Allison. I’m not Billy. Wanting her doesn’t make me a monster.
It still feels that way.
Eden knows her own mind, knows what she’s choosing when she falls asleep in my arms. She doesn’t see me as beyond repair. Maybe one day I’ll believe her.
I lie here and let the pain eat through my ribs until a loud commercial jars Eden from sleep. Her eyes open. When they focus on my face, she smiles.
“Hey,” she says.
“I need to get up.” I brush a strand of hair out of her face. “Need anything from the kitchen?”
She settles back into the couch cushions. I can see her fighting to keep her eyes open. “Just for you to come back.”
Fuck.
I ease out from under her and transfer to the wheelchair. As much as I hate being told I can’t do something, walking on my feet before they’re fully healed is a bad idea. I’ve already got enough nerve damage. I’m not interested in more.
