“No. I wanted you the minute my eyes landed on you. You became mine, and it just happens that I knew it would make Rush go ballistic. I think I deserve that justice, don’t you think?”
“Oh, do you, now?” She holds my gaze, picks up her fork and knife, and digs into her grilled chicken. She chews on her food, still studying me, and swallows, reaching for the water glass. “This is leading us nowhere.”
“I agree.”
“Let me go, and we can end our affair like reasonable adults.” She adds some marrow to her plate, polishing them in record time with the rest of her chicken, as if she’s trying to stuff as much food into her system as possible. “I won’t tell anyone about this, and we can go back to our respective lives like this never happened. I’ll stay away from the club, and your friends as well. In fact, I’ll move back to the island.” She nods, giving me a fake grin that widens her mouth, yet her nose twitches in disgust. “Perfect solution.”
“Running away again instead of facing your problems is not acting like a reasonable adult,moy cvetochek. You sound like a coward. And I’ll be honest…I have very little respect for those.”
She slams her splayed palms on the island, rattling the plates on it, and gets up, inhaling deep breaths and closing her eyes before snapping them open again. A beat passes and she sits back on her chair. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Pushing for my emotions.”
“Because you’re allowed to have them. That’s part of being alive. Shocking, isn’t it?”
She watches me for several seconds while I sip my whiskey, then finally asks, “Are you a serial killer?”
“Yes.”
“Did you enjoy killing all those people?”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
Her fingers curl on the island, and she huffs. If she wants more elaborate answers, she needs to ask better questions.
“Do you kill innocent people?”
Ah, we’re getting closer.
“No. Only those who deserve it.”
“And who deserves it, according to you?”
“Rapists, pedophiles, abusers, traffickers. Take your pick.”
She leans back, and a breath slips past her lips at this, her face gaining more color. “So you’re like a vigilante? You help those in need even if it goes against the law?”
“Would it be easier to accept me if I said I was?” I get up, grab the whiskey bottle, and pour more into my glass while opening the terrace door and allowing for the frigid air to get inside, bringing relief to the inferno burning within me, for I’ve never spoken about this with anyone else. “There is nothing noble, romantic, or heroic about what I do. No matter the reason, I kill people. I enjoy torturing them. When they suffer…I consider it poetic justice. Punishment should always fit the crime, and sometimes the biggest punishment is letting someone live. Still. There is no difference between me and those who kill innocent people.” I look at her, and she swallows. “We’re all monsters hungry for blood, and no justification changes that fact. Murder is murder, no matter the reason.”
I welcome the burning sensations in my throat when I take a long sip and turn around, resting my back against the kitchen counter.
“That’s why I respect people who never allow their darkness and traumatic experiences to grow into sadistic vices demanding to be fed. Once you taste it, you become addicted, and you can never go back. Instead, they became strong and freed themselves from their past, moving on. That’s what is truly heroic, and I guess the biggest fuck-you to their abuser. To lead a life where they simply have no power anymore.”
“I’m not justifying what you do. Although I’ll be honest, knowing that you kill all these hideous creatures helps to deal with all of it better. I just don’t understand the reason behind it.” Her brow furrows. “Your parents and family are perfect, Levi. What kind of darkness do you have that requires this kind of outlet?”
Ah, my confused cvetochek.
She never brought this up, and I never spoke about it myself because I assumed her brothers had told her.
Apparently, they kept her in the dark about my origins.
I step into the terrace, my bare feet slapping against the wet marble, and welcome the cold as it grounds me to the present despite my past playing in my head, painting vivid images that still hurt even though they shouldn’t.
