That quickly.
Because I’d told him to be.
It washed me cold.
And I do hate to say it…but I don’t think Iwantto kill Malcolm anymore.
It’s worse than that, though. Not only doInot want to kill him, I don’t even think I want him dead. Monster he may be…and yet…he really does feel like mine.
Me:If someone were trying to kill you…
I send the message and discover I’m chewing my lip again. Forcibly, I knock it off and wait. Malcolm’s response comes quick.
Crow:If it’s anyone other than you, I don’t want any part in it, thank you.
I glance at the burner phone. And I have no idea what I should do. I have no idea what’s smart. I have no idea what’srightanymore.
I made the decision to team up with Junction on a whim fueled by bitterness and annoyance. I let months of shoved-down anger control my decisions. And now is no different. I’m still letting shoved-down emotions I barely understand propel me forward.
For scarcely being able to identify my feelings and rarely ever letting myself experience them, I sure let them control me an awful lot.
I wish I didn’t do that. I wish I felt more like an active player in my life. I wish I were a better person. I wish…more often…thatI felt like a person at all. Instead of just someone going through the motions, disconnected, on edge. I wish I could be a person instead of someone following a set of code that doesn’t really make any sense.
Truthfully, even now, I don’t know what Malcolm wants from me any more than I know what I want from him. I still don’t believe he loves me, but it’s not because I don’t believe monsters can love.
It’s because I don’t believe anyone can love someone like me.
All I know right now is that I don’t actually want him to die.
And maybe that’s just because I’ve felt a glimpse of the weight taking a life sets in one’s hands. But most likely it’s because the only time my brain shuts up about the phantom sensation of his arms around me is when he’s near and there’s a chance he’ll hold me again.
He said I was falling in love with him.
I’m positive that’s nonsense.
I’m convinced it’s just another way he’s trying to get in my head.
Realistically, I’m touch-starved and lonely and scared and lost and…not a very good person.
But, regardless, nothing happens if I stand still. Which is a shame. Because standing still is all I’ve done for most of my life.
Taking in a breath, I lift my phone and type.
Me:Can we talk?
Crow:On my way.
?
“So.” I swallow, unsure if I’m anxious because of what I’m saying or if I’m anxious becauseanother living personis sitting on my couch. “That’s the situation.”
Dark as a blot against my sofa, Malcolm says, “I know.”
I blink and stop pacing around the coffee table in the middle of my living room. “You…know?”
“Who sayslet’s watch a sunset downtown? And inviting me to a theme park?” He exhales a laugh. “Please, dove. Don’t insult my intelligence. I already told you I knew you were trying to kill me. That wasn’t a metaphor. You were very obvious about it.” Reclining, he crosses his legs and links his fingers around his knee.
I stare at him, then at the burner phone he immediately neglected after I handed it to him. It’s sitting there, beside him, another black blot on my couch cushion.
