My heart thumps.
“…we’ll still be together.” He clutches me, refusing to let go. “And I will keep you, because I will always keep you. No matter what.”
Chapter Twenty-five
?
Am I falling in love with the one who could tear me apart…
Azalea
I will always keep you.
No matter what.
As I’m packing a bag to take with me all the way up to Malcolm’s apartment, and ebony bedroom, I can’t shake the words he whispered into my soul. Always. He’s always going to keep me.
It was as much a threat as it was a promise, but I might be growing used to the danger and reliant on the oath.
I let my bare fingers skim my lips before I pull on a pair of my gloves, grab my bag, and head down to the elevator. Using the key Malcolm left me with, I begin the long ride up to the top and blame the sudden dip in my stomach on the inertia.
I’m fine.
Everything’s fine.
I’ll be fine.
This is…
Just sharing a bed with my boss. With Malcolm. With…a clinically insane man who married me on a whim and began conducting bootleg therapy sessions with me a few weeks ago.
Heaving breath as the abyss opens for me, I wonder—mildly—which one of us is crazier.
“Dove.” Malcolm rises from his seat on the couch before the elevator. The night sky fills the windows surrounding his livingroom, and it feels like I’m stepping into it when I walk forward. Brilliant as a sun in the darkness of space, Malcolm smiles, motioning me toward the staircase. “Come. You can get ready for bed in the master bathroom. I’ll use the one down the hall.”
Mute, I nod, and he takes me upstairs to a door that distinctly isn’t the one I remember as his bedroom but leads to a massive bathroom all the same. After showing me how to work the knobs in the shower, he draws near my ear and whispers, “Everything’s freshly cleaned as of a few hours ago. I’ve been preparing since we parted ways earlier. Let me know if you need anything. I love you.”
My heart seizes, and I blank as he walks out, closing the door behind him.
Fingers lifting to the sensation of breath on my ear, I glance down toward my erratic heart.
He says he loves meall the time. Why are you throwing a fit about itnow?
It hurts to swallow, but I manage to go through the motions of unpacking my bag, slipping out of my clothes, and stepping into the oil pit that is his slick, black shower.
I’ve made a lot of progress this week.
And IknowMalcolm’s home is pristine.
I know it.
But I still guard myself against grazing anything in this bathroom, grateful that I brought my own white towel with me from home.
It takes three tries of getting in and out of the shower before I’m calm enough to pull on my pajamas, then it takes five tries to convince myself I’ve brushed my teeth well enough. Staring in the mirror once I’malmostfeeling correct in my body, I discover a horror set firmly outside my usual delusions.
My cotton white nightgown is…a bit on the cute side, isn’t it?
A bit frilly. A bit…
