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“Why?”
“Because of what you've done, obviously.” He only stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. Could he be this obtuse? “Remember? You killed my ex-boyfriend. You stalked me for years. You terrorized me, and then you had the nerve to pretend to comfort me when you were the one who set everything in motion. Everything was calculated.”
“You're right.” He’s sneering openly now. “It was almost too easy, making you do what I wanted. I only needed to set the pieces in place.”
“You’re proud? You hurt me. You hurt everybody I cared about. Taj and Kyla and Cynthia. And do you think I'm supposed to lie there in bed with you and let you touch me? I'm supposed to like it?”
“I never said I was a good man,” he mutters. “I never lied to you about that.”
“A good man? You don’t even have a soul.”
“I do have a soul. Everybody has a soul. The difference is, mine is black. That's the way I've always been.”
He’s so matter-of-fact, it chills me to the bone. “So you don't care? You really don't care about the lives you've destroyed?”
“No. I've never lost a moment’s sleep over killing. But I don't kill indiscriminately. That much you need to know. When I do, there’s a reason for it.”
“What about the guard you killed? There was a reason for that?”
“He was hurting you.”
“Not that much.”
“No one puts their hands on you but me.”
He actually believes himself. I guess crazy people have to believe the insanity that comes out of them.
“And the man in the plaza? You couldn’t have thought he was any sort of threat. A stiff breeze would’ve knocked him over.”
He lowers his gaze to the bedspread. “I had reasons for that, too.”
“Like what? What could possibly have been bad enough for you to do that?”
“Here’s something you need to understand.” His eyes are hard, glittering in the moonlight flooding in from behind me. “I consider your protection and welfare the most important thing in life. If it even appeared anyone was thinking of hurting you, I'd kill them. I believed that man was trying to hurt you. So I killed him. End of discussion.”
“That is not the end of the discussion.”
“Yes, it is. Right now, what you need to do is get back into bed and go to sleep. I'm tired of you questioning me.”
I wrap my arms around my trembling body. I will not cry. I can’t cry. “How can I not? I have no control over anything. And you never tell me anything, either.”
“You'll be my wife soon enough,” he murmurs. “That will make us equals. Then maybe you’ll learn more of what you need to know.”
“Equals?” I would swear the top of my head is about to blow off. I clasp my hands on top of it as if to keep that from happening. “How could we ever be equals after what you've done? You raped me, Christian.”
He averts his gaze.
“What?” I challenge. “You don’t like that word? We can talk about the other things you’ve done, instead. You stalked me for years. You made me run from you. I had to look over my shoulder everywhere I went. You pretended to want to protect me when you were the one I needed protection from. How is that us being equals? How does the exchange of vows erase everything that's already come before? It can't. I'll never forget it. Every time I look at you, I remember what you've taken from me. And who you've taken.”
Did I say all that? My brain and my mouth weren’t connected. That must be it. I don’t know where the courage came from, but I’m glad it showed up. He deserved to hear all that and more.
Seconds pass, and now I wonder if I’m glad or not. He’s hardly moving, his body still as marble. What’s he thinking? Convincing himself not to kill me the way he’s so indiscriminately murdered others?
He takes a breath, and I brace myself for what’s coming. “Are you finished?” I can’t find my voice to answer. He must take my silence as an answer, instead, because all of a sudden, he gets out of bed and crosses the floor. His dick swings with every step. I wish he’d wear something when he sleeps. Somehow I’d feel safer.
I creep closer to the bed in hopes of seeing what he’s pulling from his dresser, but his body blocks my view. I have to wait for him to turn back to me. He’s holding a thin stack of paper.
Not just paper. Photo paper. Pictures which he strews across the bed before stepping back and turning on the bedside lamp so I can get a decent look.
I still don’t understand what I’m looking at. First, I recognize Taj. My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. No, things didn’t end well for us. He was worthless as a boyfriend. But he didn’t deserve to die.
