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Not that I thought the devil existed in the sense they did. There was no singular man in the bowels of hell, waiting to punish all the sinners. No, there were thousands, millions of men with the devil inside them, waiting for the perfect woman to unleash hell on.
“Anyway,” I waved my hand. “Loved them. But I hated how they always ended with the final girl, bloodstained and tired, walking down a deserted road or finally defeating the killer … end shot. I wanted to know what happened afterward. How her life went on. Was fascinated to see what kind of woman she grew into after surviving all of that.”
I smiled in thanks as the waitress set down my fresh beer, waiting for her to leave before I continued.
“Now I know why they don’t make movies about the final girl.”
His eye twitched, and I knew he was fighting from going into alpha protective mode. We were in a crowded pub, after all. Not that that had ever stopped him.
“They don’t make movies about the survivor because people aren’t strong enough to see what it takes to be that final girl,” he put down his burger. “Because they’re scared to see that. A woman who survives monsters, one who can walk through the darkest night of her soul, one who still shines after that—that scares the shit out of patriarchal society.” He paused to sip his beer. “They don’t make movies about women like you because they’re fucking terrified.”
I digested his words, hoping that chasing them down with beer would help get them down easier. It didn’t help.
“Did you just reference patriarchal society?” I asked, teasing.
He smiled. “I’ve learned some things since meeting you.”
And catching me by surprise, I did something I never thought I’d do again.
I laughed.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
I was nervous when we finally made it back to the shitty motel room. Not just because I was seeing it with new eyes. Which I was. The space had been okay for me to stew in my own self-pity and trauma, but now that Colby was here, it was … dirty, wrong. Just like me.
The walls were too thin. The bathroom was stained, and the shower barely dribbled lukewarm water. I found myself longing for Egyptian cotton sheets, a huge tub with bubbles and room service in a five-star hotel.
A piece of the old Sariah coming in, perhaps? Certainly not.
My nerves weren’t just coming from our less-than-ideal environment. It was because the day was good. Could even have been considered as great. I had not had a great day in two years. I hadn’t even had a good day in two years.
I didn’t trust it.
Something was coming. I could smell it. Like a summer storm, when the air gets thick and everything is a little too still.
Colby didn’t seem keyed up like me. Sure, he had his moments where the fury, worry and male intensity seeped through, but his overall demeanor remained casual.
This only made me more anxious as I flitted around the room, straightening up the half empty bottles of whisky, fluffing the shitty pillows.
“Ri.”
I turned, and Colby was standing close to me. Too close. My body tingled with need and terror. I’d been alternating between these two states all day. Right after I was found, Colby saw and respected my problems with space and touching. Now, even if he sensed me stiffen when he held my hand or pressed his body against mine, he didn’t back down. He was going for immersion therapy, I guessed. I wasn’t sure if it was working.
Then again, we’d pretty much started this whole thing with us tearing each other’s clothes off and fucking, so I’d kind of screwed myself over in that department.
“Like the clothes, babe.” His eyes ran over me, highlighting his appreciation.
My skin sizzled from the not-so-subtle gaze.
“But,” he lifted his eyes to regard me. “They are not you.”
The attraction I was feeling fizzled out quickly. My emotions were giving me whiplash.
I put my hands on my hips. “And who, pray tell, do you think I am?” Without giving him time to answer, I continued speaking. “You had a glimpse of a girl in flashy shit who called you on your crap and said no, making her more interesting to you.” I held up a hand as he opened his mouth to speak. “Nuh-uh,” I tutted. “You saw only a speck of who I was, yet you think you can tell me what I’m not.” I shook my head violently. “No way, cowboy.”
He stared at me, face impassive. But I swear, I saw his mouth twitch as if he were suppressing a grin, the asshole.
“You done?” he asked after a handful of seconds.
The casual tone in which he asked this made me want to rake my nails through the skin of that pretty face of his. Or scream in his face. But interestingly, my rage had struck me silent and sedentary.
