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I hesitated, unsure if I should tell him. But in the end, I faltered beneath his hard, expectant stare. “The other nightmares were about the park. This one was something that happened in my life before the park.”
His position against the supple leather shifted ever so slightly, his calm exterior disturbed by the tiniest ripple... of something. “You remember? Your life?”
I nodded. “A lot of it is still fuzzy, but I imagine that’s probably true of a lot of normal people, too. Nobody remembers everything that ever happened to them. But I remember who I am, and all the major highlights of my life, and all the important things leading up to the accident.”
The thought suddenly struck me that before my memories came back, I had been a pure human expression of minimalism. Just like his house. Simple. Clean. But now I was complicated and messy, and I wasn’t sure how Shannon would take that.
“And this dream...” he persisted... “What happened in it?”
The way he asked the question was as if the option not to answer him didn’t exist. He expected to know. He demanded to know. And yet I knew that if I told him, I would be at least partly responsible for what happened next, because I couldn’t pretend there wouldn’t be something that happened next. Shannon loved to kill people, and he had a whisper of feeling toward me. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where that magical combination would lead. Telling him would be like giving him a big present with a giant red bow on it. I might as well gift wrap Professor Stevens and hand Shannon a knife or a gun or whatever it was he liked to kill people with.
Against my better judgment and my better angels, I told him the dream. Telling it seemed to unlock more details of the memories I’d been trying not to see when I woke, memories that had fled in Shannon’s arms the night before but came roaring forth now that I allowed them.
I squeezed my eyes shut as tears slipped down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop hearing the belt coming down on me. I couldn’t stop feeling the violation that I would have given anything to forget about, and for a brief shining moment in my history, I actually had. Why had it come back after so long? I knew things I’d done with Shannon must have triggered it, but why did it have to be triggered at all?
I’d been hopeful that everything would just stay dead and buried. Some part of my subconscious must have been well aware of how much I wanted to forget and keep the past locked away in boxes I could never open again. Why hadn’t my mind listened? Things had been just fine as they were. It had seemed so unlikely after so long that I’d have to worry about any memories surfacing. But then, I’d never been in the situation to have it triggered by just the right activity before.
“He touched what’s mine,” Shannon said quietly.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that response. It made him seem even more inhuman than he ordinarily seemed—and yet, a deep dark part of me liked that irritated sense of possession in his voice.
It didn’t seem to matter to him that I hadn’t beenhisback when these events had originally unfolded. As far as Shannon was concerned, I’d been set aside for him from the moment of my creation. And someone else had the gall to touch me. I felt it would probably be unwise to go through the laundry list of men I’d consensually fucked, lest they end up on Shannon’s shit list as well.
I looked up to find his blue eyes burning with an icy-hot intensity I’d never seen there before, and quite honestly hoped to never see again.
“I have to go away for a few days. I have business to take care of.”
At first I thought he meant my professor, but then I remembered he had a job this week. I’d forgotten it in everything that had recently happened between us.
“Will you be okay alone a few days? Or do you want to come with me?” he asked.
Part of me wanted to go with him, but I had the sense that he wasn’t going tonot fuck meon this trip if I joined him. I’m not sure it would even occur to Shannon that such a thing might create more damage in me. I wanted to believe he cared—at least where I was concerned—but I wasn’t sure how his mind processed such things.
I remembered the night in the castle, how intense he’d been after killing Trevor. And that had been self-defense. I imagined the whole event was even more of a rush when he stalked and hunted his prey first, when there was a bigger intentionality behind it. I wasn’t sure I could deal with being his victory fuck right now.
“C-can I stay here?”
Shannon nodded. “I think that would be best.”
Without another word, he got up and dragged a suitcase out of the walk-in closet and started opening drawers and pulling out clothing. He neatly folded several nondescript and mostly black outfits and put them in the suitcase, then he pulled out a few large hard black cases that contained several guns and a few knives.
I sat dumbfounded in bed, wondering if he’d forgotten I was there altogether while he checked each blade—for what, I couldn’t imagine... sharpness? Acceptable murder ability? Then he went through some kind of function or safety check for each of the guns. I’m really not sure. I watched as he dropped magazines, pulled parts of the gun back and looked inside, flipped small plastic switches on and off, racked slides, and finally pressed each trigger. Satisfied with whatever he was checking for, he replaced his weapons in their cases. He added several boxes of ammunition to the suitcase with his clothes and sealed everything up. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be flying commercial with this load of weaponry—if he was going far enough away to fly at all. Maybe he’d take the car.
He lined his bags up by the door and peeled his clothing off. I flinched at his nudity. And it made me angry at myself. I was starting to not even give a shit what he did for a living or how much he liked it. I’d wanted Shannon. IlikedShannon. Way more than I should. And I still wanted him, but in light of my memories... I just wasn’t sure if my present with Shannon and my past traumas could play well together—or at all. I was hoping to have a few days’ break from him to sort myself out somehow.
He came over to my side of the bed, moved the breakfast tray out of the way, and offered me his hand. “Come shower with me. Then I have to leave.”
If he noted my hesitation, he didn’t say anything. He just patiently waited for my inevitable capitulation. Finally, I took his hand and let him lead me to the bathroom. I leaned against the counter while he got the water to the right temperature and got towels ready for us.
When he was finished, he gave me a once over. “Are you planning to shower with your pajamas on?”
It didn’t seem to occur to him that my memories might now affect what happened between us. I mean, Shannon is not a stupid man. Surely, if he sat down and thought it through, he could at least intellectually grasp the situation. Or maybe he was already well aware and just didn’t care because he’d determined that I washisand that was that.
When I didn’t reply or start to remove sleepwear, he came over and did it himself. Again, I flinched, and again he ignored it. There was a part of me that was somehow offended that his entire reaction to my traumatic retelling of what had happened with my professor had elicited nothing more than mild pouting on his part.
Even though I knew it was wrong, I’d briefly fantasized that he would go kill that bastard. And a part of melikedthat fantasy. I very much doubted Shannon would let me leave to go finish my degree, but Stevens should fucking pay either way. And I knew there was no way he’d end up paying through the criminal justice system. I wanted him to have to pay through Shannon’s justice system because I imagined it was far more satisfying and that it was a system that wouldn’t victimize me yet again in the quest for afair trial. Fuck a fair trial. I knew what that monster had done, and that was all that mattered to me. Why should I have to prove it to a bunch of random strangers who weren’t there? Why couldn’t this be my business? Mine and Shannon’s.
It was unnerving to fully realize I felt this way because I’d told myself that I didn’t want Shannon to do anything. And yet... with his reaction so minimal, I found I reallydidwant him to do something. I was tempted to flat out ask him to do it. Hell, I had money; I could pay his fees. I mean, he had access to my money, so he could just steal it, I guess. But I could be a paying customer, no problem. It didn’t have to be some personal favor or lover’s vendetta.
