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ALEX
When a serial killer threatens to eviscerate you and feed your entrails to his pet fish, you start to evaluate your life choices.
By examining at a microscopic level, I can trace every decision and path taken, and the intersecting events, that create the perfect formula.
It’s when I back out enough to examine the picture as a whole that chaos theory comes into play—the irregularities within my system that couldn’t be foreseen. As always, the system’s destination is decided very delicately by its starting point.
Had Blakely never contacted Dr. Noble, then it’s likely Grayson wouldn’t know I exist.
Had I never entered that night club, I never would’ve found Blakely.
Had I been less selective and chosen a subject sooner out of my typical selection pool, I never would’ve been tempted to enter the club in the first place.
I can keep tracing the path backward, noting each incident that brought us to this point, but there’s a lesson in chaos: Chaos theory proposes a paradox, as it connects two familiar notions that are viewed as incompatible.
By any rational observation, Blakely and I are an incompatible notion.
And yet, she tore through my systematic world to obliterate me wholly.
She is the paradox.
Like the swing of a pendulum, her velocity and force is what I measure every need and aspiration by, and if I can only have her rage and hatred, then that is how I’ll accept her. Having a piece of her is more consuming than any shallow connection.
Because I know we haven’t yet reached our ending destination.
Like all systems, time is the variable that facilitates change.
And that anticipated change is a tense warning in the air around us. Having her in my space feels threatening, like at any moment she can shred the fabric of my feebly constructed world to decimate me.
Tonight proved she holds the power to do just that.
With her unstable emotions, she’s a liability to more than just me; she’s a liability to herself.
Instead of my selfish endeavor to repair my ego, I should’ve been engineering a compound to help regulate her neurotransmitters until her brain chemistry equalizes.
Since I have no ability to reverse time, I can only start from where we are now.
“You’re sleeping in my bed,” I tell her, as I clear the clutter off my desk.
Since Grayson is apprised to the location of both our places, it seemed only logical to utilize my previous unit. I have no doubt Grayson is aware of this residence also, but it’s marginally safer, equipped with an alarm system and less entry points.
Blakely limps toward the closet and removes a fleece blanket, then tosses it on the beige sofa. “I’ll sleep here.”
A fiery thread curls beneath my skin. I rub the back of my neck to ease sore muscles and my growing irritation. We’re practically war battered from fighting and fucking—maybe more so from the fucking—and still she refuses to admit the truth of us.
Her animated neural pathways have not affected her stubbornness.
Her hair is one wild tangle. She’s still wearing my shirt. I have her scent embedded in my skin. The primal urge to bend her over my sofa and make her come until she admits her feelings rocks through me with crazed need.
I abandon the desk and storm toward her, every bruise and injury on my body rebelling against the movement. I reach her before she’s able to mount a defense and scoop her into my arms.
“Let me go—”
“We’ve already established that’s not happening.” I carry her into my bedroom and drop her on the bed.
She grunts from the impact as she rises up on her elbows to send me a lethal glare. “I’m not your captive anymore.”
“Would be safer for you if you were.” I haven’t completely ruled out locking Blakely up until the matter is handled. She wouldn’t despise me more than she already does.
