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I nod. “I promise. Thank you.”
The next night, she helps me peel off my stinking clothes and get into a shower. I study the bruises and swellings, my mind detached, seeing myself as if from above, floating outside my own mind. It’s as if it isn’t my body, as if my skin isn’t my skin. Chloe clenches her jaw, but says nothing. There’s nothing to be said.
A couple of nights after that, she cleans my whole upper floor and tries to convince me to reclaim my house.
I choose the couch in the little office. He hasn’t tainted that room with his presence. I don’t have memories of him in there.
“Move in with me.” Chloe has pleaded with me time and time again. “I have space. You can’t sleep on that. It’s too short.”
I put the gun under a cushion. “I can, and I will. I refuse to drag this shit to your doorstep. I don’t think you should keep coming, because we’re pushing our luck. What if someone’s watching me? What if they see you and decide you’re a nuisance too?”
Chloe glances over her shoulder, her eyes widening. “You’re scaring me.”
“You should be scared.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
I look at her, deadpanned, and clutch a pillow to my chest. “I’ll be ready next time, I grit out.”
“They can just send another one, and another one—”
“I have nowhere to go,” I yell, making my poor friend flinch. My throat tightens and I pull up my legs, hugging them, rocking back and forth. “I don’t know where to go,” I whisper. “Sometimes I just wish for it to end.”
“That’s it. I’m taking you with me.” Chloe takes a step forward and grabs my arm. I pull it away and shake my head as tears begin to trickle down my cheeks.
“No. Thank you for everything. I’ll think of something. I promise.”
She shuffles her feet. “Are— are you coming back to work?”
My eyes flicker toward the window, toward the dangerous world outside, my chest tightening from the thought of putting even a foot outside. “I hope so.”
“I’ve told them you’re ill. It’s not that farfetched, is it?”
I nod. I’m not well. That’s for fucking sure.
At night I wait for the sound of someone entering my house. I wait for Christian, and my soul crumbles more and more with every passing day. Why hasn’t he come? Why hasn’t someone come? It’s been a week and a half, and I’m still alive.
It’s as if I wish for death.
Is that why I’m not leaving?
Christian
I’m back on my feet, and finally out of the freak show that is the Salvatore household. I’ve stuck to the far end of the west wing of the house, but the parties, the booze, and the women haven’t gone unnoticed. I used to take part in that. Now it sickens me.
I’ve claimed Kerry’s life, told my uncle I’ll finish her.
In reality, despite her nearly ending me, I won’t do it. I need to remove her from this city, hide her away. I’m thinking New York. Or New Orleans. Or maybe even Mexico. I won’t take my shit to Angela’s doorstep, but Nathan can definitely be of use, one of his many places. I have a feeling that maybe I’d have use for his woman too, someone to soothe Kerry that isn’t a mafioso.
It stings somewhere deep inside that she isn’t leaving her house. She hasn’t set foot outside for a week. Before that, I wouldn’t know, but I haven’t seen even a flash of her fiery hair since I started staking her out.
Her co-worker comes by every day, until she suddenly doesn’t. I perk up. A change in behavior. That is promising. Maybe she’s ready to face the world again?
Kerry never spoke to the cops. It baffles me. She escaped from the hospital, and they never even knew who she was. Is she protecting me? Or does she simply recognize the fact that you don’t rat on the mob?
A part of me wants to believe that she did it for me. A part of me hopes there is still something between us.
Another, more rational part, realizes it’s ridiculous. She’s scared. Of me. Of Salvatore. Of the world.
