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“You said… Why are you here?” I interrogate when I’m unable to connect a coherent sentence.
“I told you I would find you.” Although his words are strained due to pain, his tone is nonchalant. “Can you stop pointing the knife at me?”
“No!” I exclaim immediately.
“Sadie,” he groans. “Please, will you lower the knife?”
I gulp.
“Do you plan on killing me?”
“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve done it when I had you pinned against the wall, don’t you think?”
A scoff abandons me. Of course, I’ve thought about it.
It’s all I have been able to think about.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, darling. I’m not plotting to kill you tonight or any night,” he mutters, sliding to the floor without letting his arm go. “Will you drop the knife already and help me bandage this?”
I don’t obey.
Well, not entirely because I keep the knife up high, but step back to find the first-aid kit under the bathroom sink. I don’t know why I’m helping him; I simply do it. Hesitant and distrusting, I pull out the box and hand it to him.
The silhouette of his head sways to his left, motioning at me to sit with him.
“Please?” he adds.
My naked body shakes with fear as I descend to my knees next to him. Even when I’m the one with the advantage, I feel miniscule. If he wanted to, he could turn this against me. I doubt I’m a worthy opponent, yet he doesn’t make any comments about my fragile state. Instead, he waits for me to act, letting pained noises abandon his lips.
For someone so lethal, he’s not great at handling pain. Though it’s possible that the adrenaline sizzling in my system has heightened my senses, making everything louder.
With one hand, I open the lid of the kit, shuffling to find some antiseptic and gauze.
¿Qué estoy haciendo?
He has infected me with his madness, poisoning away all the parts of my brain that scream at me for being near him when he can kill me. I wouldn’t be able to catch his lies. For all I know, he’s tricking me because he finds it amusing.
“You’re scared of me,” he observes, and I may be insane, but I swear I detect a slight edge of hurt in his words.
I use my teeth to open the sterile packet.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” I retort. Using sass isn’t my best move, but I never said I was writing the tutorial on how to defeat a killer when you’re naked in a bathroom. I’m acting on pure instinct here. “You killed four innocent people.”
He has the nerve to laugh. To shut him up, I pat the antiseptic wipe over the area he holds before pressing a bunch of gauze on it to stop the bleeding. As expected, his chuckle turns into a hiss of pain.
“I wouldn’t say they were innocent.” It’s all he says in his defense.
“So, you consider yourself to be… what? A harbinger of Justice?” Sarcasm drips from my words and his muscles tense. “Is that why you killed them? Did you find them guilty of something?”
“I don’t want to talk about them.”
His comment is cold as steel and sharper than the knife in my hand, so I reluctantly drop the subject. The last thing I need is to trigger him into changing his mind about letting me live.
“What else do you want to talk about?” I inquire, arching a brow, even though he can’t see my facial expression.
“Why are you scared of me?”
