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He crosses his ankle over his knee. He rolls his shoulders and clicks his tongue. “You know what? I am done with you accusing me of murder. All I have done is try to help you, but you see me as a bad man. Maybe because your father was the devil, every man must be the same. I may be a cheat. And yes, I have lied, but I am not your father. I am not a rapist.” He stands. “And I most certainly am not a fucking murderer!” he screams.
“How can I trust you? Have you said anything true?”
He reaches out to hold my hand. He pulls me closer until I am standing between his legs. He places my hand against his cheek and nuzzles it. “I meant it when I said I love you.”
Pulling my hand back, I say, “I think that was the biggest lie. I haven’t had many people to rely on, so I’ve always had to trust my gut instinct. With you, I ignored it every step of the way. But I’m done, and my gut tells me to get out of here.”
Xavier nods his head. He stands up and puts his suit jacket back on. He pulls out a second letter from the inside pocket. “Here’s proof I’m filing for divorce.” He rips it up and throws it in the air. “But you don’t care because yourgutis feeding you delusions.“ He walks to the door, but I get in front of him.
“I’m not delusional. You’re psycho. How did you even know what Elliot said to me? You weren’t anywhere near us.”
He shrugs. “The cameras that watch outside your gate.”
Cameras. How did I not think about cameras outside my gate? That means…He knows about every time Huxley has been here.
The arrogant smile on his face irks me. “Want to call me a liar again? I haven’t fucked anyone else except you. Can you say the same thing? Or will you say he spent the night, and nothing happened?”
I take the easy option out. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
He laughs at me. “You might need to recalibrate your gut instinct. You thinkI’mthe murderer? You thinkI’mthe one to be scared of?“ He leans in close. “You’ve laid in bed with a murderer, but it wasn’t me.”
I try to gauge his emotions, but his mask is plastered on. He can’t be suggesting what I think he is. Huxley isn’t dangerous. He doesn’t have people running to a different country because of him. He doesn’t have cameras watching his wife.
“You’re lying.”
“I did lie – when you asked me if I found out anything about your father’s case.”
I already know what he will say, but I ask anyway. “Who?”
The suspense is immobilising as he watches me with amusement. He straightens his cuffs and pushes his hair back.
“Ray murdered your father.”
PART TWO:
Xavier
27
Myneckarchestothe right to stretch the tightness that rests in the crook. There is a satisfying crack that comes with the release of tension which has been building since that fucking party. As if there weren’t a magnitude of problems on my plate, my wife had to find the only proof of my infidelity.
The problem isn’t me. It’sher.I regret catching sight of her through the window that dreary autumn morning. I don’t care for coffee, but my feet propelled me into that unattractive store. I’m certain it was not only I who stepped foot in that store for her.
I enjoyed watching her black hair sway back and forth. Her long legs carried her with a grace I’d never seen before. She puts world-famous models to shame. Her siren eyes housed the most hypnotising brown orbs I’ve ever seen. The way her lips lifted every time I walked in was my motivation to get out of bed. Initially, she wouldn’t talk much, but that was okay because I liked watching her interact with her noisy colleague. I admired her from afar until she warmed up to me.
Our conversations were short, and she wouldn’t share much. One night, I played the good husband and asked Emery why she no longer talked to me. It was fate that I asked such a question because it helped me further my relationship with my golden-eyed obsession. She said:why would I talk to someone I barely know anymore?I then knew what I had to do.
As we made small talk the following day, I casually let it slip that my marriage was going through a rough patch. I could practically see her defences lower, but not enough. Every day after, I shared more about my struggles with fertility. She lapped it up and eventually shared something about herself – an ex-boyfriend who owed her money. I remember thinking I would make all her problems disappear.
No matter how many coffees I bought, how big of a tip I left, or the subtle flirting, she didn’t let me into her life. The solution? Offer her an in tomylife she couldn’t refuse.
And it worked.
She was difficult to manage at first, but eventually she learnt. I knew she was a smart girl – my background checks on her were proof of that. Excellent grades from school to university. Her credit score was poor, but I already knew that. She spent a large sum of money on alcohol and takeout, but I could change those terrible habits. She was as healthy as they came. That’s when I had the brilliant idea.
I married Emery for three reasons.
One: she had no family to intervene in our lives. No one cared for her, which meant she would crave my affection; therefore, she was much more malleable than most. I learnt from my previous mistakes.
