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The seconds felt like minutes, and I was in absolute hell until I heard Charlie say, “I think it’s all rinsed.”
I could not whip my head out of that sink fast enough—and in doing so, I forgot about the wound on my stomach. The fast movement made a sharp sting of pain shoot into my spine and up into my chest, and this time, I couldn’t hold in the grimace. I stumbled back to the toilet, plopping down on its closed lid as I brought a hand to my stomach, resting it over the injury.
Charlie took a towel and offered it to me. “Sorry,” she whispered as she noted the way my face had scrunched up. “Here. You got some dye right here.” She ran a finger along the side of her face.
Once I could move without the pain being overwhelming, I took the towel from her and started to rub it against the side of my face.
“No, not there.” Charlie stepped closer to me, and she took the towel out of my hand and brought it to the other side of my face. She was intimately focused on the streak of dye that had ran down my skin, rubbing it off with a strange mixture of gentle firmness. Her other hand was beneath my chin, her fingers keeping my face lifted up with just the smallest touch.
She was just trying to get the dye off me. She was looking at me, but not really looking at me, and maybe that’s why I found myself studying her out of the corner of my eye, why I let myself notice the smoothness of the skin on her face, the way her lips had parted just a bit as she concentrated.
I’d had my fun with women before. I wasn’t that type of serial killer, someone who was always alone, unable to make physical connections.
But that’s all it had ever been: physical. A release of the stress that tended to build up inside you from the day-to-day living in this world. No real relationships. Nothing that was ever more than a hookup.
This wasn’t sexual in nature. The farthest thing from it. Hell, she wasn’t even my type. Too small, too fragile… so breakable. I didn’t want to look at her like that, like she was more than a means to an end, and yet, as she concentrated on rubbing my face and cleaning the stray streaks of dye off my skin, it felt like one of the most intimate moments I’d ever had in my life.
Stupid, I know. So fucking stupid. It didn’t make sense, not one bit. Maybe it was because she knew who I was, what I was capable of, and yet she still could stand near me and help me with something so trivial. Most other people wouldn’t do the same.
“There,” Charlie said, taking a step back from me. “Better. Hopefully it dries nice. I’ve never dyed anyone’s hair before.” She held onto the towel, though its fabric wasn’t so white anymore. It had gotten stained with brown. Her lips smiled at me, a soft smile you really had to focus on to see, the kind of smile that could easily be overlooked.
That smile might be a little cracked and broken, but it was pretty.
Wait a goddamned minute. No, I didn’t mean that.
“Get out,” I told her, internally seething at myself and my thoughts for getting so mixed up. “I have to take a shit.” I didn’t, but I needed this girl to get out of the fucking room so I had other things to focus on instead of her face and that soft smile.
“Oh, okay.” She took a step back, looking as awkward as she sounded. She set a hand on the doorknob as she continued to backtrack. “Uh, good luck?” The last thing I saw before she closed the door and shut me in the bathroom by myself was Charlie shaking her head at herself, probably wondering why she’d told me good luck.
What a weird girl. What a really fucking weird girl.
Chapter Six – Charlie
Today’s the day. It’d been a week and a half since I’d rescued my little serial killer, and it was time to move him into the treehouse in the woods. My parents had gone to work, and I’d been a busy little bee, making sure to wait until they were gone before getting everything ready. I brought some extra pillows and blankets from the house to the treehouse, all the while making sure I didn’t see anyone standing in the shadows, watching.
I hadn’t heard anything from my stalker in the last week and a half, no new sketches of me while I was fast asleep. Brett was right; my stalker, whoever he was, must enjoy knowing how uncomfortable he was making me, otherwise why would he go so long without taunting me again? It was almost like he wanted to see what I’d do.
Bet me getting a serial killer on my side wasn’t on his bingo card.
I also brought a bunch of boxed foods into the treehouse. Granola bars, cereal, the kind of stuff he didn’t need to cook to eat. He’d have the run of the house while my parents were gone, but on the weekends, he’d be stuck in the treehouse.
Once it was ready, I went to pick Brett up. I figured I’d skip my classes for the day, make sure he got set up right and knew where everything was in the house.
During the drive, I kept thinking: what was I doing? Was this really a smart idea? The only thing this could accomplish was more death—but, strangely, I was okay with it, as long as that death didn’t involve my parents or my sister. Anyone else? I was too tired to overflow with empathy.
I pulled up to the motel after the drive there, and I got out of the car and headed to the door. The sun shined brightly overhead, an unseasonably warm day for springtime. Getting the key out of my pocket, I unlocked the door and walked inside—and what I saw made me freeze in my tracks.
Brett was near the bed, getting dressed, his newly brown hair damp from a recent shower, small water droplets clinging to his arms still, like he hadn’t fully dried himself off. He was literally in the process of pulling his pants up when I walked in, so thankfully I didn’t get an eyeful of something I shouldn’t.
But still, walking in to see him changing made my feet stop right where they were. Even with the bandage on his stomach, you could still see the rest of his muscles. His flat, sculpted chest, how his arms flexed when he went to pull a shirt over his head. Even with his dyed hair, he was still a good-looking guy. Gorgeous, even. It had to be how he’d made it this far.
Listen to me. Talking about how handsome a serial killer was. I had a lot more issues than I thought, apparently.
When Brett saw me, he spoke as he pulled his shirt down over his head, “Figured I’d take one last shower here.” Once the shirt rested on his body, covering up the muscles, I could move again, though all I did was breathe out the heavy lungful of air I’d been holding. “Not going to lie, I’m looking forward to getting the fuck out of here… but I have the feeling I’ll regret saying that once I’m stuck in a goddamned treehouse all the time.”
I couldn’t say anything to that, so I just nodded along with him and started to gather everything up. All the bloodied towels would be coming with us, along with everything I’d bought him—the clothes, mostly. He’d devoured all the food and drinks I’d bought him. The man ate a lot.
Once the room was good to go, we turned off all the lights. Brett got into my car while I walked to the office to return the key and checkout. The same old lady helped me, and like before, she didn’t say a word.
