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The condom still clung to his flaccid penis, the empty end sticking to his thigh. John noticed it instantly, his eyes darting to mine.
‘He raped you?’
I shrugged.
‘It’s a simple question.’
I responded, perhaps a little too sharply. ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’
John took a step back and turned to me. ‘You know, I’m missing some excellent leftover macaroni cheese and a beer for this.’ His mouth quirked, as if he were about to laugh.
I snorted behind my coffee cup.
‘Seriously, though,’ he said. ‘What happened here? I need to know. I’m a part of this now.’
I swallowed bitter coffee. ‘He was here when you dropped me off.’
He looked up sharply. ‘In your apartment?’
I nodded. ‘He killed my entire family, and I’m pretty sure he was going to kill me, too.’ I hadn’t meant to say that, but fuck it, I might as well tell him.
‘What?’
I was shaking. Why was I shaking? I was cool. I was calm. I was fine. And then suddenly, I was most definitely not fine. I started to suck in great lungfuls of air as the room spun around me. My family is dead. The people who gave me life, the ones who raised me. And until the very moment those words had left my mouth – He killed my entire family – I had been numb to the reality, refusing to accept it was true.
There was no witness protection for me, or them. There never had been. There was only cruel lies. Murphy had disposed of them, and he had been about to do the same to me, once I secured his stash of hidden money for him. It was all so abundantly clear, and I felt like an idiot for even considering that he’d been telling the truth before.
It was the photographs. He’d baited me with promises of seeing my son and I’d thrown logic out the window. It was terrifying how easily he’d manipulated me.
Well, who was the sucker now?
Yeah.
I stumbled, losing my balance as the room continued to spin, and John caught me before I toppled. I hated being weak, but right now, I’d give myself a hall pass.
I started to cry. Deep, wretched sobs.
‘Hey,’ John said, his face close to mine. ‘Ana. You gotta pull yourself together. I can’t take care of you and bury this motherfucker at the same time. Ana!’
I heard a loud, high-pitched scream. I think it was coming from me. I was breaking apart.
‘Fuck,’ I heard John swear. Clamping a hand over my mouth, he hauled me into the bathroom and into the shower recess. A moment later, freezing cold water drenched the both of us and I pushed him back angrily, my screams vanishing as the shock of the cold forced me back to my senses.
‘There you are,’ he muttered. He reached across me to adjust the water and soon it was warm. I stared at the drain, transfixed, as Murphy’s blood washed off me. My dress. I needed to take my dress off and wash the blood from my skin.
I unzipped my dress at the back and unhooked the straps from my shoulders, letting the material fall to the shower floor in a soggy, bloody heap. John’s eyes widened slightly as he looked at me, dressed only in a white bra and panties, marked in places with Murphy’s blood, the thin cotton steadily turning see-through under the stream of warm water.
Had I imagined it? Had he even looked at me at all?
Yes. He had looked. He was still looking.
It was bad. It was wrong. There was a dead man lying in my bed, killed by my hand, and yet when John’s eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath, it still excited me. I felt pathetic.
‘Clean yourself up,’ he said gruffly, turning to go. ‘I’ll make some calls, get this sorted out.’
Calls? Who in the hell was he planning to call?
I caught the sleeve of his leather jacket. He stared at my hand like it was burning him just by resting there.
