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You are the missing piece of my heart.
Henry is everything. He’s my everything. These notes, as beautiful as they are, aren’t enough. I can’t live our love through them any more than I can breathe without my lungs.
Shuffling all the notes together, I throw them into my backpack before I run into Jess’ bathroom and grab her hair scissors and one of her small elastic bands. Once I’ve tied it around the end of one of my messy waves, I snip it off and slip it into one of the envelopes he sent.
Henry has always made it obvious that he loves my hair, and I love the feel of him playing with it. Whether he’s wrapping it around his fist when we fuck or whether he’s combing his fingers through it affectionately. It’s the best feeling in the world. One I’m done being without. The same way I’m done being without him.
“We’re going to head off now,” Jess says, meeting me in the hallway as I’m leaving the bathroom. “Everything okay?” She glances at my backpack, where she knows I keep my medication.
“Yeah, everything is fine.”
“You’re sure?” I nod in reply to her question, and she asks, “Good love note?”
“Yes,” I tell her, holding out the envelope to her. “If you see Henry, could you give him this?”
“There better not be any weird shit in here. No toenail clippings.” Jess takes it from me with a suspicious cock of her brow.
“No, just a couple of pubes I plucked with your favourite tweezers.”
“You’re actually disgusting,” she says, pulling a face as she stuffs the envelope into her handbag.
“You started it with the toenail clippings when it’s just my used knickers.”
“I thought I could smell something fishy.”
“Uuugh.” A fake gag cuts through my chuckle.
“You’re certain you’re okay to watch George? I can take him to my mum’s on the way.”
“No, we’re good. I’m going to order us some pizza and maybe rent a film or whatever he wants to watch. Cheer him up a little bit before you get back.”
“I’ll make sure Henry gets this.” Jess lifts her handbag awkwardly as we head towards the lounge. “I know I’m not the nicest about him, but if he makes you happy and looks after you, then that’s what matters most.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me because if he hurts you again, I will get your brother’s old nunchucks out, and I’ll batter him with them.” There’s no point in arguing with her because I know she would go at Henry without any hesitation. “All in all, he’s not that bad. Anyone that treats George right and makes him smile deserves the benefit of the doubt.”
We pause in the open doorway as Ryan gets beaten by George at a Mortal Kombat fight on the PlayStation.
“My mum said she’ll come take over at around seven so you can go for your drinks. She’ll get George to bed and sort him out. Make sure you get a cab, okay? It’s not safe out there,” she says as Ryan announces, “Last match, Road Kill.” He uses George’s gaming name with exaggerated grit.
“I’m not going to drink. The only reason I’m going is because Mary won’t stop inviting me out, and it feels weird always saying no.”
“It’s good that you’re getting out and having fun…socialising…making friends.”
“Then stop worrying about me,” I tell Jess as she watches George and Ryan with a smile.
“That’s not going to happen. We’re as good as sisters.”
Soon after the wrestling match is done, they leave, and while George finishes his game, I read through Henry’s notes again and again. Soon enough, I’ll know them by heart just as I know that he is the only man for me. He’s my beautiful villain with dark hair, a devilish smile, and blood on his hands.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
HENRY
Funerals intrigue me. The rumble of animated chatter twists with the sombreness of the event, a collision of celebration and sadness that’s unsettling in every way. But never as unsettling as when silence falls suddenly. My first instinct is to look around me for a threat. I wouldn’t put it past Chapman to try something today, all the people on his death list in one place. I know where I would hit if I was him. But that’s thing about criminals—we respect each other’s sorrow. As though there’s some unwritten rule of respect. In the end, we’re all criminals; some of us simply choose the better side—where monsters rub shoulders with gods, and we call ourselves holy.
Glancing over my shoulder at the open doorway of the chapel, I watch as Sterling’s beloved mistress walks down the aisle with her bastard son. I have to double take for a moment.
