Good Girl(27)

I put my hands on the wheel, but before we take off, I have to apologize. “I’m sorry about that, Ava. I shouldn’t have made you do that.”

She slowly shakes her head. “Please, don’t be.”

“I shouldn’t have made you do something you didn’t want to.”

She looks straight at me as she says, “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that.” She looks forward and adds, “He’s only one of many.”





Ava





I can’t get over this sick feeling I have, like I’m going to heave up the tiniest bit of water I’m able to swallow. I need to force it down, but it’s hard. The food smells amazing. Chicken carbonara, with fresh Parmesan. I want to devour it. My stomach rumbles for it. But as soon as it touches my lips, I have the urge to throw it up. Kane keeps looking at me. He wants me to eat and I want to eat too, but I’m going to be sick. I’ve felt like this ever since the ride home. Kane was silent; he didn’t even look at me once.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I killed him. And I’m so fucking happy I did. At the same time, I’m scared to death that it’s not real. That it’s fake. I’m convinced it’s a setup, and he’s going to walk in here any minute and punish me. I keep picturing him over and over, clutching his throat and then nothing. Completely gone.

Is it possible? I saw them kill so many people. But I never had this feeling. The feeling it wasn’t real. I’m terrified he’s going to come back.

I also want to do it again. I need to do it again. I’ve never killed before, but he was only the first. I’ll handle this sick feeling every day for the rest of my life in exchange for the rest of them lying in the dirt with bullet holes in their heads. An image of him flashes before my eyes. His face covered in dirt, his hair a mess. Laying lifeless with his eyes open and a neat hole right in the center.

Kane sets the fork down on his plate and the clinking of metal on ceramic makes me jump in my seat.

“I need you to talk to me,” he says from across the table.

I nod my head and swallow the lump growing in my throat. “What would you like to know?” I gently set my own fork down and stare at him with my hands clasped on my lap. I need to be sure I give him my full attention.

He’s angry. I don’t think he’ll hurt me, but with the others, the slightest thing set them off when they were angry.

“I hate it when you do that,” he says, and it makes chills go down my spine. My breath falters, and I struggle to respond. I don’t know what I’ve done. “Fuck!” he says under his breath, as he pushes the chair back, and the legs drag loudly across the floor. He walks over to me with determined strides, and I resist the urge to cower.

I don’t know what I’ve done, but I’ve obviously displeased him.

“We were doing good earlier. Before it all happened.” Is this a test? He told me to forget. I don’t know how to respond.

I open my mouth to respond, but I have to cover it. Sickness climbs my throat and I just barely push it down. A wave of heat rolls over my body. I’m vaguely aware that I’m in his arms as he moves through the house to get to the nearest bathroom. He sets me down on the cold tile floor and pulls my hair back as I lean against the toilet. I focus on pushing the urge down. I don’t want to be sick. I hate the feeling of throwing up. He stands behind me holding my hair, and patiently waits while the nausea settles.

After a long while, I try to move.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly behind me.

I nod my head and apologize, “I’m sorry.” He lets go of my hair and holds me against his chest. My face still feels hot, and every bit of energy has left me. I brace my hands on his chest, but I don’t push away. I lean into him instead. His arms wrap around me and he rubs my back.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes, Kane.” I answer as I should, even though everything feels different between us. Lines have blurred and I’m not sure what’s expected of me. I like answering him though. I want him to know I am alright. I swallow and push away slightly.

“Do you want to go lie down?” His dark eyes look down at me, and I find myself mesmerized. I shake my head no and then force myself to look away. I bring a shaky hand to the back of my neck and then we both look down as my stomach growls.

“Can you eat?” he asks.

I’m quick to answer, “Yes.” I’m starving, and I really do want something. I’m not sure I can handle what he’s served me, but I’ll try.

“Maybe soup?” he suggests.

My eyes itch with the need to cry. I feel so overwhelmed with emotion. “Please,” I answer.