Devil You Know(31)

A unicorn sighs. I swear I hear a fairy laugh. Or maybe it’s the baby rabbits at my feet, and the bird singing on my shoulder that gives away my delirium. Either way, I'm sure some Disney tune is about to start piping out of nowhere. The moment is perfect . . . too perfect.

Malice pulls back first as each of us struggles for breath. “Tell me that wasn’t too soon,” he says.

I smile, and press my fingers to my lips. I’m still trying to process being kissed—like, actually kissed for the first time in forever. “It was far too late,” I smirk.

He tugs me to him, and I wince at the shock he sends through my ribs. Still, I’d happily walk over a bed of broken glass right now. I place my arms around his solid middle, and visualize what lies beneath the simple fabric of his T-shirt. My mind wanders back to this morning’s show in the kitchen as my lips find his and we try again . . . a little slower.

He pulls free of our kiss, and smiles at me. It could be below freezing, and I’d still be melting. The thought that a guy is actually happy to touch me so intimately is foreign. It’s nice. The warmth that spreads through me is something I could totally get used to.

I look over to Rocco, and giggle. The silly animal sits with a huge grin on his face, his tail wagging. Apparently, he approves.

“He’s a good listener,” Malice states, looking at the grinning lump of fur.

I smile at my true love, the constant in my life—Rocco. “Yeah, he is.” If only that dog could talk—the things he would have to say . . .

“Sooo.” Malice grins devilishly at me. “Groceries?”

“Yeah.” I laugh. “I guess we should think about doing that before they close.”

“No hurry.” He starts for the house. “There’s a twenty-four-hour supermarket further up the road.”

My walking ceases, and I stare absently at him while he carries on. He reaches the patio, and realizes I’m no longer with him.

“What’s the matter?”

I shake my head, and begin to walk again. “It just dawned on me that I’ve never been this far out before. It’s kind of sad, don’t you think? I mean, I’ve lived here—we’ve lived here—for over six years. How could I never leave town?”

He pulls me to his side, and we head indoors together. “It’s not sad. Look at it this way—we’ll have lots of new experiences to keep you occupied for a while.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Why do you still look stunned, then?” He leads me to the armchair, and I take a seat. Malice perches on the edge of the coffee table, and leans with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

“Because, I realized something stranger last night—while you were gone.”

He lifts his eyebrows.

“I don’t want to explore. I finally have my freedom, but I want to stay here, within these walls.”

“What on earth for?”

“It’s safe, comfortable—familiar. I’m scared if I get too relaxed, and go out more than I should, he’ll find me. I can’t be found, Malice. I can’t go back.”

He snatches up my shaking hands. “It’s natural to still fear the guy. You lived with him, with his behavior for so long. That kind of shit doesn’t vanish overnight.”

“I know.” Letting go of my life, of my habits, and my reactions to ordinary things will take time—a lot of time. I know that, but I still harbor the fear that a part of it will never go away, and I’ll be looking over my shoulder until I’m old and gray.

Malice cups my cheek. The gesture feels so normal. For those precious seconds I pretend this is how it’s always been. I pretend I’ve always been cared for.

“Will you tell me what your dream was about?” He drops my hands and pulls back to sit on the table, allowing me my space. Allowing me room to decide if I will without pressure.

Such a small gesture, but so perfect.

I sigh, and look at Rocco. He lies across the room from us, staring at nothing in particular as his eyes droop. The best way to describe my dream to Malice would be to disengage myself from it, otherwise I’ll be in tears before he can count to three. I visualize what I need to say, and lock my emotions off as the words drop from my mouth on monotone notes.

“I dreamt of the night you took Rocco. Only this time, Dylan killed him, and then he tortured me. There was blood everywhere: Rocco’s, and mine.”

“Why the fuck were you embarrassed to tell me that?” His brow pulls tight between his eyebrows.

“Because,” I whisper. “I was more relieved to find Rocco was okay when I woke up, than to find Dylan hadn’t hurt me.”