His(71)

My thoughts drifted back to him, over and over again. To the bruises I’d seen in the photographs. To the way he looked when he plunged inside of me, and then afterward. His eyes had sparked bright, and I thought that I might have saved him from that awful blankness that he called the shadow.

I blinked at the realization. It wasn’t just myself that I cared about. I cared about him. I wanted to be his, to be the one to drive away the darkness inside of him.

I didn’t realize that I had drifted off into sleep until the bolt outside the door snapped open and I raised my head. My cheeks were wet with tears. I was terrified to see what was on the other side of the door, but worse than that was not knowing.

The door swung open and he walked in, still holding the knife. His hair was mussed and there was a streak of dirt on the side of his face. His pants were dusty, cobwebs lacing his ankles.

But the knife—

The knife was clean. There was no blood on the blade.

He sat down silently next to me on the bed, staring down at the knife in his lap.

“Where did you go?” I asked.

“The basement.”

The basement? He had locked me up and terrified me, all for nothing?

“Why?” I asked, my heart beating fast.

“To see what it was like. I was curious.”

“And?”

“It was dark.”

He turned, raised his eyes to me. I saw emotion in there, a stark sadness that scared me.

“Gav?”

“Dress. Come with me.”

He watched me quietly as I pulled on my clothes. Every glance of his felt like it bruised my skin. I wanted him to tie me up again. I wanted his arms around me. I wanted his touch. But he didn’t touch me, not at all.

When I was dressed, he stood up and walked out of the room, the knife hanging loosely at his side. I followed him nervously. He had always had a hand on me before, and I wondered what he had decided to do with me.

Was he leading me to the kitchen? Was he going to hurt me? Had he decided, after all this, to kill me?

Before, he had put a hand on me to guide me. Now, he walked down the stairs. I paused at the statue before following him down the steps.

“Come on,” he said, calling up to me. “Don’t be afraid.”

Those words chilled me. I came down the stairs slowly and followed him across the living room, down the hallway to the front door. He opened the door.

“Go on,” he said.

I stepped past him with my breath held. When I was in front of him, he could stab me from behind. He could slit my throat. He could—

“Kat.”

I turned around to see him standing in the doorway, his knife hanging limply from one hand.

“Gavriel?”

“I’m sorry, kitten.” His eyes were sad, so sad. It was all I could do not to run back to him, to take him in my arms, to comfort him. “Go on, now.”

“What…” my voice trailed off as I realized that he wasn’t following me out onto the porch. “What are you doing?”

“I’m letting you go.”

The words buzzed around my ears, but I didn’t comprehend what he was saying.

“For a walk?”

“Forever. You’re free.”

“Wh—Why?” I stammered. Every muscle in my body felt like it was made of lead. I stood on the porch, dumbfounded. I was still convinced that if I turned around, he would raise the knife, fling it forward into my back.

“You’re right,” he said, gesturing outside with an expansive wave of the knife. “This. All this. It doesn’t matter. It’s not real. I can’t take your life away from you.”

You’ve given me back my life, I wanted to say. You’ve given me the only reason to live. But my voice caught in my throat. Stupid, stupid. I should have turned to run before he could change his mind. Something told me that he wouldn’t change his mind.

It’s not real, he had said. What I had thought was something between us was nothing. And now he had pulled the rug out from under my feet. I had just accepted my fate, and now he was handing me another one. As ridiculous as it felt, I wanted nothing more than to run back inside, to stay with him.

“You’re really letting me go?” I croaked.

“Yes. Stupid, I know. Maybe I am a stupid person, after all.”

“That’s not it.” Why was I still there? Why was I not running away right now?

“It’s because I’m bored, kitten,” he said. His fingers tightened around the blade. “Bored with all of this. You have to go now.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it. Stepping forward, he reached up and cupped my cheek in his hand. His palm was hot against my skin.

Don’t do this, I cried inside. Keep me. Want me. I need you to want me.