When she sees my headlights swing into the driveway, she stands up, her pale blue dress swishing gently in the night's breeze.
“Hey Luke,” she says softly, her voice as kind and gentle as it's always been. A collage of memories sweeps through me. Robbie tending flowers, leaning over the fence to talk with me, smiling sweetly at me. When she sees the blood covering my hands and splattering my shoes, her face pales. I move quickly past her and into the house, hoping that the security cameras won't catch the color in the dark. “Luke, what happened?” she gasps, running after me and squeezing into the door before I manage to slam it shut.
I don't answer Robbie, stripping off my clothes and dropping them to the floor in the living room. I'll burn them later. Right now, I need a shower. That's it. I don't want to talk, don't want to think about Robbie or Aliyah. It's not so much that I'm upset, but that I'm lost. I don't know who I am. I don't like that.
“Are you okay?”
“It's not my blood,” I growl at her, letting her see me naked and bloody and shaking. Robbie doesn't hesitate to come up to me, to peer into my eyes and ask a million questions I don't feel like fucking answering. “I killed another man today,” I say, testing her resolve. She puts her hands against my chest and waits there, her chocolate hair wrapped into a beautiful braided bun atop her head. “And I fucked up. I let him kill one of my clients.”
“Clients?” Robbie asks, and I can't help but laugh. She knew – at least somewhat – about my penchant for murder, but did she know she was fucking a whore? Yeah, that's right. I know what I really am. The darkness? The taboo? Maybe I'm just a fucking slut who likes to get paid for his fun?
“I fuck people for money, Robbie.” I snatch her chin in my bloody hand and lean close, letting her see me, all of me, demons and devils included. If this doesn't drive her away, well, I don't know what will. I take no pleasure in the surprise and hurt that register in her face. “That's right. I fuck them for money, give their demons something dark to latch onto. I'm bad news, Robbie. I tried to warn you before and you didn't listen.”
She swallows and her face shifts like a kaleidoscope, colors of emotion passing over her beautiful features like a storm.
“I invited Audra Holiday and Clarice Braxton out tonight to kill a man. I didn't know who and I didn't care. I was going to find a man out there and play judge, jury, and executioner.”
Robbie starts to speak, but I shush her by moving forward and pinning her against the wall with the weight of my darkness.
“And then he showed up. Him.” I laugh and the sound echoes painfully. I feel my hand fall away and my body slump back until I'm stumbling and hitting the wall opposite Robbie. My fingers leave bloody spots against the harvest orange paint, like leaves in a fall windstorm. “The man that killed Aliyah. Audra found him somehow, lured him out with my name. He's dead and I don't feel a thing.” I spread my hands and stare at the rapidly drying bloodstains. “He killed his own sister for the crime of loving me, and I don't even give a fuck that he's dead.”
“Luke,” Robbie begins, but I cut her off.
“Don't fucking call me that!” I scream, hitting my fist into the wall. “Don't ever fucking call me that again. Didn't you hear what I just said, Robbie? I'm a man so twisted by fate that he can never be untangled. I'm a whore. I'm a murderer. Stop pretending you give a shit and just go.”
I don't expect to be slapped. Maybe if this was Audra, but not Robbie.
She has tears brimming in her eyes, but she doesn't make any move to leave.
“Luke,” she says, emphasizing the use of my nickname. “I … I can't say I'm exactly thrilled with your choice of career or that I condone murder, but … and I can't help this … Luke, I still like you.” Robbie sighs and steps back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I like you. I wish I didn't, but I do. I see something in you, maybe the same thing Aliyah saw, maybe not.”
“Robbie,” I begin, but she doesn't let me finish.
“You might be filled with darkness, but that's okay. You might be a decade older than me, but that's okay, too, because I think … and maybe this is selfish or conceited of me … Luke, I think I can help heal you. I want to be the one that heals you.” She leans towards me, so close I can feel her breath on my forehead. “Luke, I choose you. I want to choose you.”
For a brief instant, I consider letting go, forgetting about the taboo, about my clients, my pain, and trying with Robbie, really trying. But I can't. And she's too young, and I'm too old, and I am a fucking shattered glass mirror ready to cut her into pieces.