Chapter Eighteen
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Good…riddance?
Azalea
I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m doing it. All I know is that my stomach hurts because Malcolm is a mystery my brain refuses to ignore.
After he spent four days of his life searching for my tiny emotional-support crystal, it seems rude to kill him. So what if he’s horrible and probably scheming and possibly going to shatter me into a million pieces once I give him whatever it is he wants?
He talked to who knows how many strangers for hours on end over the course of a near-full week to find something I lost while luring him into an alley where he was supposed to be stabbed to death.
Saying my emotions concerning Malcolm have become complicated would be humorously trite.
There’s too many to sort through. Too many to decode. Too many to experience.
Which is why, usually, I choose not to experience them at all.
Usually, I settle for the bleak sensation of hollow emptiness.
Unfortunately, that was before I decided to assist in a murder.
Malcolm and I may be black and white, but people rarely are. If killing him is a mistake, I need to figure that out now. Before it’s too late.
So. Here I am. Standing in front of his private elevator doors, holding a bag of home-baked cookies, and mentally preparing myself for whatever might come next.
When the doors silently slip open, I grip my bag and swallow.
Within the jet capsule, Malcolm smiles, and my skin crawls as the knowledge I’m about to enter a home as dark as mine is light invades my brain. I might not survive this. But it’s too late to back down now.
Stepping aside to give me room in the dark pod, Malcolm says, “Did you have a safe trip?”
My jaw locks as I enter. “I’ve had your location for weeks.” Even if I did only notice we occupied the same building a few days ago. “What I’d like to know is if it’s a coincidence, or if you’re creepier than I thought.”
“Creepier? You think I’m creepy?” He closes the doors and sends us up. “I’m hurt.”
I secure myself firmly on the other side of the box—as far away from the creepy man as possible. “Not a coincidence, then. Got it.”
He laughs. “It is a coincidence, actually, but a very happy one. I like knowing you’re near. I like checking for your car in the lot and assuring myself that you’re home safe.”
“Wild. I like not being stalked.”
“I don’t stalk you. I just tend to know where you are. All the time. Considering you’re usually home or at work, it’s not a difficult schedule to memorize.”
Tense, I eye him. “I think I’ve changed my mind about watching a movie with you. I’d like to go back down now, so I can begin looking for a new apartment.”
As the elevator stops at the top floor, he pulls a key free. “Pity.” He presents the silver metal. “You can’t escape without this. So I guess you’re stuck here. With me.”
The word regret does not encompass a single ounce of what I’m experiencing right now. It can’t scratch the surface of my subdued emotions as the doors before me open to present a pit—a deep, endless, oily pit of nothingness.
My mouth dries.
Light comes here to die.
I’m convinced of it.
Everything, from the walls to the floors to the ceilings, is black. Every chair and couch. Every shelf. All of it. Pitch, from top to bottom.
I shrink back as unease so potent it makes it hard to breathe tangles around my nerves.
“What’s wrong?” Malcolm asks me, for the second time in his life.
Swallowing hard, I whisper, “I have the distinct feeling if I step in there, I’m never stepping out.”
Coolly, he stops the elevator doors from closing by leaning against them. “You’re more than welcome to move in, little dove. Shall we tour to see which room you’d like to be yours?”
I neither move nor reply.
He muses, “Why, yes. I do suppose moving in with me already would be a bit fast, but I’m nothing if not invested in the thrill after a leap.”
“I’m not joking, crow.” My voice shakes. “If I step foot in there, I’m going to die.”
His smile fades. He draws his attention toward the ebony ceiling, then fixes it back on me. “How quickly?”
“What?”
“How quickly will you die?”
Heart in my throat, I say, “I don’t know. Immediately?”
He’s got his gloves on and a hand wrapped around my arm in seconds.
My stomach lurches, and I fight, but it’s no use. He yanks, and I tumble into the center of the void, just managing to catch myself on the arm of a couch.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…” Malcolm hums as the elevator doors slip shut behind us. “Well, we’re good and decently past immediate, wouldn’t you say?”
I whirl, but words dry up in my throat.
Cold as ice, Malcolm’s eyes are the only shred of color in the entirety of the space—if ashen blue can really be considered color at all.
“Feelings aren’t fact, dove. Think of how many things you’ve already survived, how many rules you’ve already broken with me.
You already know how illogical your thoughts can be. Practice challenging them.”
As he slinks by, I choke on my fears. “You think it’s that easy?”
He starts climbing a set of slick spiraling stairs. “No, I don’t think it’s easy. I just think it’s possible.” Looming above me, he peers down his straight nose and says, “I believe you’re strong enough to do it.”
I stomp after him. “You have no idea what it’s like—being like this.
I’m isolated. All the time. There are chains around my brain, and I can barely withstand their weight on the bad days.
I’ve been a freak and a weirdo my entire life.
People have pushed and taunted and made things worse on purpose because it’s funny to watch someone in pain.
I spent my childhood horribly underweight, because no one would let me eat.
They’d jeer and tease until I’d throw up.
” My feet pound against every step, the vibrations echoing in my chest, mingling with the erratic stampede of my heart.
“Someone wrote germs on my lunchbox, and I couldn’t touch it after that, so I left it at school, and my guardian punished me for losing it, and I spent the rest of high school without one. And you know something?”
He reaches the wide, dim hall at the top of the stairs and turns us up a path toward a set of ajar double doors displaying a jet bed within.
Fragile, I fight tears back in a futile effort to blockade my emotions. “You’re the worst bully I’ve ever met.”
He pauses, hand on the doorknob of the large bedroom.
His icy eyes cut through me as he slowly murmurs, “You don’t…
say?” He swings the door open wide and presents the room.
“Bedroom number one. The master suite. It’s mine right now, obviously, but you’re welcome to it, considering you’re moving in. ”
“I never said—”
“You said you couldn’t leave. I quite like that picture.
So.” He splays his arm toward the black hole.
“Peruse your options. I’m starting with the best of what I have, because you deserve nothing less.
Two walk-in closets. An adjacent study with a modest library.
I find the bathroom excessive, but no one can say it isn’t spacious.
Just so you know, professionals come and clean while we’re at work, so everything is always immaculate.
” He marches across the vast space, toward a set of crystal glass doors that open onto a short balcony.
Throwing them open, he steps out into the sunset sky.
Way up here, no city buildings mar the horizon.
It’s just blue fading into splashes of pink and orange.
It’s just paint-splattered clouds. It’s just him.
Standing there. On a precipice overlooking air.
Throat dry, I say, “You can’t keep me here.”
He points. “I could, actually. With a fair amount of ease, if we’re being perfectly honest.” He leans back against the railing.
“You’re a small woman. I’m a large man. You’ve just confessed to a lifetime without personal connections—no friends, no family…
if guardian is any indication. Realistically, how long do you think it would take for anyone to even realize you’re missing? ”
My heart trembles, and the tears return to prick and sting.
“That’s what I thought.”
“You’re a monster.” My voice breaks.
A devilish smile sharpens his features, and he opens his arms. “Your monster, darling dove.”
My knuckles crack as I clutch my bag filled with all its hopeful treats. I know this foolishness was a futile attempt at feeling normal for once.
Maybe, after what Malcolm did for me this week, I deluded myself into thinking of him as more human than creature.
Maybe I thought tonight could be a chance to have my very first movie night with someone not quite friend, but not completely enemy.
Maybe after all the other things I’ve survived with him at my side, I thought I could manage one more.
“Why…” I hiss. “…are you like this?”
“Like what, exactly?”
“Demented. Controlling.” I sneer. “Insensitive and insincere.”
His brows rise. “Insincere? Now you’re just being mean. I assure you, Azalea. I have never once been insincere.”
I step forward, into his room, and square my shoulders.
He chuckles. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to make me prove it?”
I ignore him. Anger builds. Scathes. Burns. “For two years, I’ve hated you.” My voice wobbles as fury rocks me to my core. “After a lifetime of people hurting me, you think I’d be used to it, but you take it farther than any of them ever did. You’re so subtle about it. It’s practically an artform.”
He dips his chin in a bow. “Why, thank you.”
Air shreds through my lungs. “I can’t stand your attitude.
I can’t stand your personality. Everything about you makes me want to throw up.
And to make it all so much worse? You balance every rotten thing about you out with something that seems kind or considerate or thoughtful.
Being around you is exhausting. It’s one calculated attack after another, and I can’t escape the confusion. Are you even human?”
“Who knows?”