Chapter Twenty
?
I don’t think…I want to kill him anymore.
Azalea
Me: Due to unexpected circumstances, I can no longer assist you in your schemes. Thank you for all your efforts up until now. I wish you the best of luck.
I stare at the text to Junction, finger hovering over send.
I shouldn’t send it. I know, logically, that I shouldn’t, but my brain isn’t providing me with logic right now.
It’s insisting on correct. And correct somehow means making myself a target to people willing to kill someone else instead of betraying them outright.
I should destroy this phone, tell Malcolm the truth, and hope he’s more powerful than them. Or maybe I shouldn’t destroy it. Maybe I should give it to him? I don’t think he’d care, considering he already mentioned knowing that I’m trying to kill him yesterday.
Unless that was just a figure of speech I don’t understand.
Which makes the most sense.
Considering that people don’t usually fall in love with someone actively and genuinely attempting to murder them.
Biting my lip, I twirl a damp piece of hair around my finger and glance at my personal phone. Malcolm isn’t…exactly a normal person though, is he?
Realizing what I’m doing, I cease twirling at once and stare at my hand.
Odd. Strange. Out of character.
Something is quite wrong with me.
Ever since I watched Malcolm step off his balcony, something weird shifted inside my body. I’m feeling…stuff. I think. I’m not really sure I can name the sensations flooding my blood stream.
I do not know what to do about them.
But, at the least, I do know not to send this message to Junction. Even if that decision makes my chest burn and something in my brain ruffles at the idea of my behavior being incorrect.
Flexing my fingers, I reach for my smartphone.
Per usual, Malcolm’s good morning text sits unopened on account of it having been sent at an unreasonably early hour.
Which is the stupidest thing ever considering we spent much of the night playing through Kaleidoscope Dawn. Figures a monster wouldn’t need sleep.
Jutting my lip, I stare at the message.
Crow: Good morning, little dove. Miss you.
It’s fluffy nonsense, of course. It’s barely been ten hours since we parted ways, and most of them we should have spent sleeping. There’s no way he could miss me already.
Tucking my legs up on my bed, I coddle myself and stare at the insipid words.
What in the world am I feeling? What in the world is this hum? It ignited at Fantasy Haven when I learned that I might have a chance to finally win against the monster in one of our games. But it’s something else now. Something more than curiosity.
When I saw he hadn’t plummeted to his death, I was relieved for more than one reason. Sure, his survival meant I wouldn’t be a prime suspect, but that wasn’t all of it. I was genuinely shaken to my core over the possibility that he was just…
Gone.
That quickly.
Because I’d told him to be.
It washed me cold.
And I do hate to say it…but I don’t think I want to kill Malcolm anymore.
It’s worse than that, though. Not only do I not want to kill him, I don’t even think I want him dead. Monster he may be…and yet…he really does feel like mine.
Me: If someone were trying to kill you…
I send the message and discover I’m chewing my lip again. Forcibly, I knock it off and wait. Malcolm’s response comes quick.
Crow: If it’s anyone other than you, I don’t want any part in it, thank you.
I glance at the burner phone. And I have no idea what I should do. I have no idea what’s smart. I have no idea what’s right anymore.
I made the decision to team up with Junction on a whim fueled by bitterness and annoyance. I let months of shoved-down anger control my decisions. And now is no different. I’m still letting shoved-down emotions I barely understand propel me forward.
For scarcely being able to identify my feelings and rarely ever letting myself experience them, I sure let them control me an awful lot.
I wish I didn’t do that. I wish I felt more like an active player in my life.
I wish I were a better person. I wish…more often…
that I felt like a person at all. Instead of just someone going through the motions, disconnected, on edge.
I wish I could be a person instead of someone following a set of code that doesn’t really make any sense.
Truthfully, even now, I don’t know what Malcolm wants from me any more than I know what I want from him. I still don’t believe he loves me, but it’s not because I don’t believe monsters can love.
It’s because I don’t believe anyone can love someone like me.
All I know right now is that I don’t actually want him to die.
And maybe that’s just because I’ve felt a glimpse of the weight taking a life sets in one’s hands. But most likely it’s because the only time my brain shuts up about the phantom sensation of his arms around me is when he’s near and there’s a chance he’ll hold me again.
He said I was falling in love with him.
I’m positive that’s nonsense.
I’m convinced it’s just another way he’s trying to get in my head.
Realistically, I’m touch-starved and lonely and scared and lost and…not a very good person.
But, regardless, nothing happens if I stand still. Which is a shame. Because standing still is all I’ve done for most of my life.
Taking in a breath, I lift my phone and type.
Me: Can we talk?
Crow: On my way.
?
“So.” I swallow, unsure if I’m anxious because of what I’m saying or if I’m anxious because another living person is sitting on my couch. “That’s the situation.”
Dark as a blot against my sofa, Malcolm says, “I know.”
I blink and stop pacing around the coffee table in the middle of my living room. “You…know?”
“Who says let’s watch a sunset downtown?
And inviting me to a theme park?” He exhales a laugh.
“Please, dove. Don’t insult my intelligence.
I already told you I knew you were trying to kill me.
That wasn’t a metaphor. You were very obvious about it.
” Reclining, he crosses his legs and links his fingers around his knee.
I stare at him, then at the burner phone he immediately neglected after I handed it to him. It’s sitting there, beside him, another black blot on my couch cushion.
“You’re also really bad at being a murderer, by the way. I’ve been suffering every night, thinking how cute it is.”
I bristle. “Well, sorry. I did tell the guy I wasn’t a professional when he came to recruit me.
Who in their right mind would approach some random woman and ask her to help them kill her boss?
” I plant a sassy hand on my hip—which is also out of character for me, so I drop it.
“It’s inane and illogical and completely mad. ”
“I agree.”
“Seriously. Aren’t there places to find proper assassins? A Fiver or Craigslist or something? What’s that other one? The professionally professional one…”
“LinkedIn?”
I snap my fingers. “Yes. A LinkedIn! For assassins. A reliable database for all your murder needs.”
His lips curve. “I’d think it’d be more like a Tinder. Match you with your murderer.”
“You’re not funny,” I say.
“I’m a little bit funny.”
Okay. Perhaps. Just a little bit.
Fidgeting, I link my fingers behind my back and stand very tall. “All of this is to say, I’m very, very sorry for trying to kill you, and probably you should take precautions against being murdered in the future.”
His lips twitch, a little too amused while he seems to be biting back his smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, and don’t worry about this guy. I’ve already got it handled. Which explains why you haven’t heard from him for a little while now.”
Oh. Yes. That would explain that, actually. Yikes. I guess it’s a very good thing I didn’t message him this morning in case cops have his burner by now.
Malcolm says, “By the way, I accept and appreciate your apology, dove.”
Relief settles into the aching pit of my chest, but I don’t allow myself a moment to dwell on it. “Excellent. In other news, since I was only dating you to murder you, I believe it may be prudent to terminate that relationship immediately.”
His amusement dies. “What?”
“I was fake dating you for the purpose of crime. You knew this, on some level. I didn’t exactly keep my convoluted feelings of loathing secret.” Because I really, truly, am a terrible accomplice.
“Isn’t this the part where you tell me that you don’t want our relationship to be fake anymore?”
I blink at this insane man. “Am I not saying that?”
“You’re saying you don’t want it to exist anymore. That’s different than not wanting it to be fake. You’re basically breaking up with me.”
Slowly, I ease myself toward my loveseat and nestle down to peer at Malcolm. “I’ve tried to help someone kill you. Heck. I’ve tried to kill you. When I choked you, I wasn’t messing around.”
“Yes, and?”
“Why would you date someone who’s tried to kill you?”
“Because I love you?”
Perfect. That’s exactly the response I was hoping for.
Smiling, I lean forward, planting an elbow on my knee and my chin in my hand.
“That’s nice. But, see, I don’t love you.
And now that I’ve come clean, there’s nothing more a relationship with you affords me.
I’m becoming a better, less vengeful person, and I’m taking steps toward respecting myself enough not to let you mess with me so much.
Now that I know you’re unlikely to fire me, since you like me so much, I will be exercising numerous boundaries and going so far as to threaten you with quitting should you ignore them. ”
He watches me. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Like what?”
“I mean.” He lays a finger on the burner phone beside him. “Technically, you’ve just admitted to several counts of attempted murder. That sounds an awful lot like blackmail to me. And if we’re threatening each other…well.”
My smile vanishes.
“Now, I’m not saying I’d blackmail you to keep you in a relationship with me…but…”
“That’s revolting,” I state.
He spreads his arms, as though to remind me who I’m talking to.
For reasons inconclusive, I smile again.
Have I been doing a lot of that lately? I think so. Normally, I only smile when I’m playing my fluffy, cute, and stupid games. Never in front of others. But here I am. And here he is. And here we are.
And I’m smiling.
Because it feels like I’m finally on level ground with him. I’m not dreading the unknown as much. Maybe we’ve reached an understanding. Or maybe I’m starting to understand my place in his world a little better.
Whatever he wants from me, one thing stands. He wants something. And, clearly, it’s something that blackmail can’t get him.
That means I have power.
And power is a comforting thing to have.
I say, “So. You’re blackmailing me into staying in a relationship with you?”
He nods. “Yes, that exactly. I’m blackmailing you into admitting that we’re in a real relationship. Not a fake one. Not a revenge one. Not a murder one. A real, lovey-dovey one.”
“I’m not incredibly lovey or dovey.”
“I find you incredibly dovey, actually.”
Huffing, I sink back in my seat. “You know what I mean.”
His smile sends a jolt of something through me.
I do my best to ignore it, even as unbidden warmth crawls up my neck.
“To confirm,” he murmurs, “we’re in a real relationship now, yes?”
“Against my will, sure. We are.”
“Cute.”
“Heinous.”
“I look forward to seeing how you flirt with me when you’re not trying to keep up the appearances you believe a normal couple possess.”
I shudder at the mere thought. “I have a question.”
“Yes, dove?”
“Let’s say all the great big amounts of growth I’ve experienced between last night and this morning lean somewhat heavily on the fickle side. What if I maybe, accidentally, by mistake get upset with you, and try to kill you again?”
He chuckles, rises, and approaches me. Planting a hand on the back cushion of my chair, he looms above the loveseat. “I think…that might just be what most people call marriage, darling.”
I laugh.
Malcolm’s breath catches, his smile fades, and his eyes widen.
Crossing my arms, I fix a sardonic smirk on the man. “You’re losing your grasp on the feasible, crow. If you aren’t careful, I’ll completely abandon my suspension of disbelief.”
Pulling a glove on, he hunches, framing my face in his palm. “Explain yourself,” he murmurs.
“As if I’d ever believe a man like you would be interested in marrying someone like me.”
“Oh. So that’s what you’re getting at.” His grip tightens. “And if I told you that I’m very interested, what then?”
As if.
“Tomorrow’s Monday,” I say.
“Yes, and?”
I flutter my lashes. “Want to play marriage chicken? First one to bail must submit to a punishment of the other’s choosing.”
His eyes spark. “Are you serious?”
“Sure. Why not? Marry your almost-assassin.” My eyes roll. “That makes a world of sense.”
“Azalea.”
My nerves pinch in response to the vibration of ecstasy in his voice. “What?”
“Clear my morning. I’m getting married.”