34. End of Story
~ brIDGET ~
“Bridget… don’t you see that dying will hurt others—the people who care about you?” Sam asked in a voice that edged on torment.
I blinked and stopped walking, turned to look at him, a little shocked because I’d gone so deep I’d kind of forgotten I was talking.
So I just stood there, staring at him, shaking my head.
“Don’t deny it, Bridget. If you died, anyone who cared about you would be hurt by that.”
“I’m not denying that,” I said finally. “I’m just kind of shocked that you haven’t figured it out yet.”
Sam frowned. “Figured what out?”
I raised my brows. “That there is no-one who cares. Not really.”
I kind of blurted it out, so it wasn’t until it was out there, hanging in the air between us, that I realized what I’d said.
I would have been nervous, felt vulnerable, tried to backpedal and reassure him really quickly, but he didn’t immediately rush into the void telling me how many people loved me and God was there and blah blah blah.
No.
This strange, double-sided man stared at me for a few seconds, then his eyes narrowed and his entire body quivered with rage. “Is that true?”
Welp. “I mean, there’s people who get paid to care. And they’re diligent. They’d notice if I was gone. But the biggest gap I’d leave would be in their calendars. And there’s a few people who’d show up at my funeral. But their lives wouldn’t miss a beat. I don’t have family. I don’t really have friends. Not the kind that fly in when you’re in the hospital, or whatever.”
I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable because his eyes were very intense, and he looked like he might launch out of that chair and come to me, which I definitely didn’t want. I never wanted to be touched after I talked about my dad, or any of that shit.
“You aren’t a hugger, are you?” I asked him warily when he didn’t speak. I was also struggling with his fucking silence.
“I can be,” he said, but his voice was dark, flat.
“No, no, that’s not… I mean, you’re good. You just looked like… like you were about to move.”
Sam’s jaw rolled and he clawed a hand through his hair. “Seems like maybe you’ve needed more people to move faster for you your whole life.”
I had to fight not to roll my eyes. But he kept going.
“So, did that step-uncle or whatever he was ever get convicted?”
“No. First I took his girlfriend, and then her money. Worst punishment for both of them.”
Sam’s eyes went flat. “Debatable,” he muttered. “Are you still in touch with your aunt?”
Ugh. “Only once a year. She’s the executor of my parents' estate. She can’t touch the money anymore—that’s mine until I die—but that bitch knows she gets the money if I go, so she has to have proof of life every year.”
“Proof of life?”
“Yeah, she legally has to have proof that I still breathe. So every January she flies into the airport, I drive there and walk past her, flip her the bird, then walk away. It’s a very sweet reunion.”
“That’s fucked up.”
I spluttered. “Don’t you have to do a hail mary now, or something?”
“Not a priest, remember?”
“So you’re allowed to say fuck?”
“I’m not supposed to,” he muttered, grimacing and looking away from me like he was mad at himself. “I told you, I’m not good at normal people.”
“That’s okay, I’m not normal.”
He looked back at me and there was something in his eyes that made my belly-button flutter. For a moment we just stared at each other.
Then I realized I wasn’t pacing, that I’d just been standing there while we were talking for the past little while, and that was weird. Especially because I didn’t feel like I was caged anymore. Didn’t feel like I needed to move, which is how I usually felt after these conversations. Even ones that weren’t as revealing as this. Usually I couldn’t sit still for hours afterwards.
“Bridget?”
“Yeah?” I bit my lip nervously and his eyes cut to that, then back up to mine.
“That whole story… that really sucks. Like… I can’t believe you’re still here. So… well done.”
My head jerked back. No one had ever complimented me about that story before. I snorted, because I didn’t know what else to do. “You’re right. You don’t do normal well.”
He shrugged. “What would be normal?”
I gave it some thought, because I’d only done this a few times. “Either, ask for increasingly gory or private details about all the fucked-uppedness, or to put your hand on my arm and tell me how awful that is and how much you care about me because of it.”
“I guess I’ll skip the part where I’d weep quietly about the girl you could have been then?”
I did laugh then. “Oh dear, so you’ve been through this too?”
He shook his head. “Nothing like that. I’m just the product of an occasionally violent, always neglectful home. The local gangs were my friends, and organized crime suited me because I’m not dumb. But I got out. In fact… well, you kind of make me feel like a pussy, if I’m honest.”
“Am I corrupting you? Or do you always talk like this?”
He gave a little smile. “I usually work with guys in prison. They’re a lot more colorful than pussy, trust me.”
“You’re saying I talk like a felon?”
“I’m saying you haven’t corrupted me. Yet.”
There was a split second where his eyes locked on mine and something crackled behind my navel. But it was there and gone so fast, then he was turning away, picking up his mug, and getting out of his chair, so I wasn’t sure it had actually happened.
“Did you want a coffee yet?”
“Probably not a good idea.”
“Oh, right, the heart thing.” He sat back down, plunking the mug in front of him and shaking his head. “That’s a helluva story, Bridget.”
“I’m a helluva girl,” I said and winked.
Sam cleared his throat and looked away, grinning, but I saw the way he was rubbing his hand on his thigh, and I smiled too.
He liked me.
“Look,” he said a moment later. “I get that your life is far from normal. And I can even understand why you… want what you want. But… isn’t there something in this life that gives you purpose? Something that would make it worth sticking around for a while? Or at the very least, not hiring a guy to kill you?”
“I didn’t hire him. He was very clear. No money is going to change hands.”
Sam cut me an unimpressed look. But the fucker didn’t speak, just sat there in silence. And I wanted to curse because that meant he’d already figured out that I could handle a lot of messed up conversations, but silence would kill me.
Metaphorically.
I rolled my eyes. “Look, like I said, I wanted to be hunted, right? And I thought… I thought if someone else killed me I wouldn’t feel guilty about killing myself.”
“But?”
I winced. “No but.”
“Yes, there’s a but.”
“No, for real, I just—”
“You just told me that you realized you don’t want to die! Are you just going to ignore that?”
“No. But I also told you that I realized I didn’t want to die that way.”
“What difference does it make?” his voice was still quiet, low. But there was a hint of menace in it and it made my stomach flutter again.
“The difference is… I find it thrilling.”
“Being hunted? By a human being?”
“Yeah.”
“So find a guy who will hunt you without killing you! There must be a kink like that?”
“There is, but… this isn’t my kink, Sam. This is—”
“Of course it’s a fucking kink. Wake up!”
He didn’t yell, but the words were so aggressive, I blinked and my heart started to race.
I thought he’d back down and apologize, but instead his jaw got tighter.
“Bridget, I don’t do normal well, but I live and work with these kinds of guys—right on the fringe of society. I used to be one! They’re real people, but they keep the veil over their true lives. Inside, most of them are animals. It’s always only a matter of time before a guy like that goes too far.”
“I mean, hopefully.”
He gaped at me and I stared back, and I wanted to start moving again, but I was frozen in that gaze. Because it wasn’t angry or confused.
It was… sad. And that made me mad. “I was being cute. Do not pity me.”
Sam rubbed his face with one hand. “I wasn’t pitying you. I was—”
“You think I don’t know what these guys are like down deep? Hello, Gordon Reynolds was my dad. Trust me, no one understands these kinds of men better than me!”
“Then why would you put yourself in their hands? Why would you let them destroy you? They aren’t worth it!”
“Because they’re the only ones who will!”
“That makes no sense.”
“Bullshit, it makes every kind of sense. I can’t kill myself. I don’t want to. But I don’t want to be here anymore either. So finding someone else who has the balls I don’t have—”
“He’s got a lot more than balls you don’t have,” he scoffed. “And I’m sure that’s exactly what you’re going to find out. These guys are toying with you, Bridget. You’ve already found one who wanted to cut you to ribbons—”
“I believe the exact quote was, open you like a zipper,”
Sam didn’t respond, just stared at me like he was mad.
“Why are you angry right now?” I asked him, genuinely curious. “Why do you even care? You don’t know me.”
“I know enough to know you’re worth more than dying in some alleyway in the hands of a monster.”
“That monster is going to be kinder to me than any man who was ever in my life before.” Except Richard.
“Then you’re meeting the wrong men,” Sam said bluntly.
I hacked a humorless laugh. “You’ll get no argument from me there.”
“But—then why? You said you went looking for these guys—”
“Because once one of them has fucked you, none of the good ones want anything to do with you!”
Sam frowned, but now I was mad.
“Don’t decide you know me—I know you.”
His brows popped up. “You do?”
“Yeah, I do—you’re the redeemed villain. You might get judgment from the Pearl Clutchers, but the rest of the world loves you. You show up at the gym and you’re a beast. You go to college and you’re a man of hidden talents who turned his life around. You go for an interview and you’re the, did you see the new guy’s tattoos–hot! guy. ”
Sam huffed. “That’s not entirely—”
“You know what happens when the high school slut turns up at the gym, or goes to college, or turns her life around?”
He went still. “What?”
“She’s still just a slut.”
Sam’s lips pressed thin. “So, first of all, no. And secondly, none of that matters if you’re putting yourself in the path of these guys. Of course you’re going to get treated like meat if you jump in the cage with the wolf. You’re playing with fire, then complaining about getting burned!”
That made me suck in. “No,” I said firmly, glaring at him when he looked like he was about to argue. “I mean… that’s true about some of them, sure. But not this one. He’s different.”
Cain carrying me through the house and laying me in that bath…
Sam actually scoffed. “Bridget… you can’t seriously believe a guy you found on the dark web who’s willing to kill you is actually a good man?”
“No,” I said, folding my arms again. “No, he’s not a good man. But I’m not a good woman, either. He gets it. And unlike some people, he doesn’t judge me for all the ways I’m broken.”
Sam slumped. “I’m not judging you, Bridget. I’m worried about you. These men are monsters.”
“No. Not this one,” I said, a little breathless because my heart was banging so quickly. Cain’s gentle fingers on the bandaids, pressing them so carefully against my skin. “This one’s just… broken the same way I am.”
Which is exactly why I need him.
The thought was weird and out of nowhere—as if it didn’t come from my mind. But it felt so true, I almost hugged myself.
“Bridget—”
I couldn’t breathe for all the right reasons this time. “You’ve been really helpful, Sam. Thank you. But I have to go.”
“No—please, I’m sorry I got angry, I was feeling protective for you—”
“I know, Sam. It’s fine. For real. You’re a good man. Clearly. I shouldn’t have put all of this on you. But I did. So… just forget about it, okay?”
I started walking, darting past the dining table when he got to his feet and out through the kitchen, his voice bouncing off the walls behind me. But I didn’t look back, and I didn’t answer.
I ran out to my car and got inside and started it.
And texted while I drove.
ME: You said I can’t try to entice you out, so I won’t. I’m just saying I think I need another bath.
It was a huge relief when he texted back so quickly.
CAIN: That was one-time only. Limited edition.
ME: Cain, please. I NEED you.
CAIN: I have that effect on women.
ME: I’m starting to believe it. I want to change the rules.
CAIN: Not going to happen.
ME: Hear me out.
CAIN: Are you giving me the safe word?
My heart slammed against my ribs and I almost dropped the phone I texted so fast.
ME: No!
CAIN: Then nothing changes. This is it, Bridget. This is the game. Live with it. Or die with it. The choice is yours.
And no matter what I sent after that, he didn’t respond, until by the time I got home I was almost in tears out of pure frustration.