Chapter 18
BILLY
“Where are you going?” Those are the first words out of my mouth when I get home after being out all day.
Tolly and I had to make a delivery to Briarmoor Sanatorium which is always an interesting experience.
Our resident doctor seems to have developed a special interest in one of their patients, and for what he calls ‘research’ purposes, we’re dragging his tagged arse back and forth there three times a fucking week.
Heavy rain batters the huge gothic arch windows, tracery dissecting the glass into different shaped pieces, blustering wind attacking the thin panes, all of it loud, all of it violent.
It soothes me, the heavenly crashing noise of it washing away memories of the day so I can relax and be fully present with my girl.
“Penelope?” I question, hanging my dry jacket on the coat rack, shoving a hand through my hair, pulling the tightly curled strands upward as I do.
Her back’s to me, facing the windows, luscious long dark hair down her back, a wave of it smothering her entire upper half, a pale pink wellington boot in each of her hands, arms down by her sides, her back stiff.
“What are you doing?” I snort a half-laugh, walking around the various chairs and side tables to get up behind her.
My hands curl over her shoulders, massaging the tight muscles in her neck, thumbs kneading her back.
And I feel how hot she is, her skin burning beneath my touch despite the air in the cavernous room being icy cool, no fires burning behind their grates.
Only a short sleeved black T-shirt on her upper body, thin black leggings on her lower, a Pair of my white ribbed socks slouched on her feet.
It makes me want to smile, that little detail, something of mine on her. Insignificant to anyone else, but important to me.
I smooth my hands up the sides of her neck, fingers curling over the front of her throat, thumbs digging into her nape. I drop my mouth to her ear, my breath stirring her hair, nose brushing her temple.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, kissing the top of her cheekbone as I turn to face forwards too, flexing my fingers on her throat, applying a little pressure, eliciting a shiver in her.
“I missed you, Little Lamb,” I tell her quietly, watching as the rain tracks down the glass, blurring the outside world from our view, nothing existing except we two.
She snorts, this quick blow of air from her nose, a stiff singular shake of her head, and a click of her tongue. The welly boots drop to the floor with a thud, ends of her hair whipping me in the face as she breaks free of my loose hold, spinning around to face me, three-feet between us.
“Are you fucking her?” she seethes through gritted teeth, hands curled into fists at her sides, her entire body trembling like the ground beneath her is shaking.
I blink, saying nothing, just staring.
This incredulous creature.
The world has polished itself smooth with lies, but she still has edges, sharp enough to draw worship instead of blood. When she laughs, it sounds like a hymn sung out of time, when she looks at me, it’s as if she’s waiting for revelation.
Most would call her unbalanced, but I know her better. She moves like someone who’s seen behind the veil and refuses to look away. There’s holiness in her unravelling, a devotion in her defiance.
She isn’t broken.
She’s chosen.
And somewhere deep in me, something kneels when she smiles.
Most people flinch from that madness, that quiet, beautiful fracture, but I see the truth in it.
In her.
She’s a psychotic fucking monster.
So very perfect for me in every way.
“Penelope,” I speak her name with contempt on my tongue despite the smile on my mouth. “I already told you.”
“No, you didn’t,” she spits back, my smile falling, “we didn't talk about anything!”
She huffs, this overwhelming madness in her eyes as she starts to pace before me, going left to right, right to left, her focus on her feet, words slipping from her teeth I can’t quite hear.
“Penelope.”
“Don’t keep saying my name like that!” she screams at me, stopping still, her hands going to her hair, fisting in the roots, tearing at her scalp.
“Shut up,” she breathes out on an exhale, squeezing her eyes closed.
“She knows,” she says then, more to herself than me, smoothing her hair back down with her hands, taking in a smooth deep breath.
“Penelope,” I repeat again, her eyes opening, connecting with mine, I smile wide, “your crazy is showing.”
She laughs, raucous and dramatic, head thrown back, mouth open wide, a show, a display of pure insanity.
“You’re fucking her,” she rages.
A statement of words that from so many other women’s mouths were once accurate.
But that here, now, with her, they are the furthest thing from true.
She licks her lips, a smile slowly forming on her face, “You are a beautiful liar, Billy Blackwell.” She grins the last word, curling my name around her tongue like a chant meant to summon what should forever stay sleeping.
And it does.
I come undone, every boundary collapsing, as if she’s called me from the grave I didn’t know I’d dug.
One I am already long rotted in.
I laugh like I’m the mad one, lunacy is a strangle of smoke clogging my lungs, I’m closing the distance between us with barely any restraint at all.
My hands go to her upper arms, squeezing her biceps so hard it feels like they could go pop.
I shake her, her entire body like a ragdoll as I do, her teeth clacking together.
Still holding onto her, I bend at the waist, our eyes level, noses so close they could touch, and I catch her scent, roses and earth, something that would normally soothe me, but instead, in this moment, it only fires me up more.
“If I am fucking her.” I’m still smiling and so is she, but neither one of us is happy. “What are you going to do about it, Nells?” The grin on my mouth tastes like battery acid, the words on my tongue poison. “You're gunna kill me, huh?”
I shake her again, so violently it rattles even my own teeth, and my fingers tighten more, pinching her flesh hard enough to bruise.
That's why it makes me pause.
Feeling the little hard tube beneath her skin.
I know what it is without asking, my stomach sinks, a cold wash of sickly heat explodes beneath my skin, goosebumps erupting all over.
I feel as though I can't catch my breath, the air too heavy to inhale, phantom fists tightening around my lungs.
Squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.
My eyeballs bulge, my heart races, and all of my other organs seem to rush into overdrive, even my skeleton locking its joints in an effort to keep me on my feet.
“She knows, Billy,” Nellie spits at me, snarling once more, “your little bitch knows exactly where that body is buried, Billy.”
She looks at me, and I can see in her eyes she’s terrified, but just too angry, too proud, up on her high horse to really let it show.
The world would miss it, the fear, the wanting to be comforted but not wanting to say it, but I can feel it.
The heat rolling off of her despite her body being cool to the touch, it’s all heat from her head, her hair clinging to the back of her neck with a slick layer of sweat.
She’s shaking, and instead of coming to me for comfort like she used to, she’s shoving at my chest, beating me with her hands, and I just let her go for a second.
Shoving her away from me causing her to stumble back, her arms whirling around at her sides to keep herself on her feet.
“What do you mean, she knows exactly where the body is buried?” I ask cooly, trying not to think about her lies, her fucking betrayal, putting it all aside for just a moment.
“I mean what I said, Billy. Imogen knows where Thomas is buried, and she said if I let the two of you-” she cuts herself off, turning away from me with the back of her hand pressed to her mouth, squeezing her eyes closed momentarily.
“If I look the other way,” she says quietly, “you and her,” she takes in a slow shuddery breath, still facing away from me, “then she’ll keep it a secret.
” She swallows hard, and I hear it, like she’s swallowing around a pain filled lump lodged there.
“If I want to fuck her,” I reply calmly, “I will. I don’t need you to look the other way. I’ll fuck her in our bed next to you whilst you sleep if I fucking want to,” I say it so spitefully, yet so simply, that it makes me feel sick.
Penelope looks up at me sharply, her eyes narrowing slightly, tightening at the inner corners, pursing her lips, like she believes me, like she believes whatever bullshit Imogen’s been spewing in her ear.
I would never betray you, Little Lamb.
But you would me.
You already have.
I swallow past it, the pain I wish I didn’t feel, and wipe my hand over my face, look up at the ceiling, another thing that reminds me of her, the carved spiders, and quickly drop my gaze back to her.
“Where’s the body?” I ask her coldly, feeling my heart tearing at the inside of my chest.
“In the Douglas Firs,” she replies softly, eyes glassy as she tries not to look at me, like I’ve reached inside of her and plucked out her soul.
“Where, specifically?” I huff, reaching for a black hoodie on the coat rack, slipping my arms into the sleeves and pulling it over my head, the hood staying on.
“I don’t know,” she replies, this time turning away from me completely, making her way towards the bedroom, showing me her back.
“You don’t know?” I snarl.
“I don’t know,” she shrugs, still walking away, her anger shrinking like it was never even there to begin with, her voice quiet.
I laugh, this loud belting sound of sarcasm that tears through my teeth without thought, “It’s gunna be a long night then, Little Lamb,” I tell her, grabbing another hoodie from the rack and launching it in her direction.
She just manages to snag it out of the air as she turns back to face me, giving me a look of confusion, “What?”
I step right up to her, standing tall, I glance down at her, “You think I’d leave a body just anywhere someone could find it?
” I ask her, not giving her time to answer before I’m speaking again.
“You think I’d ever let anyone hold something over your head and not do something about it?
” She blinks hard, looking down at the clutched black material in her hands.
“Yeah,” I say with a short huff of laughter, “because even when you think the worst of me, I still fucking protect you.”
I turn away then, heading back towards the door, pausing just long enough before it for her to make her way over, slipping past me to reach for the handle.
Her fingers are dainty on the gold metal, pushing the lever down, pulling it open just an inch, but I reach over her head, placing my palm flat against the door, clicking it back closed.
Nellie looks up at me, her dark brows pinched, a crease in the centre of them, a wrinkle in her forehead.
Her lips part to speak, but she stops before she starts, watching my other hand lift.
My fingers tracing up the inside of her bicep, over her hoodie, and I dip my face down into hers, breathing her in like she’ll never smell exactly like this again.
My lips touch hers when I speak, her entire body trembling like she already knows I know, “And I might be a liar, Little Lamb,” I say quietly, my eyes flicking between her glassy ones, “but so the fuck are you.”