Chapter Fourteen #2
I meet his eyes, trying not to let my nerves show. "Making you breakfast."
His eyes narrow and he takes a step closer, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and I so badly want to reach out and trace the lines of his abs with my finger. "And how exactly did you get out of the cuffs?"
I hold up the small silver key, "I found it in your closet the day you cleaned it out. But before you get mad, just listen to me."
Silas opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, needing to get the words out before I lose my nerve .
"I'm not going anywhere. I could have left at night while you were sleeping for the last month.
I didn't, I chose to stay. The cuffs, the locked door, they're not necessary.
I want to be here, I want to learn what you do.
This," I gesture to the breakfast spread, "is my way of showing you that you can trust me. "
He stares at me for a long moment with his jaw clenched tight until I see some of the tension leave his shoulders. "You're a pain in the ass."
I shrug. "It happens."
He steps closer, reaching out to take the key from my hand. "Alright, Charlotte. Then sit down and eat with me. If you made my breakfast correctly and it tastes good, I'll hear you out."
I sit down across from Silas, trying to keep my face neutral as he takes his first bite. He chews the eggs slowly, his expression giving nothing away. He moves on to the bacon, taking a deliberate bite, then chewing as slow as humanly possible. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
"Is it up to your standards, Princess?" I ask, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
He takes a sip of his orange juice, then sets the glass back down on the kitchen table. "I guess it's passable."
"Passable?" I scoff. "That’s all I get? Those eggs are perfect and you know it."
The asshole smirks. “They're a little runny."
"They are not! They're exactly how you like them."
He picks up a piece of toast, examining both sides. "The toast is a little dark."
I throw my hands up in exasperation. "Oh, come on! The toast is golden brown, exactly like you make it. "
“What are you expecting from me? A standing ovation?”
I roll my eyes, "A simple 'thank you, Charlotte, for this delicious breakfast' would suffice."
"Thank you, Charlotte, for this adequate breakfast that didn't give me food poisoning… yet," he deadpans. “Happy now?"
"Ecstatic." I throw a napkin at him, which he easily catches with a chuckle. "You're an ass."
"And you're a brat, but here we are." He takes another bite of his toast, "Alright, tell me what you want."
I take a deep breath, "You said my mom was served an eviction notice and she has a little less than 30 days to get out."
He nods slowly. "Yes." His eyes narrow, likely already suspecting where I'm going with this.
"If she is on your list, then you will have to kill her before she leaves... Right?" I'm almost too nervous to ask, but I've already come this far. "I want to be the one to do it. You had the chance to stand up to your monster, I want the same chance."
Silas leans back in his chair, studying me intently. The silence stretches on for what seems like forever, the only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall.
"Do you realize what you're asking? Taking a life, especially the life of a parent, isn’t a decision to take lightly. It’s not some game. Once you cross that line, there's no uncrossing it. No magic reset button."
"I know.” I nod. "I’ve thought about it a lot.
But she's never been my parent, Silas. She's my monster. She used me, exploited me, allowed her asshole dealer to assault me, tried to sell me, but never once protected me. I won’t be protecting her either.
I deserve to be the one to put an end to her.
She's still young enough to get pregnant.
I can't let that happen. I won't be there to make sure a baby is fed and clean.
I can't let another child live like I did, or worse. "
He's quiet for another long moment, and I can see his internal conflict as he considers what I’ve asked.
He runs a hand down his face, letting out a long sigh.
"I’m losing my fucking mind," he mutters under his breath.
Then, louder, "Alright, if this is what you really want.
You have to be absolutely sure, and I need you to understand this is a one-time arrangement. "
"About that…"
"Char," he growls out my name and I know I'm pushing my luck with him this morning. "We've already been through this."
"I know we have, but instead of a one-time arrangement, all I'm asking is you consider it as more of an audition."
He scoffs, almost offended. "It's not some fucking play at the community theater."
"Come on, Silas. You know I'm a fast learner. Hell, I even memorized how you like your eggs cooked, down to the most ridiculous detail."
One eyebrow shoots up, then both whiskey-colored eyes narrow at me. He’s skeptical but I can tell he’s also amused. "And that somehow qualifies you to become some kind of fucked up serial killer apprentice? Knowing my breakfast preferences?"
"It does when they have to be cooked to your impossible standards. You're the most particular person I've ever met."
"My standards?" I think I may have struck a nerve. "What the hell does that mean exactly?" Bullseye.
I sit up straight, ready to prove my point.
"You always use the cast iron pan, never the non-stick one, like it personally offends you.
The temperature of the front right burner is set to medium-low.
More precisely, exactly one quarter turn to the left.
And yes, before you ask, I do know that the world will likely end if it's off by even a millimeter.” That comment earns me an eye roll.
“One tablespoon of cooking oil and one tablespoon of butter goes into the pan. Always straight from the fridge, never room temperature. The pan needs to be preheated for exactly four minutes.”
Silas starts to shake his head as if I’m wrong…
I’m not. “Don’t start, I've seen you check your watch.
Each egg gets cracked into a separate bowl first so you can be sure not a single piece of shell makes it into the pan.
" I skipped this step, but his anal-retentive ass doesn’t need to know that.
"The eggs are then cooked exactly two minutes before being flipped in the exact order they went in.
You insist on using a wide spatula for better control to avoid breaking those precious yolks.
The second side cooks for thirty seconds before they are removed from the pan, not a second more or less.
Finally, they have to be plated on the left side of your plate, overlapping just so, a pinch of salt and pepper being the finishing touch.
Should I continue with your equally obsessive bacon protocol? "
"No, Charlotte, I don't think that will be necessary."
"Are you sure? I can also list your sock drawer organization, which by the way, is completely psychotic.
" I rest my elbows on the table. "Face it, if I can handle your level of control-freak perfectionism, I can handle anything you throw at me.
Plus, who else could put up with your weird mayo phobia?
I think all of this makes me uniquely qualified. "
"It's not a phobia," he mutters like a scolded child. "It's a legitimate aversion."
"Yeah, sure it is, buddy." I wave my hand, completely dismissing his argument. "Think about it… while you're obsessing over whether your victims' blood spatters are symmetrical, I could be doing the actual killing."
"Yes it… I don't..." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "This isn't about me, what if you can't handle it? If you freeze up or puke all over my shoes at the sight of blood? "
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. "Please, I'm not some delicate flower. I've seen enough fucked up shit in my life to handle a little blood. I was fine watching what you did to Corey."
"A little blood?" He raises an eyebrow. "Princess, this isn't a tiny papercut we're talking about."
"Don't patronize me, Princess ," I shoot back. "I'm not naive. I know what I'm asking."
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" he asks, exasperation evident in his voice.
"Nope." I pop the 'p' for emphasis. "I'm nothing if not persistent. Plus, you have to admit, having a cute sidekick would be a bonus."
He snorts. "Right, because that's what every killer needs, a perky sidekick following them around, brightening up murder scenes with her sunny disposition. You're bat shit crazy."
"Pot, meet kettle," I retort. "Come on, Silas."
He sighs. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"
"Nah, you'll be fine. With me by your side, we'll be the Bonnie and Clyde of the serial killer world, minus the whole getting shot to death part."
"You're really selling it," he says dryly.
"So, what do you say?" I give him my best puppy dog eyes.
"You really are a pain in my ass, you know that?"
"You might have mentioned it." I grin. "But you love it."
"I tolerate it," he corrects, but I catch the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Fine. You get one chance, if you fuck up, make even one mistake, it's over. No second chances. "
"Deal," I stick out my hand, and he stares at my hand, before reluctantly taking it, his large palm engulfing mine. "Partners?"
"God help me. I'm already regretting this." He stands from the table, pushes his chair in, then carries his dishes to the sink.
"Ass."
He laughs, a real genuine laugh that makes my stomach flip.
Walking out of the kitchen, he holds his middle finger up behind him in reply.
Despite the rude gesture, I'm pleased that I’ve already won one battle.
He’s walking back to his room and not making me go with him to keep an eye on me or put my cuffs back on.
Charlotte: 1, Big Bad Monster: 0