32. McCarthy
MCCARTHY
T ruman follows me back to my study when I slam the front door behind Jenna and all her stuff.
“This is absurd,” I tell the dog. It’s complete insanity. “Your mother is insane.”
Jenna wants me. I can feel her want, her need, simmering beneath the surface.
I want her to cave to me. I don’t have mommy issues, nor do I care about her.
I’m doing this to win. I’m annoyed because I hate losing, that’s all.
I don’t actually care about Jenna. She’s not even a means to an end.
She’s just a new toy to play with, a game to win.
Once I can get her to see reason— to fall in love with me —I’ll be rid of her.
I can’t be trusted with someone loving me. That’s been made clear, horribly clear. It’s just that it’s intoxicating, like choking down seawater for years as it slowly rots you from the inside then, one summer day, kneeling down to drink from a glacier spring.
I need to be the center of her universe because if I’m not, I’m going to spin out to float forever in the darkness of space.
You’ll just drag her out with you.
I need to just send her to a hotel, get her away from me, and I will once I make sure no one’s going to hurt her.
Truman jumps up on my desk to bark at the image of Rex I pull up on my screen.
I want to kill him for talking to Jenna that way. He owns Vortex Industries. Maybe I’ll just ruin it instead, destroy his reputation as a businessman and send him running from Seattle in disgrace, tail between his legs.
Once I print out Rex’s photos, I study the collection of photos pinned to the board on the wall in my office. Jenna has collected an ungodly number of stalkers. Their grinning faces leer at me from the wall.
I need to see her, need to know she’s safe.
“No, Truman, it’s not spying.” I’m losing it. Now I’m talking to the dog. “You want to see your mommy, don’t you, Truman? You want to see Jenna?”
I’m doing this for the dog, not me.
I call up the cameras pointed at the car in the garage to the large TV screen mounted on one wall.
I should have put one in the car itself. It seemed like an invasion of privacy, a line too far to cross two days ago, but now? I never want her out of my sight.
I stare at the black car, wondering if I’m imagining that I can see Jenna inside curled up on the back bench seat, fussing with her PJs, sipping from that ridiculous cup. She’s probably scrolling on her phone and deleting the violent messages.
I should be the one to do that. She shouldn’t have to see them.
“Wait…” There’s motion in one corner of the camera.
Truman is growling, his floppy ears stiffening and raising up from his head.
“Who the fuck—” I’m out of my chair before the guy is halfway to the car. “What the fuck is that fucker doing in my tower?”
The guards lounging around the elevator lobby jump up when I scream past them. I don’t even bother with the elevator, just take the stairs three at a time, the guards racing after me.
The ones at the parking garage look up from their dinner when we blow out of the stairwell.
I punch the first one in the face.
“You useless sack of shit. What the fuck is that fucker doing in the garage?”
“Uh, well.” The guard licks his split lip nervously as I reach for my gun.
“Tell me what the fuck Jenna’s ex is doing in my goddamn tower. ”
The guard shifts nervously at his post at the entry to the parking deck level. “He, um, had a key card, and he’s on the resident list…”
“Fuck.”
I’m furious that Jenna put herself in danger and livid that somehow the tower isn’t as locked down as I thought.