20. Insane #2
For now, it’s all about bringing Haven back to me.
Which is why I need to show her that: a) I’m okay, and b) I’m not mad.
I might’ve stayed upstairs all night so that she didn’t have to witness what the foxglove did to me, but I’ve showered, I’ve changed, I’ve brushed my teeth, and I’m ready to see if my stomach’s settled enough to share breakfast with my wife.
Haven is sitting on the edge of the couch, one of the mystery books in her trembling hands. She was pretending to read it as I made my way down, and after I caught that relief, she’s now staring unseeingly at a page while purposely avoiding my gaze.
Her shiny brown hair is falling forward, hiding her face from me. Her shoulders are tense, the rest of her body unnaturally still. It doesn’t take a body language expert to tell that she’s braced for whatever punishment I want to dish out.
My stomach twists. If there was anything left inside of me, I might just puke again. It wouldn’t be the foxglove’s fault, though. Just the idea that Haven would ever think that I’d do anything like what happened to her before…
I hate that. I fucking hate that so much.
I hate that she thinks I’m going to turn on her—and I hate that somebody taught her to expect retaliation when she fights back.
Never. I’ll never do that. And if I want to help Haven, the best thing I can do for her is get her to understand that.
So, naturally, I go with my default setting: I decide to be extra annoying in a way that’ll help her remember that I’m Connor, she’s Haven, and she has abso-fucking-lutely nothing to fear from me.
"Morning, apple of my eye. Sleep well, or did the excitement at my imminent demise keep you up all night?"
Her gaze slants my way. The over-the-top pet name and teasing tone did exactly what I hope it would: it takes Haven’s apprehension and turns it into outright annoyance.
Closing her book, placing it on her lap, Haven points at me. She shuts her eyes momentarily, sticks her tongue out of the side of her mouth, and cocks her head in a mockery of a dead person. When she’s done, she points at me a second time.
I chuckle. “Sorry, doodlebug. I’m not dead yet.”
Slowly, I drop onto the couch next to her. My stomach is still iffy, so I’m careful, but I give nothing away as I pat her upper arm and say, “Terrible attempt, by the way."
Confusion flashes across her face.
I grin, taking my hand back, stretching my arm behind her head. “I mean it. If you really want to kill me, baby, you’ve got to commit to the bit. Really go for it.”
Her confusion gives way to sudden anger. For the next moment, she glares at me, and my cock twitches to see the fury in her stormy grey eyes. She’s not happy I’m poking fun at her, but since I’m fucking ecstatic that she’s not acting like she’s afraid of me, I’ll take it.
She huffs. There’s a small table in front of the couch. On top of it, she keeps one of the many notebooks I bought for her. She snatches that, grabs a pen, furiously opens to a blank page, and bends her head over it.
When she’s done, she shows me what she’s written.
you should be pissed at me
"Why would I be?" I ask.
I swear to God, the expression on her face suggests she might actually succeed in killing me this time.
I can’t stop myself. As much as I’d like to run upstairs and take care of my erection, I’d be a moron to walk away from this chat with Haven. Crossing my legs to hide it, I hook my arm around her neck, tugging her into my side so that I can drop a kiss to the top of her head.
With a surprising amount of force, Haven shoves away from me.
She scribbles in the notebook again.
Because I tried to poison you
"Yeah."
Because I thought it was my only way to escape you
"Also yes. I mean, that’s not going to happen, but I appreciate the effort."
She looks utterly exasperated.
I shouldn't enjoy this as much as I am.
I lean back into the couch. “I hope it made you feel better. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t half-ass it again, but I can tell you one thing: it’ll be a great story to tell our kids one day.
” I fiddle with a lock of her hair. “I don’t have a tattoo, not like Dallas does.
I’m good with knives. Needles? Not so much.
What do you think, though? Can I carve a foxglove into my skin, or should I just grow a pair and hire a professional to do the job for me? ”
She looks at me. Really looks at me. And, for the first time since she spoke after her escape, I hear her rough voice as she echoes, “Tattoo?”
I nod. “An ‘H’ for when you bit me. Foxglove for when you tried to poison me. My whole body will be a shrine to Haven Heyward.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Smith.”
“For now.”
Haven scowls, but she doesn’t turn away. To me? That’s a fucking victory.
For weeks, every interaction between us has felt like I was trying to coax a frightened animal out of hiding.
The only time I saw a hint of the old Haven was when she tried to escape me, but that disappeared almost instantly.
I need to see that she still has spunk. Still has that spark.
That she can still stand up to me like she always did—as long as she eventually understands that there is no escaping me other than death.
Even then, though, I’ll haunt her until her bones are dust and her ghost is floating at my side for all eternity. That’s how much I love this woman. That’s how crazy I am for her. I’m plotting a happy-ever-after that leaves us immortal, while she’s just trying to survive another day.
Attempted murder definitely looks good on her. Instead of cowering or hiding, she's currently looking at me like she wants to commit another felony.
I’ll take it.
The notebook is shoved in front of my nose again.
you’re fucking insane, Connor Heyward!
I nod. "Yes. That is correct."
The pen goes back to the page.
You should be afraid of me… I think I might be insane, too.
She’s not. Instead, she’s a coddled, sheltered Offering who had terrible things happen to her in a world where that was never supposed to happen. Now she’s scared and she’s traumatized, but of the two of us, there’s only one who deserves a padded cell—or one in prison.
I think of how easy it was to slit Cameron Andino’s throat. Barry Wise’s, too. I don’t just attempt murder these days. I pull it off, and I’ll do it again and again if it means I get to keep Haven with me.
And if I tempt my own death by pushing her, reminding her who she is, who I am, and who we’ve always been to each other, it’s worth the risk to see the look on her face when I lean in and tease, “Nah, but I’ll tell you one thing: I’ve never been more turned-on in my whole life than when I realized you hid the foxglove between your thighs and I finally got between them. ”
It was just my hand, but considering that’s the closest I’ve ever been to Haven’s pussy, it counts.
Haven gasps as the implication hits her. In the next second, she picks up the notebook, slapping me in the shoulder with it.
I give her the courtesy of at least wincing, turning my head so she can’t see my smile.
But, yeah… that was worth it, too.