Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Can Serial Killers Be Good Guys?
Cedrick
I’m still reeling from the endless conversations with Madison.
It’s been two weeks since I told him my name, and I swear, we talk more and more every day.
I’ve learned that Madison is more than just a soft, shy boy with a stutter.
I know that his parents have traumatized him with their religious bullshit, and that’s why he got out when he did—which I can’t even imagine how hard that must’ve been for him. He’s startin’ all over on his own, and I admire that about him—and it’s also something we have in common.
He enjoys spending time with his roommates, but he really puts most of his focus on his schoolwork because he wants to do well. He’s worried he’s not as smart as everyone else because it doesn’t come as naturally to him, but I don’t think he has anything to worry about.
Anyone that has the kind of dedication that Madison does will succeed in anything they want to do.
But more than that, he’s… fuck. He’s pretty fuckin’ fierce, too.
And I admire him.
I’ve also revealed more about myself to him than I have to anyone aside from Kaser—and the only reason why Kase knows as much as they do is because we grew up together.
I’ve told him about Ma. Told him her name is Scarlet. How hard it was to leave her behind. But after Lillian, Kaser’s Ma, died, it was made easier because I was always closer to her. And the fact she’s an alcoholic solidified that choice.
Not that it made me love her any less because that’s not true, but when you love someone with a disease like that… you have to learn to separate yourself somehow… some way, and I just had to get out.
Ma would get sober for a few weeks here and there, but she’d always go back to Fireball, and I was losing my mind with fear and worry over what was going to happen. If she’d come home, and if she did, would she even wake up.
Those fears haven’t gone away since I’ve left, but I’ve been able to distance myself for my own sanity… or whatever I have left of it.
And Madison… my sweet darlin’… he was so perfect when I talked about Ma.
Somethin’ I never thought I’d do with someone. Somethin’ I didn’t think I… I could. But he just makes it feel so easy to open up.
I want him to know me, as fucked up as I am.
And he still hasn’t run away.
So, maybe I’m not as messed up as I thought.
Shaking my head, I walk through the doors of the club, only to find my favorite bartender behind the bar.
“Wowww, long time, no see,” Ethan drawls, and I’d wince if I was ashamed, but I’m not. He knew what he was getting into with me.
“Been busy,” I tell him as I saddle up to the counter.
“What can I get you?” he asks, and I don’t miss the way his eyes rake up and down my body. Normally, that would make me feel hot all over, but tonight, it does nothing for me other than make me smirk.
“Corona with lime.”
“Drinkin’ light tonight?”
“Need to keep a clear head.”
“Expecting someone?” He slides the glass across the bar, and I take it with a stilted smile.
“Something of the sort.”
I don’t tell him Madison is supposed to meet me here in approximately thirty minutes, and I’m actually nervous to the point I feel vomit sitting at the base of my throat.
I honestly don’t know how we got here, but apparently, my little mouse wanted to meet—his idea—in a public place, and this is the only place my dumbass could think of.
My old fuck spot was probably not the best idea, but I know this place intimately, and it’s not too far from where either of us live, so it’s doable.
But now that I’m here, I’m getting a sinking feeling that maybe I should’ve chosen somewhere else… literally anywhere else. But it’s too late now.
“Thanks,” I tell Ethan as I tilt my head back and swallow a few glugs before wandering around the darkened room to find an empty booth.
After a few minutes of wandering around, I do find a small table off to the side near the back of the room, which isn’t quite as private as I wanted, but it’ll have to do. I take a seat on the high-top chair and clamp both hands around my cool, damp glass and wait, heart pounding in my throat.
Time passes like molasses, but eventually, the clock reaches nine, and I know he’ll be here any minute.
“C-Cedrick?” comes a soft, stuttering voice to my right, and my head jerks toward it.
“Fuck. Madison,” I greet him, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. He’s dressed in dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt. His dark mousy hair is swept away from his face, but when he drops his chin to his chest, a tendril falls in front of his eyes, and I ache to sweep it away.
“H-hi.” He clears his throat and stands up a bit straighter, like he’s steeling himself. “Hi,” he says again, more confidently, and my heart clenches tightly.
This boy.
Fuck me.
“Hi, darlin’.”
“Oh,” he squeaks, cheeks flushin’ red, and I can’t help but grin at the sight. He’s so incredibly beautiful, I almost forgot how ethereal he is in person. “You wore it,” he says, referring to my makeup, and I just smirk in response.
“Cameras just don’t do you justice,” I tell him bluntly as I look him up and down.
“Well, take a seat. Don’t just stand there all night.
” I lift my arm toward the chair in front of me and gesture for him to sit.
Madison, still flushed, swallows thickly and shuffles over to the chair and lifts himself into it.
“You can’t j-just say things-things like th-that,” he mutters, eyes pinned to the table.
I’m trapped in his snare.
“Like what?” I ask, dazed.
“Like that cameras don’t do me justice,” he mutters. “It makes you sound crazy or something.”
I lift a brow at him and smirk. “But you already know I’m crazy, so what’s it matter what I say?”
“Other people might hear you.”
“So?”
“So?” he repeats, voice raising a few octaves.
“You think I care what other people think, little mouse?”
“Oh, God.” He flushes brightly all over again, face shining from the force of his blush, and I fuckin’ revel in it.
I lean forward and reach toward his face. My finger traces down his cheek, following the warm path his blood is flowing. “Beautiful.”
Madison scoffs.
“I mean it,” I reiterate, “you are beautiful, Madison.”
“Th-thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Why am I here?” he seems to ask himself after a moment, finally pulling away from my touch, and I mourn the loss instantly. I take my hand back and fold it in front of me before taking a swig of my beer.
Even though he didn’t ask me, I answer him, anyway. “Because you want to be. This is all about what you want, darlin’. Remember that.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But… what?”
“I don’t know what I want,” he confesses softly, and I smile.
“Don’t you?”
“I—” he cuts himself off and purses his lips. “I don’t know,” he finally settles on.
“Well, I know what I want—and that just so happens to be you.”
“But… why? I don’t understand…” He seems to chew over his words for a minute before he settles on, “Why me, Cedrick?”
My eyes roll back hearing my name roll off his tongue so easily. “Ya, darlin’. I really like that, shit.”
Madison’s brows tug together. “Like what?”
I huff in amusement. “Nothin’. So, why you, hmm?”
“Yeah…”
“The better question is, why me?”
That seems to throw him for a loop. “What?”
“Why do you want me, Madison?” What I don’t say aloud, what I don’t even think on, is the fact my heart is hammering loud enough to feel it in my brain. Or that my breathing is changing the rise and fall of my chest, and I just hope it’s not noticeable enough to Madison.
“Why do I...” he trails off, like he never expected such a question, eyes falling to the dark table between us, and my heart clenches painfully in my chest at the realization that he hasn’t really thought about this. He hasn’t thought through this, or about this, or anything.
It’s all been a game to him.
“Because you made me see what’s been right in front of me.”
“What?” I’m not sure I heard him correctly.
“Clean your ears out, Cedrick.”
“Fuck, you’re a brat. Do you really mean that?” I ask. The thumping in my chest gets heavier, and I think I feel the tell-tale signs of my nose starting to burn.
I don’t even know what he means by that specifically, but it means something to him, which means it’s important, and… fuck.
I’m important to him.
Could I really be?...
“If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I don’t say things I don’t mean. Everything that comes out of my mouth, I promise you, I have thought through a million different ways and have contemplated the consequences and actions of every possible outcome.
“So, to answer your question…” he trails off and finally raises his head to meet my eyes. “Yes.”
“Yes,” I repeat, and goddamn if that yes doesn’t feel like a fucking proposal from the way it makes me leap.
This boy makes me utterly fucking foolish, and I feel absolutely crazy inside.
I want nothing more than to wrap him in my arms and consume him from the inside out, but I have a feeling that’s going to have to wait a bit longer.
But what if I just…
I reach across the table and run the tips of my fingers over the back of his hand. He startles, eyes shooting wide at the contact, but he doesn’t move away, and that makes me feel alive.
I grow bolder by the second, and the next thing I do is wrap my fingers around the side of his hand and pull it across the table so it’s closer. I flip his hand and trace the lines of his palms back and forth until I see the prickle of gooseflesh along his arm.
Madison’s breath catches in his throat, and I want nothing more than to swallow the sound.
“What—what are you doing?”
“Just touchin’ you.”
“Why?”
“Why not? You’re here, and I want to, and I can, so…”
“Who said you could?” Madison snarks, and I smirk.
I glance up at him through my lashes. “Do you not want me to?”
“I didn’t say that. But it’s probably not smart for me to have met my stalker, let alone let him touch me.”
I bark out a laugh, head falling back. I garner the attention of a few patrons, but I don’t give a shit. My treat is funny.
“Ahh, little mouse, you forget. I’ve already been all over you. This is just a little tour on the other side of the wall.”
“Oh,” he squeaks, and that beautiful flush returns, and my smirk grows into a full-blown smile that makes my cheeks ache. My heart clenches tightly in my chest, and I swear I can feel the muscle twisting.
I don’t know what this sensation is, but I think I fucking hate it.
It makes me feel out of control with all the stupid shit it’s been making me do.
Like revealing my name and my face. And meeting Madison at the club… and fuck.
I’m gone for him.
And I don’t think he has any idea.
Someone like me… someone impulsive and irrational and quick to strike with the desire for instant gratification…
I’m not the type of person to fall for someone. I can’t be.
I need people now.
I don’t wait.
But I’ve been waiting.
For him.
For weeks.
Just watching and waiting.
And here we are.
Holy shit.
“Cedrick?” I hear his voice, but it’s his touch that shatters my reverie. The lightest graze of his finger alongside mine, and I’m blinking through the haze and focusing back on his blue eyes in the dark light of the club.
The lights are reflecting off his tan skin in hues of yellow and blue and green, and I’ve never seen someone look so beautiful.
“You’re staring,” he tells me, and I nod, not even bothering to deny it.
“I am.”
“Why?”
“You’re perfect.”
“No one’s perfect.”
“I’m pretty sure you are,” I tell him bluntly.
“Trust me, I’m far from it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“There are things you still don’t know.”
“Then tell me, little mouse.”
“We barely know each other,” he argues, and I want to bite his tongue.
“Can’t really use that argument anymore,” I rebuke.
He sighs heavily and rolls his head between his shoulders. It’s quiet between us for a minute, but I notice he still doesn’t pull his hand away.
“I didn’t come here alone,” he tells me after a while, and I lift a brow but don’t say anything, waiting for him to elaborate. “My roommate Kane is with me. He’s over at the bar.” Madison’s face is pink, and I want to lick the path of his flush.
“Okay.”
“You’re not mad?”
“No,” I tell him honestly. “I get why you didn’t come alone. You’re smart.”
“‘Cause you could be a serial killer or something,” he explains.
I smirk. “Yes, I definitely could be.”
“Like Dexter.”
“You’ve seen Dexter?” I ask him, surprised.
He nods. “I’ve been watching it with my roommates.”
“But isn’t Dexter like, the good guy?”
“Can serial killers be good guys?” he asks incredulously.
“Of course, they can!” I argue. “He literally kills awful people.”
Madison squints, and his adorable little nose scrunches up. “Yeah… but he ends up killing some good people, too.”
“Okay, but not like, because he wanted to!” I will defend Dexter with my life, okay!
“If you say so…” he says, eyeing me, but I see the smirk playing on his lips, and I know we’re okay. That this is okay.
“So…” I drawl. “About serial killers…”