Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Rhys
Noah is… unsettling.
Not in the way danger is unsettling.
This is quieter than that. Worse.
Most people avoid eye contact with me the moment they understand what I am.
Noah studies me as if I’m a puzzle. Like he expects there to be an answer.
Like he believes I can be understood.
He is perfectly at ease here. I'm a killer.
I know that, and he knows that. But he doesn't care.
I guess it's only one step up from knowing what the brothers were doing.
I'd like to think I'm better than those two men.
Sure, I kill, but my choice of target must mean I have some kind of moral compass.
I remove people who hurt others.
That counts for something. It has to.
Otherwise, there is no difference between me and them. And I refuse to believe that.
“I'm going to ask you for a number. How many?” Noah speaks clearly and slowly. “When you're ready, I'd like you to answer.”
The room goes quiet. The kind of quiet that demands an answer. Not immediately. But eventually.
He doesn't fill the silence.
He's clear, but not pressuring. It's sweet. He thinks he's giving me space, options. Freedom to decide if I answer, but really it's a test. Not of my honesty, but of my willingness. If I don't answer, he'll think I don't trust him.
I don't. I don’t trust anyone. That has kept me alive this long.
But I'm willing to give this time. Whatever it is, wherever it goes, it needs time.
Time to get over this destabilized feeling. Time to decide if the urge to reach for his face is because I want to snap his neck or stroke his cheek. Both feel equally possible.
I have never struggled to tell the difference before.
I don't want to kill him, but I do want to see fear in his eyes. Fear would make this easier. Fear creates distance.
Distance creates control.
Without it… things blur.
I haven't seen his fear yet. Not when I drugged him, not when he woke up in my secret murder room. Not even when I walked in and revealed myself.
“Did you come here to find me, or to have more alone time here?”
I can't answer right away; he's making my mind spin. No one could be this calm in the presence of a murderer. Right after finding my murder weapons, hidden in plain sight.
Not without reason. Not without intent. He hasn't even batted an eye.
“I'll take that as alone time. Maybe I can make tea?”
I manage a nod, that's something at least. He closes the drawer, stands up and leaves the room.
The phrase ‘too good to be true' flashes through my mind. It would be too easy to open up to this young man. Too easy to let him in.
And once something is inside… it becomes much harder to remove.
To share my world with him, the good and the bad, but this phase can't last. Rather than pre-empt this inevitably, I'm going to keep him around until it happens. Until his true colors come through and then I can turn away from him, free from every future what ifs.
But for now, he respects my privacy, though I can hear him moving around in the kitchen as he tries to find mugs and teabags.
The strangest feeling comes over me. I don't want to be alone. I want to be in the kitchen with him. I want to enjoy his presence while I still have it.
The thought lands wrong. Unfamiliar. Unwelcome. I have always preferred solitude. Silence. Control. Now it feels… empty.
The house felt perfectly peaceful before he arrived.
Now the silence feels wrong. I move to join him in the kitchen.
It seems my presence is needed. Noah has failed completely to find whatever he is looking for. When I enter the kitchen, he is kneeling on my counter, looking in a wall cupboard. He opens cupboards as if he expects everything inside to bite him. Careful, cautious, but still not afraid.
I lean against the doorway for a moment before speaking.
“Don't jump,” I call, startling him so much he jumps off the counter in a controlled fall. His balance is surprisingly good for someone climbing on my kitchen counter like a child.
“Sorry.” That word feels unfamiliar in my mouth.
“I… was hoping you might have some cocoa?” He blushes that gorgeous shade of red as he confesses his motives. I notice it immediately, even though I shouldn’t.
“I drink tea, but there's some coffee in the cupboard for visitors.”
He gives me an accusing look, as I hadn't mentioned cocoa, to which I reply with a shrug. I can only tell him what I have, and none of it is cocoa.
“Fine, I'll have tea.” He grabs two mugs down, but neither of them are mine. I step up behind him to help, hand covering one mug as he's about to drop the teabag in.
Our hands touch.
He's warm. Human. Real.
Not restrained. Not sedated. Not dying.
For a moment, neither of us react. He looks at me, blushes a deeper shade, and releases the teabag on my hand.
“I only drink out of these mugs,” I educate him, pulling down one of my own mugs to replace the one on the side. Consistency matters. Small things prevent larger mistakes.
“Right. OCD. I forgot.” He chuckles and moves the teabag to the new mug. He glances at the cupboard as if he’s trying to memorize the system. But his cheeky attitude can't hide the pink on his cheeks.
I step back, leaning against the counter while he finishes making the tea.
Noah moves around my kitchen with surprising confidence. He opens the sugar jar without asking, finds the milk in the fridge, and even locates the spoons in the correct drawer.
I almost correct him twice.
Once when he reaches for the wrong cupboard.
Once when he nearly uses the kettle before it finishes boiling.
I bite the words back both times.
He doesn't need my help.
And watching him figure it out is… strangely satisfying. Predictable chaos.
Within my control.
Noah sets the mugs down on the counter between us, steam curling lazily into the air.
“See?” he says with a small smile. “I didn't burn your house down.”
“I never said you would.”
I stare at the mug for a moment before picking it up.
“But you thought it,” he says, smiling as I blow across the surface of my drink. “Perfectly functional tea.”
I take a sip.
The tea is exactly how I like it. Not close. Not acceptable. Exact.
The right amount of milk. The correct strength. No hesitation in the preparation.
I don't know when Noah started learning my habits or why I allow it, but this tea maid side to him can stay.