Chapter Twelve – Ezra
Tonight was meant to be a deeper introduction into our world. She already knew what we did, so it’s really nothing new. It’s why I didn’t really understand when Hawthorne told us she’s only supposed to watch. It didn’t make much sense to me.
Though her face is covered by a mask, I could tell as Royal and I worked she watched with bated breath, that she couldn’t take her eyes off us, off what we were doing. It’s why I stopped before I finished with my side, why I paused and said, “Come over here.”
She looks at me from across the bed like a deer in headlights for a few seconds, and then she moves around the bed and comes to stand beside me.
I offer her my saw. “Here.”
She doesn’t take it right away. She keeps staring at me, much like how Royal is staring at me from the opposite side of the bed. There’s a whole lot of staring going on, and I imagine it’s because neither of them thought I would do this.
It’s me, after all. Royal is the one who pushes boundaries, not me. Royal should be the one to test the limits, not me. This, I’m well aware, could be a bad, bad idea, and not because I’m offering her a weapon—a weapon she could easily and quickly turn against me.
One slice against my neck and she’ll kill me, and if she moves quickly enough, I wouldn’t be able to stop her.
But she wouldn’t do that. That possibility only briefly crosses my mind.
No, this could be a bad idea because it could be the first step in something changing.
In me changing. I thought I’d never change again, that becoming who I am today would be the last metamorphosis I’d go through in my life, that every single part of me would forever be closed off, that there would only be rage and ruin in that vacant box in my chest.
But, maybe, letting someone in wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. Maybe it was fate, kismet, whatever you want to call it, that Abby literally fell out of a closet and saw what she did.
So here I am, offering her my saw.
I think everyone in that room holds their breath as the seconds tick by, and when Abby finally takes it out of my hand, the breath rushes out of me in force, catching on the mask and making my lower face hot.
Her eyes drop to the bloodied saw, and she runs a gloved finger along its top edge, as if marveling at it. Across the bed, Royal is halfway through his side’s ankle, but it appears as if he’s abandoned everything, his full attention now on her to see what she does.
We already know what she’s capable of. We know she’s tried to copy D.D.K.’s methods, but seeing it first-hand will be another thing entirely. Hawthorne doesn’t need to know this. It’s just one ankle. What’s the worst that could happen?
Abby turns to face the bed, the body on it. I stand near her, saying, “The saw is sharp, but you’ll still need to put some muscle behind it to get it through the bone.” All things she already knew, as this isn’t her first rodeo, but I still say it, anyway.
She nods. I don’t know if she’s abnormally quiet because she’s shocked at the turn of events or if she’s simply trying to focus on the task at hand.
The ankle at hand, really. She sets her saw-free hand on Mal’s foot to brace herself, and I lean around her and grab hold of his lower leg to further help.
Or maybe I do it to be a little closer to her.
Abby sets the saw down, digging it into the flesh, and then she does what I would’ve done. She saws him apart.
It’s a strange thing for me, to stand there near her and watch. Normally Royal does his half and I do mine, and we finish and get the hell out of dodge. The sooner it’s done, the sooner the cleaning crew can show up and get everything ready for the inevitable corpse discovery.
It’s different, watching Abby do it. I don’t watch the saw cutting into Mal’s flesh.
No, I watch her instead, even if I can’t see her face behind the mask.
I can see the top of her head, her pink and blue hair, how she stands with her shoulders squared.
I’d bet anything she wears a look of concentration beneath that mask.
She’s perfection, and the moment that thought crosses my mind, I instantly feel guilty.
I told myself I’d never want someone else again, not like that.
It’s been years. Most people move on eventually.
But, I think it’s clear based on what we do that none of us have really moved on.
Not me, not Royal, and not Hawthorne. We volunteer for this work because what else are we supposed to do?
She’s halfway through the bone when I pull myself away and say, “Excuse me, I need some air.” I turn away from her and leave the room. Neither Abby nor Royal stop me, not like I thought they would.
I make it to the dark hall, probably trailing some blood along the way. I go to the stairwell and sit once I’m halfway down it, with enough distance between me and the bedroom that I can’t hear anything that’s going on in there.
I lift my mask and breathe deeply, and then I stretch out my fingers and gaze down at my leather gloves in the darkness. My eyes, now adjusted to the light of the bedroom, take a while to shift to better viewing in the dark, but once they focus on the gloves, I see the blood there and sigh.
The blood used to be for her, but maybe… maybe it stopped being for her a long time ago, and I’m only starting to realize that now. Maybe all of this stopped being for her. Maybe the transition happened when I wasn’t paying attention, something that flew under the radar while I was oblivious.
Or maybe I just didn’t want to face it.
Maybe none of this is for her. Maybe it’s for me. I used to think I was the same person, just broken after the loss, but now I really wonder if that’s the case or if it’s just wishful thinking. How can I be the same man I was when I was twenty, young, and in love?
That was ten years ago. A different phase of life.
I’m different.
The weight of that realization settles upon me in an unwelcome embrace, and I sit there for a little bit as it seeps into my skin.
Wanting to be close to Abby isn’t wrong.
It’s been years, but I’ve scolded myself, promised myself, swore up and down that nothing like that would ever happen, even if the rule against dating disappeared.
Abby’s just… different. Tempting. It’s easy to be around her.
Shit. I knew things would get complicated with her, and I was right. I just didn’t think it’d happen this soon. It’s almost like there’s some kind of invisible string attempting to tie us together, knotting our souls together in some twisted shibari way.
I sigh and mutter a single word, Royal’s favorite: “Fuck.”
Since I’ve brooded long enough, I get myself to my feet and head back toward the bedroom.
The door is cracked open, the light from the room spilling into the hallway.
I wasn’t gone for that long, I don’t think, so I’m not expecting anything, but as I near the room, I realize I hear absolutely nothing in the room.
I’m seconds from pushing inside the room, but since the door is cracked, I’m able to see inside. From where I am, I can see the bed, the side I vacated when I needed to put some space between me and Abby.
My legs freeze.
Apparently, Royal didn’t feel the same need. Oh, no. He did, however, feel a different sort of need, if what I see is evidence enough.
And what do I see?
Royal’s mask rests on top of his head. He stands so close to her I can hardly see her around him, but based on how he’s bending over, I’d say her mask is off, too.
Shit. Giving her the saw was a bad idea.
What’s an even worse idea? Standing there in the darkness, being a peeping Tom, but that’s exactly what I do. I can’t even be upset about it. Hell, I think we all knew this was coming sooner or later.
It’s good, right? I mean, if Royal wants to be with her, face Hawthorne’s wrath, then he can go right ahead. It means she’s even more off-limits.
Right?