13. Surgery #2
The small rod beneath my skin is barely noticeable.
I poke it because I know it’s there, and it’s such a weird sensation, feeling the rod when I remember that I have it.
It’s an unconscious gesture. I don’t even know I’m doing it, but I get sudden proof that Connor is watching me somehow when, minutes later, the basement door opens and he comes jogging down the stairs.
He’s holding his pocketknife. It’s open, the blade out, and there’s a strange look on his face, almost feverish.
The paperback falls from my hands, landing on the couch.
Connor, I mouth.
What the hell is wrong with him?
“Thank you for the reminder, dewdrop.”
Reminder? What reminder?
He strolls toward me. I’m not buying the sudden nonchalance. I see the knife. I saw the look on his face as he stepped onto the basement floor. Something’s up, and I have no idea what it is.
And that’s when he moves until he’s standing right next to me. “Give me your arm, Haven.”
What?
I clutch my arm to my side. I’m predisposed to refuse him anything he asks me, but the way he’s handling his knife…
It’s not like I think he’s going to stab me. I don’t. Weirdly enough, I believe Connor when he tells me that he won’t hurt me. But why is he clutching his knife like that?
I’ve gotten to know this Connor Heyward enough to be prepared. With this man, I never know what kind of crazy thing he’s going to do, and I’d prefer it not have anything to do with my skin and his knife.
“I’ll be quick,” he swears. “And, okay, it might hurt a little, but I’ll make it up to you, Haven. I have to get this out.”
Get what out?
His free hand closes on my wrist. He squeezes with just enough pressure to pull my arm away from my side. I’m so confused. I don’t know what he’s doing—and then he puts the tip of his knife to the underside of my arm.
Connor prods around, a triumphant look flashing across his face when he makes contact with the birth control implant.
What?
This crazy fucker wants to cut it out!
No! If ever there was a time for me to use my voice, it was then. Too bad. It fails me, but while I can’t shout at him to stop, I risk getting cut as I jerk my arm away from his knife.
Terrified tears spring to my eyes; terrified and furious. How dare he!
Connor is oblivious. “You know what? Maybe it’s better if I give you another sedative. I’ll have that sucker out and bandaged before you wake up. You’ll never even know I removed the implant.”
He’s serious.
He’s fucking serious.
My mouth falls open. My head bobbles, and all I can do is stare at him in horror.
“How did I know about it?” he wonders, guessing right.
“Easy. I followed you out of town the first time you went to your gynecologist. I thought… I thought, if you were looking for birth control outside of Harmony Heights, you were planning on fucking someone who wasn’t me.
I couldn’t have that. Even if you didn’t know I was there, I refused to let that happen.
But then I found out that you were just getting that implant installed to help with your cramps, and I decided to let you do it.
We could always remove it when we started trying for kids. ”
I blink. What?
Did he… did he just tell me that he let me get my implant? That he followed me to my doctor’s appointment six years ago and I had no idea?
And how does he know that? How does he know that my birth control was for help with my cycle, not because I wanted to be protected from an unwanted pregnancy?
I open my mouth, but as though Connor just can’t help but enjoy the sound of his own damn voice, he adds, “The receptionist was very helpful. I gave her ten G’s, she gave me everything on you that was in your file.
So I know it was all about the pain. I won’t let you feel pain if I can help it, angel.
Check the bathroom cabinet. I stocked it with everything you need.
Midol. Advil. Pads. Tampons. A heating pad.
I always meant to have that taken out as soon as I could call you mine, but with everything that happened…
I completely forgot until I saw you on the camera just now—”
My head whips toward him.
Cameras? Fucking hell. I knew there had to be cameras!
Connor is suddenly sheepish. “Whoops.” He lifts the hand with the knife, scratching the back of his neck.
“You see what you do to me, mouse? You make me forget everything. Yeah. The basement has cameras, but that’s just because I need to make sure you don’t hurt yourself when I have to leave you alone down here. ”
My gaze flicks to the bathroom.
“No,” he says, and there’s such weight to the word, I have to believe him as reluctant as I am. “Not in there. Just this main room. I swear it, Haven. When I see you naked, it’s going to be because my wife stripped for me. Not because I looked before she was ready.
“But that doesn’t change what happens now. You will be my wife. There won’t be any Heller babies. There will be Heywards, and we won’t be able to start a family until I get that shit out of your arm.”
Start a family with Connor Heyward? Bring a child into this fucked-up world?
I’d rather he slit my throat with his knife first.
Stupidly, he takes me continued silence as acceptance. Bringing the knife in front of him again, he reaches for my arm.
I react first, shoving him in the chest with all the force I can muster. Since he wasn’t expecting it, he stumbles, lifting the knife high so he doesn’t accidentally get me with it. Meanwhile, I scurry from the couch, pausing only long enough to snatch a pen from the coffee table.
For a second there, I jab at him, prepared to stab him with the pen. He’s quick enough to jump out of my way. I hiss at him and move.
Racing toward the kitchenette, putting some distance between us, I realize I don’t have paper.
A napkin will have to do. Uncapping the pen, I begin to write furiously on the white square.
When I’m done, I toss it at Connor who is now perched on the edge of the couch as though he didn’t just try to mutilate me—and I didn’t try to go for his jugular.
“‘If you ever try something like that again, I’ll never forgive you as long as I live’,” he reads out loud. He purses his lips, contemplating that. “So… if I leave the implant where it is, you’ll love me?”
Psycho. He’s a deranged psycho. I have no idea how he got that from what I wrote, but maybe if I make it a little more clear…
Leaning over the couch, glaring at him as he takes a lock of my hair, breathing in deep, I snatch the napkin back. I lift my leg up, writing against my thigh so that the ink comes out legibly before showing it to Connor.
Love you? I hate you!
He thinks about it for a moment before shrugging. “I can live with that. Any emotion is better than you pretending not to see me when I follow you around town.”
He’s not getting it, is he?
Fine.
If you cut me, you’re no better than those monsters who took me
Connor recoils as if I physically slapped him. For the first time, I think he finally does get it. Finally understands.
He’s breathing heavily. The open knife twirls between his fingers, though he makes no move toward me with it again.
I press my lips together.
Connor tilts his head back, looking at the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”
What was that?
Shifting his position, he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah. You heard me. I’m sorry. That was a stupid, fucked-up thing to do. I realize that now. I wish I can undo it, but I can’t. I can only promise it won’t happen again.”
It better not.
“When you’re ready to have it removed, I won’t take it out with my knife. I’ll call Dr. Lucas and see if she can perform a simple surgery for us.”
Nope. He’s still certifiably insane. However, he folded the pocketknife closed, tucking it into his pants pocket, so maybe I’ve gotten through to him a little.
Maybe, but that doesn’t stop me from crossing my arms protectively over my chest before I give him my middle finger.
Connor grins. “Why do you think I want that fucker out? Because I’m trying sweetheart.”
He can try all he wants. It doesn’t matter. I’m getting out of here, and when I do? I’m going to make sure this crazy bastard gets exactly what’s coming to him.