Chapter 15
Theo
Now
Home sweet home
By the time we cover up the other two graves and get back to Holly’s flat, it’s almost three a.m.
The car ride was a lot quieter than I would have liked it to be.
Holly gave me the silent treatment the entire drive back, sitting ramrod straight and clutching onto her shovel like a toddler holding on to a prized teddy bear.
Every now and then it rattled against the car door and the sound only thickened the silence between us.
We enter her building’s elevator which feels a tad weird.
I normally come here alone, and I always take the stairs.
Holly presses the button for her floor and leans back as soft elevator music fills the cramped-up space.
She doesn’t glance my way even once. I don’t understand.
Why is she angry at me? What did I do? I’m the one who’s trying to help her and protect her from this crazed madman (or woman) whoever it might be.
I’m not implying that she needs my protection, but she certainly deserves it.
I steal a glance at her. She’s still streaked with a little blood—dried now, dark against her skin.
Her posture is resolute, her side profile is sharp and rigid against the fluorescent lighting reflecting off the metal surface.
Her lips are pursed in a thin line. Her knuckles white around the shovel.
She seems adamant. Scared. Like a caged tiger pacing in its enclosure.
The elevator grounds to a halt. The doors slide open. We walk out. The shrill ring of Holly’s phone pierces the air and for the first time in the past fifty-eight minutes, Holly finally meets my eyes, a shared flicker of fear sparking between us.
Her phone.
Hesitation stretches; seconds bleed into eternity. Holly’s hand flies to her pocket and she pulls out the dastardly device, her eyes glued to the screen. Her shoulders slump. She slides to answer the call. “Hey, Cami.”
A pause.
“Yeah, no I just got home.” We make our way to the front door of her flat. “I took care of it, don’t worry. Yes, I’m alone.”
That makes me glance at her — she glances back.
“I’ll fill you in on everything tomorrow,” she tells Camille while keeping her eyes on me. “Uh-huh. Yup, got it. Bye. Goodnight.” She hangs up and I wait a full two seconds after she puts the phone back into her pocket before speaking up.
“Yes, I’m alone?” I parrot.
“Shut up.” She has gone back to not looking at me, but at least she’s done giving me the silent treatment.
“I’m just saying, if you’re going to keep secrets from your best friend, we might as well do something worth keeping a secret.”
She flips me off, but I see the way her neck flushes.
She places the shovel down, resting the head against the wall, and punches in her access code.
The keypad flashes green and I step inside first to ensure that the place is empty and safe from any knife-wielding maniacs — apart from Holly, of course.
Dim lights and the view of the city from a wall of windows illuminate the living room. I start walking towards her bedroom.
Holly grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Where do you think you’re going?”
My skin tingles where her fingers touch my skin, and if I was fourteen years old, I’d swear to not wash my arm forever. “To your bedroom.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Do you want me to check your bathroom first?” I ask, remembering that’s where I hid two nights back.
“Theo, I’m not letting you waltz into my bedroom this late at night. There’s obviously no one here. You can leave.”
“Please don’t start being difficult again.” I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “You have an early shift tomorrow, do you not?”
She smacks my hand away. “Leave.”
“No.”
She doesn’t budge. “You are not entering my bedroom.”
“Why not, love? It’s not like I haven’t been in there before.”
I really need to learn the art of when to shut up. Because if looks could kill, I would be chopped and flayed into tiny pieces before being flung to wild dogs. “Have you always been this much of a raging asshole?”
“That depends. Have you always been this fun to annoy?”
Her gaze narrows. She looks me straight in the eyes when she says, “I want to cut you.”
“So you’ve said.” I glance at my torso. “And done.”
Her lips press together in a thin, tight line. “Trust me. I haven’t done nearly enough to you.”
Okay, I won’t lie. This is really starting to hurt.
And not in the way my tender stab wound has been hurting for the past hour and a half.
No, this hurts worse. I thought we were making progress, but I guess not.
Her stubbornness makes me want to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.
How can you still not see that I’m only trying to help you?
How can you still not see that I’m on your team?
I have been stalking you for two and a half years!
If I wanted to torture you, I would have done it a long time ago!
I don’t want to hurt you! I just want to be close to you!
I inhale and exhale through my nose.
It’s okay. She’s just angry. People say all sorts of things in the heat of the moment that they regret later, and this is obviously one of those moments. It stings, but I’ll get over it. For now, I have to do whatever it takes to get inside her bedroom.
“What the hell is that?!” I point to a spot behind her.
Startled, Holly whips around only to find nothing there. Just the empty hallway bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light.
I use the split second of distraction and make a direct beeline for her bedroom where the air hangs heavy with the scent of Holly’s lavender shampoo.
“Theo!” she roars, her voice echoing through the hallway and runs after me. “What the fuck is wrong with you!” She bursts into the room, face flushed and eyes spitting fire. She smacks my arm hard. “I told you not to —”
“Shush. Look.” I grab her jaw and turn her head towards the bed. The knife and meat cleaver are still laid out on her mattress.
Holly pushes past me and picks up the knife. Her fingers trace the smooth lines of the handle, the curve of the blade. “This is a kitchen knife,” she murmurs, turning the blade over in her hand. “Stainless steel, serrated edge, good for slicing bread.”
I can’t help myself. “Among other things.”
She ignores my quip and goes on admiring the blade in her hand.
There's a morbid appreciation in her touch, a glint in her eyes that mirrors the flash of steel. Something heavy turns in my chest. I can’t stop staring.
I’m mesmerized by the way she’s looking at that knife.
Like it’s magic. Like it’s an extension of herself. She’s looking at it how I look at her.
She runs her thumb along the serrated edge, a slow, almost sensual caress.
My cock, rock-hard, strains painfully against my pants.
I'm powerless. I could watch Holly play with that knife for hours on end and never get bored. Her pretty little finger runs along the edge of the blade. Up and down. Up and down. My mouth parts slightly and I resist the need to close my hand over hers and watch the flame in her eyes soften a little. Maybe then I’d be in a position to demand a kiss.
And maybe, she’d be smart enough to comply.
Her finger comes to a halt, and she reels it back in.
I look back up.
“There’s no one here,” she says.
“We haven’t checked all the rooms yet.”
Holly doesn’t respond. Instead, she twirls the knife in her hand, her gaze burning into my face.
She steps closer, slowly and on purpose, her hips swaying as the knife in her hand dangles loosely.
My gaze darts to the shiny metal, then back up to meet her pretty brown eyes.
Even if I wanted to move, I can’t. I’m paralyzed.
Captivated by the storm brewing within her eyes.
And then, she’s on me.
Shoving me hard against her bedroom wall and pressing the knife against my carotid artery. “Why is there no one here, Theo?”
I swallow the burn in my throat, my eyes flicking down to her lips for a split second. “This…feels like a trick question.”
She pushes the edge of the knife with more force, carving a red line on the side of my neck, I’m sure. “Your sarcasm is going to end up killing you one of these days.”
A bead of sweat of trickles down my temple and I blink. “I’m beginning to think violence is just an excuse for you to get your hands all over me.”
The effect is immediate. Holly’s face contorts with rage, eyes flashing like lightning. She chucks the knife on her bed and uses her bare hand to grab my stab wound, her fingers digging into it with a brutal twist. Pain explodes in a blinding white flash.
FUCK!
A strangled cry leaves my mouth.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” she snarls, each word punctuated by a tightening grip on my wound.
“First you follow me to that decrepit-ass building. Then you very conveniently get caught seconds before being shot in the face.” Another squeeze.
“And then just as I'm about to bash your skull in with the shovel, my phone receives yet another convenient text, bringing us both back here!” Her fingers, still buried deep inside my wound, twist with a final, bone-jarring squeeze, mimicking the pull of a trigger.
My mouth tastes like pennies.
My breath comes in ragged gasps, each inhale a searing stab in my chest. A tingle starts behind my ears and moves slowly, teasingly over my scalp.
“Why did you send me that text?” she demands. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
Holly’s fingers scrape inside my wound, and I picture them digging even deeper. The pain, the closeness, the grotesque intimacy of her hands deep in my wound—it’s unbearable and magnetic all at once.