36. 36
Harlow
“Killian!” Clark roars and spins around, protecting himself from the sight. “Get dressed!”
I bend my neck, pressing the back of my head against the carpet so I can see behind me. He retreats fast, skipping the elevator and heading for the stairs.
“Harlow. Come to my office when you get some clothes on,” he adds as he slips out the door fast, as if this isn’t the first time he’s walked in on his son mid-act.
Killian rises off me, quiet and a bit dazed himself.
I search for my pants, staring blankly at my feet as I dress, mechanical and slow.
This isn’t how I thought it would happen. If I were raped, I didn’t think it would be by someone I knew. I thought I’d be screaming and running out of the door. I didn’t think I would be discovered in the act, and feel guilty, like this is my fault.
When I stand, Killian pulls me into his arms. It isn’t him. It’s not the same Killian. My heart isn’t beating because it wants him. It’s beating because it knows how dangerous he is.
He kisses my cheek. It’s not an awkward moment at work that I can laugh off. It’s so much more. He tilts my chin up. I search his eyes. They’re bloodshot—
And it kills me.
When? Why?
Evan is holding me all over again. Lying to my face. Causing pain while pretending everything is fine.
Killian’s brow furrows when he sees tears streaming down my face. He wipes them away. He even licks my neck. I don’t want to look in the mirror. I’m unsure how bad the cut is.
“Why are you crying?” he whispers, then licks blood off his bottom lip.
My mouth opens and closes several times, but all I can say is:
“Your dad.”
“Oh yeah. He caught us.”
Caught us.
“I uh, better go talk to him,” I mumble.
“Right. Don’t worry. If he’s mad, just tell me. I’ll talk to him. We should tell him about us moving in together, anyway. I’ll come with you.”
“No!” I say, far too loudly. Too sharp. I lower my voice. “I mean, I want to face him on my own.”
Killian studies me, skeptical. I step away slowly, trying to appear normal.
“Harlow, something’s wrong. I see it in your eyes.”
His words send ice through my veins.
“No,” I assure through a tight throat. “I’m just... shocked we, uh, us, moving in together.”
“Oh.”
He doesn’t believe me — I can see that — but I slip away at just the right moment, calling out, “I’ll be right back.”
I walk through the mansion in a fog of violence and jumbled words. The hall is quiet and an old grandfather clock ticks in the distance. I’m outside of my body, floating near the ceiling, watching myself.
Soon, I find Clark in his home office and sit across from him. His large mahogany desk separates us. Bookshelves line the walls with old medical books. It’s oddly dusty and dark for what I’d imagine. I am barely able to look up as shock and humiliation weigh heavy on my shoulders.
I expect a shame-inducing expression across his face. Instead, he reclines lazily in his chair, looking at a paper.
“One hundred and sixty thousand dollars for a new Audi,” he starts.
I scrunch my forehead.
“Auto-pay vehicle insurance, three hundred and fifty dollars a month.”
I swallow hard and shift uncomfortably.
He points at the paper. “This one is good. He went to your school last week and paid your tuition.”
“He what?” I say, breathless.
“How long have you been sleeping with my son, Miss Anderson?”
I sit up, my spine as straight as a steel rod. “Dr. Easton! I’m sorry! I—”
Lying is not a natural thing for me, so I freeze, panicked.
Clark lingers in my eyes, but to my surprise, he seems sad, not upset.
“I’m concerned, Harlow,” he says finally. He picks up another paper. “This is Killian’s phone bill. I keep an eye on it. He’s texting someone who is a very bad influence on him.”
“You track his phone records?” I reply in disbelief.
He sighs and nods slowly. “To be honest, I didn’t think Killian would last this long. I figured he would be gone by now, living in squalor on someone’s couch and using drugs. You have been good for him.”
“Oh.” I smile meekly, then shudder as I recall what just happened. I touch my neck, but blood doesn’t wet my fingertips.
Clark leans forward, his elbows on the desk.
“It is clear my son is in love with you.”
My heart trips over itself, and my face flushes, hot and clammy. I cover my mouth. He said he was obsessed. Maybe that’s how he loves. If a rapist can love. Or feel. Or be anything but a monster.
Why am I not telling Clark what happened?
He continues, as if the bomb he just dropped is trivial.
“And that’s what makes this so hard for me.” His face is sullen and his tone grim. “Killian is spiraling. I see the signs.” He holds the phone bill up once more. “These texts are bad, he’s been journaling, too. Last time he started filling notebooks, it was the beginning of the end.”
He pauses, as if the next part is physically painful for him to say aloud.
“My son... he becomes very dangerous when he spirals. He’s been in fights. He’s been arrested several times. He’s been in standoffs with the police. I’ve spent a lot of money on lawyers keeping him out of prison. The point is, I worry if I don’t intervene now, he will end up hurting you.”
Just then—
I draw in a sharp breath as warmth leaks into my underwear.
Killian’s release just slipped from my body.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, too soft for Clark to hear.
I glance up, my chin trembling as I squeak out, “You think he’ll hurt me?”
“Yes. I could see you two have gotten closer, but I’m reassigning you back to the hospital.”
The words slam into me like a truck.
“Really?” I say, astounded.
“It brings me no pleasure. Christine is mad at me. She thinks you leaving Killian will make things worse. She wants to deny he isn’t doing well.
Hell, I do too. However, I’ve been in denial long enough.
He was anxious today. Paranoid. Twitching.
Frida called ten-minutes ago saying he’s using again.
I can’t let an innocent girl become collateral damage.
” He tosses the phone bill like it disgusts him.
I sit there, speechless.
“I’ll keep your pay as is. Keep the car. Sell it. Whatever. But I need you to stay away from my son, Miss Anderson. Do you understand?”
Hell yeah. Killian needs to be arrested. I need a therapist and a rape kit. I need...
It isn’t until a tear falls from my cheek and onto my lap that I realize I’m crying.
I’m really leaving Killian.
I’ll never see him again.
I shake my head. “I don’t know...”
I can’t believe I just said that!
Harlow, scream thank you and get out.
But I don’t.
He smiles warmly and hands me a tissue. “It’s nice to see someone care about Killian the way Christine and I do.”
That’s when he sniffles back his own tears.
Whoa.
He’s crying.
This doesn’t make sense though. A phone bill? Journaling? He’s not in trouble with the law, either. How can a phone bill and a few notebooks frighten him this badly? What happened last time that he isn’t telling me?
“Killian won’t like this,” I say, genuinely afraid of how he’ll react to the news.
“That’s my problem. I am telling him after you leave. You need to be gone before we confront him. Security will get your things and meet you at the front door. I’ll take it from there.”
He stands and reaches over the desk to shake my hand. In shock, I barely manage to stand and do so. I’m still not in my own body.
I walk to the door, unsure if this is real.
“And Harlow. Thank you.”
I nod like I’m supposed to and trudge toward the front door to wait for security.
I make it three steps.
Then I turn toward Killian.
Security is retrieving my things. I have no reason to go back.
Still, my feet carry me toward him.