Wallflower

Chapter 53

“Is that the cunt you were referring to the other night?”

Rip’s deep voice breaks apart the looming silence since my tears dried up.

A frailty I never wanted him to see. He likes that I don’t cry, don’t show weakness.

But I wept for me, for all I’d been through.

For Chelsea, and how the unknown of her situation eats away at me every second that isn’t occupied by the man in front of me, or the fear of when the fucked up captor duo will return to terrorize me.

“What?”

“I think the correct term was ‘slimy conniving cunt’.”

Oh, well that’s even more embarrassing than sobbing and snotting all over his muscular chest. Did he witness my meltdown, or just hear it through the door?

“What I’m more interested in is the ‘choke on your own blood’ part. How exactly would you do it?”

“U-uhh…”

“Come on, flower. Humour me.”

“With the imagined death of my step-monster?”

“Sure. And any others you’d like to off as well.”

“Well, aren’t you morbid.”

“Just want to see you smile. If the thought of death felling the people who put you here does it, then sure, I’m morbid.”

Well, now he’s being fucking adorable. Can I really tell him this?

Show him the side of me that likes to poison just enough to cause a reaction I can witness from a distance?

Is it beyond fucked up how I like to watch their suffering but not kill them?

If only so I can do it again and again as they continue to wrong me.

“I told you I’d kill anyone here for touching you, let me into your little murder fantasy.”

Killing to protect your investment and bargain with a crime lord is vastly different than deriving some sort of sick gratification from making people ill. But, I suppose if someone claims to like a malicious streak, it wouldn’t hurt to share a thought I’ve had a time or two…or a hundred.

“For you to understand my fantasy, you need to know my family.”

Rip puts on a more serious face, a coldness seeping into my bones at the change. “I’ve got time.”

The stupid butterfly in my gut starts flapping its wings because he wants to hear what I have to say, needs to understand the root of my emotions.

I don’t think I’ve experienced that from anyone but my sister.

The resonating thought leaves me feeling hollow.

I’ve been so alone, desperate for connection, and achingly lonely that this small scrap of interest makes me overjoyed.

“Okay,” I reply.

The seconds unfold as I fill Rip in, telling him about each member of my family, spilling the secrets of the shitty way they treated me—belittled me.

Eventually, I relay the same story I shared with Sam.

The one where Chelsea thinks Michelle murdered our mother.

I never truly believed her, but now, I don’t see how it can’t be true.

Someone doesn’t just wake up one day and decide to execute a plan like this.

Michelle’s darkness has been brewing, growing, and finessing this plan for who knows how long, and it nauseates me to know Tyler and Liam could be in on it too.

The chance of getting up my sister’s skirt with no resistance would be enough to sway Liam.

I swear if he’s been here and touched her, I’ll break every one of his weirdly long fingers.

I catch Ripley up on everything that’s happened since I stepped foot on that cruise liner, leaving out the unnecessary parts where Sam is concerned.

Time ticks by as he listens to me, never so much as interrupting. He seems content to lie here, storing away all my rambling for a later date.

But why?

Surely this can’t be what he’s interested in?

He’s come here for release. To do whatever he desires to me without objection.

But the only traces of annoyance I witness from him are the twitches in his stoic face when I dance around the shit I’ve put up with at the hands of the family my father let into our life.

The more I confess, the more embarrassment threatens to drown me.

How did I withstand this? When you tally everything up, I’m astounded I’ve survived as long as I have.

No wonder I’m a fucked up wallflower. A meek little thing with no voice.

A silent poisoner. I don’t have a backbone to fight for myself because of a fear of retaliation, so I do it in secret.

Slinking through the shadows and infecting their food with the same plant they burden my name with.

Wallflower.

Without realizing it, I’ve stopped talking. Rip lets me adjust to all I’ve divulged.

“I should really stop,” I mumble. “You don’t want to hear all of this.” My fingers weave together, knotting with nervous energy.

Leaning in, Rip brushes the hair back from my face, curling it behind my ear. “If you don’t tell me how you wish to end her, flower, I will find her and do it myself.”

A smile splits across my face. “Really?”

He’s silent for a moment, taking in the way my entire demeanour has changed.

I never went through with my plans for Michelle because I didn’t want to be the reason for my father’s grief, and was unsure if I could live with myself taking a life.

It’s why I’ve never administered a lethal dose, and why I idiotically saved Brad from being eaten by sharks.

But the thought of drawing Michelle’s demise out over days as I played doctor to her ailing body has never left me. I’ve finessed it, molded it, perfected the plan. Probably much in the same way she did to eliminate Chelsea and I from her life.

“Yes, Rose. I’d do it if you couldn’t. What’s one more notch on my belt? At least this one would be totally worth it.”

“You’re sweet.” The words slip out before I can stop them, shocking me.

He’s not sweet, he’s villainous.

Yeah, but it’s for me, and that makes all the difference.

“Are we still talking about murder?”

I shrug. The reality of it is…he is sweet.

In his own twisted way, he’s offering me something I’ve never had before—support.

Aside from our initial meeting, Ripley’s never done something I didn’t want or like, and because I’ve felt no reason to temper myself during our time together, he’s seen more of me than anyone before… and he returned.

The sting in my back only reminds me of what I survived. How I clawed my way under Richmond’s skin, and probably still linger there like an itch he can’t quite scratch. It lights me up, proves to myself how strong I am, how in the face of the worst shit I’ve ever experienced, I won’t break.

Gently, Rip presses his lips into mine. The kiss is soft, slow. “Tell me,” he breathes.

“I wanted to poison her slowly. Drag her death out the same way she made my life a living hell.”

“Oh, my Rose has thorns.”

I laugh. How could I not at a line like that? “I can’t believe you just said that, you corny fuck.”

His returning smirk would soak my panties if I was wearing any. Karson says they are pointless, and I understand why. Unless they are requested, they aren’t necessary.

“How would you do it?”

“Probably ricin, but I never got around to processing it.”

“And that would have her choking on her own blood?”

“Eventually, yes.”

“You’ve really thought this through, hey?”

“Kind of embarrassing when I think about it.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have what it takes to kill someone.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s in there somewhere,” he says, laying his palm over my heart. “I can feel it.”

My heart flutters as his warm hand slips lower. “You’re certainly feeling something, and it’s not my ability to murder someone.”

I grip his wrist, pushing it down into the mattress as I crawl my body atop his.

His depthless eyes glaze over. “Rose,” he chokes brokenly. “St—”

Pausing half way to his lips, I watch the air stutter in and out of his lungs. I think he’s trying to tell me to stop, but for some reason he can’t get the words out. Immediately, I release him, backing away to the opposite side of the bed.

A tremor wracks his muscular body as he turns from me, head hanging.

“Ripley? Are you okay?” He doesn’t answer and it winds my worry like a top, ready to spin out of control at any moment. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong,” I whisper, reaching out my hand to comfort, but thinking better of it.

His gaze whips to mine as he rolls back, rising up to crawl toward me.

I don’t dare move. Even breathing too loudly could set him off. I don’t know what happened, but I’m smart enough to recognize the first signs of an anxiety attack when I see them.

Those gorgeous pools of black bore into me, never wavering, not closing, when he lightly touches his lips to mine. It’s like he needs to see—has to know it’s me here with him.

Honestly, it both breaks and swells my heart.

And I don’t know what to do with the sensation.

Cautiously, he pulls away, blinking slowly.

“Rip…”

“Shhh,” he sighs, planting another soft kiss.

I follow his lead, matching his intensity and bowing to the dominance when his hunger rises, lips becoming forceful.

He chokes back a rasp, the sound evaporating my arousal, pushing my concern to the forefront.

Ripley throws himself away from me for a heartbeat, holding back another anguished croak.

“Look at me,” I coax.

He does, but only for a fraction of a second before he slams a violent needy kiss upon me. His passion is bruising, but I weather his storm without faltering.

I lean back, sitting against the headboard and propping my knee up between us, forcing some distance. He tries to get around my blockade, but I keep him at bay until he agrees to look at me.

“Why’d you stop?” His eyes are glossy. It’s clear something is bothering him, deep in his core. I don’t know why he’s pushing himself on me when it’s causing his anguish.

“We don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.”

“I’m not saying you don’t.”

“Shit,” he mumbles, avoiding my gaze. “I’ll just go.

” Backing off the bed, he crosses to retrieve his shirt, fumbling to button it up.

I itch to lunge after him. With the way he resembles a wounded animal, he’s liable to dart away.

Crazed and emotional, unaware of his surroundings, he’ll only end up more injured than before.

“No,” I say far too fast. I don’t want him leaving half-aware and charged up like this. “Stay.”

“You want me to stay?”

I nod over-enthusiastically, hoping to brew some happiness inside him.

It sort of works. The small sparkle is back in his eyes, the shadow slightly receding.

“What would we do?”

“Talk.”

“Talk?”

“Go Fish?”

Ripley pats his pockets. “Didn’t bring the cards.”

My sights scan the room, landing on the small table beside the chair. “We could read?” I jut my chin toward the ever-growing stack of books.

“Not my thing,” he replies, curling in on himself.

“Okay…back to talking then.”

“About what?” He inches closer, the buttons of his shirt in all the wrong holes.

“Anything.” I don’t want to say something that will set him off, so instead of prying into what makes him, him, I ask something deep but not directly invasive. “What’s something you’ve never told another living soul?”

It’s an open ended question, giving him the power to answer how he wants. He could tell me his favourite colour is pink, or tell me he fucked a jar of peanut butter just to see what the hype was about. I don’t care, as long as it keeps him here with me so I can chase away the ghosts in his eyes.

He’s wary. “Uhh. You first,” he counters, sitting down on the corner of the mattress opposite of me.

“Well, I just told you a shit ton, but…” I push my trepidation aside. If I’m going to spend the rest of my days with this man, he may as well know the real me. “The first person I ever poisoned was my childhood bully.”

That clears his eyes a little more. His brows furrow slightly, the things I’ve divulged all lining up in a neat little row for him to witness.

“Wait…” I nibble at the skin of my lower lip, gnawing until the essence of copper sweeps across my tongue.

“So your little fantasy of offing step-mommy isn’t all that far out of reach? ”

Slowly, I shake my head. “Nope, it’s not.”

“Why haven’t you done it? Worried you’ll get caught?”

“Maybe partially. Mostly, I didn’t want to make my father miserable.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose one wife, never mind two.

” Blips of the funeral light up my neocortex, but because my hippocampus was still developing, I don’t have many memories of my mother.

Her soft laugh and warm hugs are what linger now, her face faded over time as Michelle has erased her presence from the house.

I know she looked like Chelsea though, and maybe that’s why I cling to her so dearly.

She’s all I have left of my mother, entwined with the sister who I already cherish.

Shit, I need to figure out how to ask about her. How to bribe Ripley to save her too. Now’s clearly not the time for that since he just had a small spiral of his own, but I need to work it in somewhere before I run out of time.

“Rose?”

“Hmm?” I murmur, lost in the well of my own dangerous thoughts.

“How many people have you poisoned?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve never kept track.”

“Try. Right now. Count them out.”

“Uhhh… why?”

“Morbid curiosity.” Ripley’s eyes shine with intrigue and excitement. I can’t help but wonder what the fuck I’ve got myself into where he’s concerned. This conversation is all about me. Aside from his love of dinosaurs, funny underwear, and fucking, I know next to nothing about him.

He watches me with bated breath as I raise a finger for every one I remember. When I pass ten, I put them down and start again. Rip’s eyes widen to a comical size but I can’t let it distract me.

When I think I’ve tallied them all, not forgetting a single one, I lift my eyes to his. He leans closer, and I mirror his movements slightly. I don’t want to chase him away.

“How many?” he rasps.

“Twenty-seven.”