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I knew he wouldn’t want my sympathy. That wasn’t why he had shown me. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, pull his head against my neck, and kiss away the residual pain while I laced my fingers in his hair, but I knew he wouldn’t want that. He didn’t want to be pitied, any more than I wanted to be pitied about my past. He had shown me because he wanted us to know each other, and because he knew I would understand. I had my own scars from my parent, only mine were less visible.
“How did they make these ones?” I asked, tracing my finger down the crisscross of lines.
“A whip. They’d tie me up and make me count lashes as my punishment. I can’t even remember what I did now—spilled a drink, or perhaps was late getting home, or didn’t get an A on an assignment. They were never big things.”
I touched one of the circles. “And these?”
“Cigarette burns, held against my skin until the butt crushed and it burned a hole.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, I think they looked forward to when I would screw up. They took pleasure in it. They were constantly waiting for me to do something wrong so they could punish me.”
“What happened to them?”
“When I was fifteen, I killed them both, made it look like a break-in gone wrong. I was away at the time, on a school trip, but I’d sneaked away during the night when the teachers thought I was still asleep in bed, killed them both, and then made it back again with no one knowing. It was the perfect alibi—several teachers all saying I was with them when the murders had been committed. It wasn’t as though any of them would ever admit to the possibility that one of their charges could have left the premises unnoticed.” He laughed, the sound cold. “My parents’ murder was actually the reason I used for wanting to become a police officer in my initial interview—that I’d lost my parents to a criminal and I wanted to be part of the solution to stop anything like that happening to another child. Part of me was laughing inside when I told them that.”
I stared at him. Perhaps the idea of him killing his adoptive parents at fifteen should have freaked me out, but it didn’t. I couldn’t imagine the torture they must have put him through—actually, yes, I could. It was written all over his body. I was pleased he’d gotten his revenge, anger and adrenaline rising up inside me at what he’d suffered. They’d made him what he was and they’d suffered the consequences. No, I didn’t blame him for it at all, and I certainly wasn’t one to judge.
“Sometimes,” I said, “I think we’re so alike it scares me.”
“Two coldhearted killers together. What could possibly go wrong?”
We locked gazes, both of us holding back smiles.
“Now, you promised you would tell me what happened the first time you took a life.”
I nodded and began, my heartrate increasing as the words left my lips. “Nicole was fourteen when she was raped—a cocky nineteen-year-old asshole who thought women and even girls were only alive to give him what he wanted. Nickie had been flattered by his attention at first, had been excited about an older boy showing her some interest, but then things had started getting serious, and she’d wanted to cool things off. He’d called her a prick tease and spread rumors that she was a slut and was sleeping with half of her school, which was the absolute opposite of the truth. She didn’t want our father finding out ’cause she was worried he’d believe this kid, and then he’d say she had shamed the family. Our pops has a big thing about shaming the family—seems to me that it’s the main thing that causes him to make the decisions he does. Anyway, we didn’t say anything, and then one night this guy followed her home after she’d been at the mall with friends, and he took her down an alley, shoved her up against a wall, and raped her.” My voice tightened as I recounted the events. “It was her first time. That memory will be with her forever. She managed to make it home, and I heard her crying in the bathroom. She’d already gotten into the shower, so she’d washed off all the evidence. You and I both know how these things go. I couldn’t have her dragged through the courts, having every little part of her life dissected. He’d already been spreading the word that she was easy, and her saying he’d raped her would have just been seen as revenge. There was no proof. Plus, we knew how our father would react. He wouldn’t even be able to look at her. He’d put her on such a high pedestal, I couldn’t stand to see what would happen when she fell. But I was furious—blind with anger. I couldn’t believe what this fucking bastard—a grown man—had done to her. She was fourteen, for fuck’s sake. She was a kid, and he took that from her. I would have died before I’d let him get away with it.”
X watched me, only curiosity on his face. “What did you do?”
I gave a cold smile at the memory. “The thing was, he was the kind of guy who thought everyone wanted him. I bet he believed Nicole secretly wanted him, even while she was telling him no and fighting him off. So, I did what I could, and used my femininity to lure him somewhere I knew no one else would be. I think he thought I was a bit too tough for him at first, but I flashed my naked ass at him, no panties under my skirt, and that soon got him moving. It was like luring a fucking dog with its tongue hanging out. I took him down a back alley on the outskirts of town, and as soon as I was sure no one else was around, I shot him in the face. It was brutal, and made one hell of a mess, but I’d been careful to wear gloves, and I burned the clothes I’d been wearing afterward.
“No one ever suspected me. Why would they? Other than a bit of gossip around Nicole’s school, I had no motive. No one else knew about the rape except Nickie and me. She knew what I’d done. I could see it in her eyes when we heard about his death, the way she looked at me, as though asking me the question without wanting to hear the answer out loud. We never spoke about it, and I haven’t regretted killing him for a single second.”
“And other than your mother, he was the only other person you’ve killed?”
I nodded. “My mom was different, though. I’d never wanted that to happen. I’d never wanted for Nicole to be raped and for me to have to kill the guy who did it either, but I’d taken some satisfaction in the act. It was different with my mom, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.”
“That’s completely understandable, you know.”
“Sometimes,” I admitted, “there are days where I will sit for hours and stare at my own hands, seeing in my mind the awful act they committed, over and over again. I imagine getting a knife and pressing it into my wrist, and cutting and cutting, not because I want to slice my wrists, but because I just can’t stand the thought of my hands being attached to me anymore.”
“You wouldn’t do that to yourself, would you?”
I shook my head and glanced down, embarrassed and ashamed of what I had admitted. “I’m not insane.” I gave a small laugh. “Well, not on that front, anyway.”
“I can’t stand the thought of you wanting to hurt yourself, Vee.”
“I can’t stand the thought of ever being in a position where I would have forgiven myself enough not to want to.”
His voice softened. “Why don’t you want to forgive yourself?”
“Because I don’t think I’m worth forgiving.”
