AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I push myself up to my feet and immediately feel her on my heels. We navigate through the house and head down to the basement, only for her to hesitate at the top of the stairs. I glance at her over my shoulder and smirk.
“Rethinking that serial killer position?” I tease.
“Maybe. You are a loose cannon these days,” she says with a faint grin on her lips. I continue down the stairs and stand in the middle of the room, waiting until she finally makes her way down.
I fight the urge to laugh when she freezes. “These…are a lot of knives,” she says slowly.
“Right?” I fold my arms across my chest. “Years in the making.”
After our mom died, I had to find something else to put my energy and focus on. I always gravitated toward knives for some reason. They remind me a little of myself. They’re beautiful to look at but can be dangerous if you don’t know how to handle them. Sharp around the edges, but useful and a good thing to have on your side when things get tough. It’s the way most people view me in life these days, everyone feeling just a little bit safer to have me on their side.
I guess everyone except Cleo, since she ran from us.
“What’s that one?” she asks.
“A katana.” I move over to it and take it off the wall. She swallows hard when I take it out of its sheath. “One of the sharpest I own.”
She nervously tracks every move I make while holding the sword. “I-I see.”
I cock my head to the side. “Scared?”
Though she scoffs, she shifts her weight from foot to foot and looks around as if trying to make sure she can make a quick getaway if she needs to. “Why would be I scared?”
“You tell me. You’re the one shaking like a leaf.” I take a step forward, grinning when she takes a tiny step back.
I point it at her, lightly running it down the front of her tank top. “It could slice through your clothes like butter.”
Desire flashes in her eyes, but her defiance overpowers it. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, considering the handle looks like a dildo,” she says. “Do you use that line on all the girls you bring down here?”
I stare at her for a long moment before I burst into laughter, looking down at the handle of the katana. Comparing it to a dildo is a stretch, but it definitely gives me an idea.
“I don’t bring women to my home, let alone my safe space,” I say.
“Why’d you bring me then?”
“Because you asked to see it.” I drop my gaze to my hands, tracing the engraved design on my blade with my eyes. “And because you’re the only woman I would trust in my safe space.” After a while, I shake my head. “At least I did.”
She wraps her arms around herself. “I’m sorry, Tristan. For everything.”
“I think we’re well past apologies.” I sigh deeply. “I want a real answer that you’re still beating around the bush in giving me.”
She turns away from me and looks at my wall containing my smaller knives. I tighten my jaw as I sheath the katana and put it back in its place with the others. She slowly picks up a knife, and I swallow hard, knowing which one it is.
“You…named a knife after me?” she asks before looking up at me with wide eyes.
“No.” My voice is tight, and she flinches at how harsh it comes out. “When you left, I cut myself with that knife. Your name is on that knife so that I’m always reminded of the pain you caused, in the event that I have a moment of weakness of wanting you back in my life.”
Satisfaction swirls in my gut to see the hurt that fills her face, but I know she’s not hurting as much as I was in that moment all those years ago. Watching that fucking social worker come and take her away was the second hardest thing I’ve endured. I watched her get into the car without a single look back at our house. I watched them pull out of our driveway and ride off into the sunlight.
I was fucking angry and sad, but I didn’t want to give her my tears. I was holding a skinning knife my grandpa had gotten me during one of our many summer hunting trips, so I’d cut the middle of my palm to have another reason to shed the tears that I knew were for her. The knife is now a proverbial reminder that she skinned my heart alive and left me to bleed, left us to suffer without her. It’s the one thing that’s keeping my anger alive the longer she refuses to give me an answer for her departure.
I snatch the knife from her and force the memories back. Before I can even stop myself, I press the knife to her throat.
“How poetic would it be to slit your throat with the same knife I cut myself with because of you?” I growl.
The blade moves when she swallows, but she keeps her eyes trained on me. “If that’s what you think it’ll take to stop your pain.” Her voice is soft, and that pisses me off. She has no fucking right to try to be a martyr right now. I want her fear, the terror she gave me in hell. Not…whatever the fuck this is. She trembles slightly but tries to look strong. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I am.”
Anger slowly cooks under the surface within me. I drag the knife lightly down her chest until I get to the hem of her shirt. Her breath hitches when I grab her shirt and pull it away from her body enough to send my knife through the fabric without cutting her. She squeaks in surprise and then frowns at me disapprovingly.
