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I have to resist my own reaction. She’s heavy but soft above me. Her body naturally curving alongside mine. Her breasts press into my chest and my free hand rests lightly on her hip. Our thighs are tangled together, and it is not even remotely unpleasant.
There’s a rush of desire that zips under my skin, warming my blood. The spark of a flint before a fire. The knife dangles above my neck, and unfortunately, I find it oddly attractive to see she knows how to hold it and where to aim.
“Satisfied?” I ask.
“Hardly,” she pants. “I thought I might cut you, at least.”
“You tried your best.”
She scowls. “Don’t patronize me.” She jerks her hand, still wielding the knife. I take it from her and throw it off the bed, releasing her wrist. She straddles my hips, her legs tightening around me. I’m sodistracted by the sensation that I miss how her hand flies through the air, outside of my periphery. Her palm connects with my cheek, her slap well placed and well pressured. The sound of skin connecting to skin echoes in my ears.
I grab her wrist, hold it tight. Preventing her from trying again.
Harriet breathes heavily, a sense of shock evident in her eyes.
I remain still as the sting flares and subsides.
The sensation rears up a dormant memory of a tougher hand, a harder slap, and an overwhelming sense of shame and visceral anger. I suppress it to the back of my mind, where I keep everything to do with my father locked tight and hidden in the dark.
Several seconds pass as we stare each other down.
I release her wrist slowly, everything about my silence conveying a warning that if she tries again, I might not be so kind.
She lifts her chest, sits up straight, but remains straddling my thighs.
“Look at that. You decided to fight and ended up on my lap all on your own,” I say, sliding my hands up and under my head so I’m resting comfortably beneath her. She balks at my display of ease. Then she realizes the inappropriateness of her position and jumps like a frightened cat off my lower body.
She finds her balance, pressed up against the bathroom wall. As far away from me as she can get.
“If you want to be mad at someone. Be angry at your family. They are the reason you and I have been thrust together.”
She scoffs and folds her arms across her chest. “And why should I believe what you say about them?”
“Because I have no reason to lie,” I say and sit up, resting my hands behind my back to lean on.
“Why don’t you just go to the police or the FBI? Why are you doing this yourself?”
I can’t help but laugh at her naivety. “You really think that’s how the world works? You know better than that, Dr. Lewis. It’s a shit fight through and through.” She doesn’t say anything. Just rakes her intelligent gaze over me. If only she knew how much she radiates her father’s wildness in this moment.
I head toward the door, content to leave her behind to stew, when her voice strikes between my shoulder blades. “I have one more question.” I turn and lean against the doorway with my hands in my pockets and nod for her to continue.
She breathes deeply through her nose before she asks, “Did you really have to kill him?”
Even now, with him dead and gone, fury still simmers in my stomach over the ease with which he died. “The better question would be, did I really have to kill him soquickly? Because believe me, Dr. Lewis. I would have made him suffer much worse if you hadn’t been standing behind me.”
She stares me down from across the room like a lioness sizing up a kill. Her nostrils flare just the slightest, her hands crumpling into fists against her stomach.
In the periphery of my good eye, I see a flash of silver. I pick up the knife left discarded on the floor. “How about I put this back?” I grab the handle of the door and pull it behind me, but before I close it, I offer some advice. “Next time, hide under the bed and swipe at my ankles. You’ll have more of a chance of cutting me.”
She shrugs. “Or I could hang from the ceiling and slice your neck from above.”
A chuckle rises up my throat, but I shove it down. I try not to dissect the way Harriet’s eyes flash with something other than hatred, and instead, concentrate on keeping her pacified.
“Nowthatwould be impressive,” I admit, and close the door.
9
Etta
