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“No, that’s it. That’s the whole thing.I’m not a serial killer. This is…” I don’t like using the word mistake, so I bite it back. This doesn’t feel like a mistake, either. It feels, well, stupid. But not accidental. “I don’t know what this is or was. I guess it’s Oliver helping me and. Umm… I guess we all got carried away. How can I be okay with this, when you’re killing women because you want to hurt my best friend so much?”
“I didn’t get carried away,” Oliver points out quietly, like his feelings are hurt. “What makes you think I did? Not to mention, I’m killing thembecauseI don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“She doesn’t mean us, Oliver,” Rook explains smoothly, gaze holding mine. “She means thatshegot carried away. Isn’t that what you’re trying to say, Love? That you came over here expecting just a little classwork and now you can’t fathom why you let us fuck you like that?”
The heat climbs up my cheeks, and I can’t hold his gaze any longer. Not when he looks at me with a mix of accusation and understanding. “It’s okay to like it,” he points out. “And it’s okay to let me take care of you.”
“No, it’s not,” I snap quietly, sliding to my feet. Even though I don’t want to go, I have to make a point here. Even if my resolve is crumbling to shit, I can’t let them believe that. “I can’t; I told you that. I told you I didn’t want you in my life like… that.”
Still, I blink back frustration, and look around for my things. “Where’s my backpack?” I ask, stepping away from Oliver when he slides off the stool. Needing to be cold. Ineedto act aloof, like it doesn’t bother me.
Fuck, I really need it not to bother me.
“Right there.” Rook doesn’t sound perturbed, even though I can’t look at him or Oliver. “Everything is in it, including what you aren’t wearing. Do you want me to call you an Uber?”
“No,” I say. “I want to do it myself. I’m going to wait outside, too. Okay?” God, why am I asking forpermission?
“Not okay,” Rook denies, dragging my gaze up to his with surprise. He raises a brow, and shakes his head again. “Call an Uber, and wait in here. It’s midnight in St. Augustine. I don’t want anything happening to you.”
What a bold thing to say, when he’s the scariest thing here.
“You don’t have to go,” Oliver murmurs, disappointment lacing his words. “You could stay—”
“No.” Meeting his eyes, with my own wide, and maybe a little afraid. “I have to go, Oliver. I just… have to go.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t argue. Neither of them do, while I stand by the door and wait for Bob the Uber driver to show up.
And when he does, I try very hard not to look back. Even if I do, I pretend not to see the hurt on Oliver’s face, or the way Rook watches me with a misplaced concern that I never would’ve pictured him wearing.
They’re serial killers, I remind myself with every single step. They’re bad, dreadful even. And everything that’s wrong with the world, and I can’t keep doing this.
So why is it, then, that I can’t convince myself thatthey’rethe real problem? IOr that I don’t want to stride back in, pull up my chair, and have another piece of French toast before falling asleep in Oliver’s bed?
Chapter 25
Getting them out of my head is difficult. So is not running everything through my head that had happened, and instead I try to take a pointed interest the weather.
St. Augustine, after all, is nothing like indiana.
In November, back home, the temperature can be anywhere from seventy to twenty. Sometimes lower, quite frankly, since Indiana has a mind of its own and can’t be controlled by something so trivial as seasons or averages. I’ve seen snow, ice storms, and people snowboarding in t-shirts in November, and none of it has me bat an eye anymore.
But St. Augustine is different. It’swarmhere, and only marginally cooler than it was a month ago, or even two months ago. The weather is just as muggy, just as rainy, and just as humid. If not even more so, honestly. The one thing I won’t miss about this place is the humidity, even if I enjoy the storms that hit the city on a much more frequent basis than the ones back home.
After all, I much prefer a thunderstorm to three inches of snow covered by an impenetrable layer of literal ice.
Delivering the end of my farewell, I smile sweetly at my webcam and end my stream. I’ve been steadily gaining viewerssince I picked up streaming again, though I have a feeling that’s due to Oliver, orletsplayjayto the masses, promoting me on his channel and talking about how much fun it had been to work with me. I’m pretty sure he’d said something along the lines of joining me for my stream again to his viewers, or suggesting I might show up on his stream instead.
But if those are his intentions, he hasn’t said anything to me about them. Nor has he made any kind of formal invite, or anything else.
Maybe they’re just words to tease his viewers. He’s good at that. He’s good at doing things that make people want more of him, instead of like me, when all I can do is act the shy, inexperienced camgirl who plays on the emotions of guys who like that kind of thing.
Somehow, when I try to smoosh Oliver and Rook into that category, it makes my nose curl in disgust, and I immediately chase the thoughts away. They don’t seem to like me for those reasons. They don’t make comments about my innocence, my vulnerability, or about how unsure I am. Not like my viewers do when they suggest and tease and sometimes taunt.
I’m thankful. Because if they did, I doubt I’d want to be around either of them very much.
Then again, if they did, it would be easier to do what I need to. It would be that much less of a challenge to shove Oliver away from me, which I know would push Rook away as well. I have to, I think, because of what they are.
Serial killers can’t love anyone. And Oliver is insane sometimes. Getting the look on his face from the night he’d basically kidnapped me out of my head is impossible, even though he didn’t hurt me. Getting the idea out of my head that he killed proxies to make up for not wanting to kill Juniper is terrifying.
