Page 73 of I Will Ruin You

Bonnie waited for the dancing dots to indicate he had received the text and was in the process of writing back to her.

Nothing.

She was about to send a second text, asking the same question, this time tapping it out entirely in capital letters. Let him know she meant business.

But then she stopped.

Maybe she really didn’t want to talk to him. Because once she started asking where he’d been and what he’d done, he’d want details about how her evening went. Like whether she’d told Marta about his situation.

Bonnie definitely did not want to tell him what she’d done.

Thirty-Four

Lucy went to the mall.

She wasn’t remotely interested in shopping, but had no idea where else to go. She thought maybe if she wandered around Macy’s and Target and Boscov’s and in and out of the countless smaller stores, it would take her mind off her troubles, and maybe while she was doing that Billy would text her and tell her to come home. She wasn’t expecting him to say he’d forgiven her, but if he at least said she could come back, and promised he wouldn’t hurt her, that would be a first step.

If and when he did get in touch, she would tell him again how sorry she was, that she would do anything she could to make things right, but he had to get rid of that gun. That gun had scared the living shit out of her. So long as it was in the house, she wasn’t safe.

She went to the food court and bought a coffee and muffin and sat at one of the small tables for four, wondering where she would go if Billy didn’t get in touch before the mall closed. She had friends from work, but none close enough that she could ask to stay over. Even if she did, she’d have to explain why she couldn’t go home, and did she really want to get into all that?

One thing she wasn’t going to do was call the police. Sure, she could tell them Billy’d threatened her with a gun and they’d go arrest his ass, but inevitable questions would follow. Why’d he have a gun in the first place? Who was he afraid of, and why? Why had he threatened her? What had she done?

Oh, well, I was skimming from this fentanyl shipment he was holding for these two dealers who bring the stuff in from Mexico.

Calling the police was what you might call a nonstarter.

Lucy sipped on her coffee, not really tasting it, and picked away at her muffin, eating some of the top crunchy part and destroying the rest of it, nervously breaking it down into little bits. She left the empty cup and crumbled muffin on the table and resumed her wandering.

The stores were starting to close. The metal-and-glass fronts were being slid into place, lights going off, so Lucy left the mall and went back to her car. Got behind the wheel but did not start the engine. She took out her phone and brought up her texts.

Stared at the screen, willing Billy to send her a message.

She’d take the first step. She typed:

I love you and I want to come home.

Hit send. The message, her phone said, had been delivered.

Come on, come on. Reply, you dumb asshole.

Nothing. No little dots. That didn’t have to mean he was still too pissed to reply. He might not have seen the message.

She decided to give him another minute before sending a second message.

I understand if you don’t forgive me but we can work this out.

She followed this with two heart emojis, waited another thirty seconds, and sent it.

Nothing.

The parking lot was thinning out. Lucy began to feel vulnerable, sitting here alone in a car as night fell. It was time, as they say, to face the music. She keyed the ignition.

Billy’s van was still in the driveway. There were lights on in the house and the garage, so it was a toss-up where he was. She decided to go into the house first. If she saw that gun on the kitchen table before she found Billy, she’d hide it. But as soon as she walked through the door, all thoughts of the gun left her.

Holy shit.

The place looked like a tornado had swept through.

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