Page 33 of How May I Please You

She’s fucking lying.

But she has no reason to lie. I’ve given her every out I can, so when she says she didn't do it, I try to believe her. What other choice do I have? We stay in our cuddled position against the headboard for a while, my arms swaddling her as I nuzzle her neck and kiss her shoulders, the voice in my head telling me not to give in so easily. But it’s Journey. I love her. I trust her. If I don't, then she’s no different than the rest of the people in the world. People I would gladly gut for lying to me.

I try to drown the seed of doubt, dousing it with hope and trust, but even as we move from the bed into the kitchen for dinner, the voice is still there, louder than it has been in months.

She's lying to you. Do not take this lying down. She. Is. Lying.

I can’t shake it even as we eat together, and it’s with me when it’s bedtime and we cuddle again to go to sleep.

I don't know why, but I feel like there is a hidden treasure chest inside of Journey that she hides from the entire world—including me—and inside is a trove of secrets.

twenty

~ journey ~

No one knows that I poisoned my father. He’d been an alcoholic for years, his liver shriveling and dying centimeter by centimeter with each sip from the bottle, so when it finally gave out after years of abuse, the doctors weren’t surprised. We’d just come from an appointment regarding his failing health, and his care manager warned him that it could be too late even if he stopped drinking, which he used as an excuse to pile it on even heavier. In his drunken fits of rage, he always took out his emotions on me. I’d been abused by him in nearly every way imaginable, so when the doctor told him he could be near his end, I decided to speed up the process.

Antifreeze tastes sweet. At least that’s what the internet told me when I looked it up after learning it had been used to kill people before. I also learned that once it enters the human body, the person who consumed it is practically doomed. The amount I put into my father's whiskey bottle wasn't enough to change the look of his favorite drink or alter its taste. He never even knew that with every sip, I was poisoning him. He must have liked the sweeter taste, because he downed that particular bottle faster than any I’d seen in the past, and that’s really saying something. The doctor didn't even bother to examine his organs after he passed, because they already knew his history with alcohol, so I never got confirmation on whether or not it was me. I was also never charged with his murder. Sometimes not knowing is better. Nonetheless, I do know I put antifreeze in his whiskey and then he died, and I’ve kept that tidbit of information to myself since the moment it happened. Secrets are not new to me.

It is not my intention to hurt you, Sir. Of course not. I love you. You are the very essence of my dark and twisted existence, and I can’t imagine my life without you. Keeping the information about Andrea’s isn't about you, Evan. It is about me. I don't want to tell you, and it’s not because I think you’ll react in a way that will fracture our relationship. It’s simply because I don't want to tell you.

This is who I am. There are things about me that I just don't tell anyone. No one knows about my dad the same way no one knows about the fire, the same way no one knows that I watched you bury Sierra Cross in your backyard. I don't know if you finding out this information would mean anything at all, but it is my secret, not ours.

I can tell that you are becoming suspicious of me. The fact that you asked me outright if I set the fire is all the confirmation I would ever need, but I just didn't want to tell you. Even with you being so sweet about it, holding me tightly in your arms while kissing me with all the love and sentiment a woman could ever want. I couldn't do it. I didn't want to. I love you, Evan, and I hope this secret won't cause problems, but I can’t tell you this.

You were still asleep when I left the house this morning, snoring peacefully in bed as I walked out with a heart that weighed more today than usual. I don't feel good about lying to you. I know you wouldn't appreciate it if you were to ever find out, but I swallowed my guilt and made my way to the precinct, forcing myself to think about anything other than the fact that I’m harboring a new secret that is meant for only me.

When I walk into the office, everything looks as it usually does. Uniformed officers move about like ants next to the detectives dressed in suits and tailored button-ups. The clerk operates from her corner of the bullpen, while Captain Saunders sits in his office talking loudly on the phone with the door wide open. Everything is as it usually is, including the sight of Detective Summers sitting at his desk right next to mine, his chair turned toward the entrance as if he’s waiting for me to walk in just so he can flash that irritating smile. Sure enough, when I come through the door, there’s the smile.

“Dude, how long have you been facing the door?” I ask when I reach my desk, annoyance already dripping from my words.

“Not long,” Summers replies. “How was your night?”

I sit at my desk and turn on my computer. It’s already a dreadful morning, and I get the feeling it’ll be a dreadful day. I lied to you last night, Sir, and it’s going to weigh me down for every waking minute.

“My night sucked. How about yours?” I ask, facing the screen even though it’s still black.

“My night was interesting,” Summers replies. “I learned some things. Do you want to grab a cup of coffee first, or would you like to hear about it now?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Well, I’m not sure. Are you interested in information about Chad Swanson’s alibi?”

My breath catches in my throat as my lungs freeze. My computer lights up and I don't even bother to look at it. I turn around to face Summers and there’s something in his eyes that makes me frown.

“You got info about Chad’s alibi? How?” I ask, my heart revving with each passing second.

“You know the Shell station he mentioned outside of Center City? I found it.”

I swallow hard, wishing your arms were still around me to offer comfort.

“You went there without me?” I inquire, but it’s a stupid question. He clearly did.

“I did, and you know what I found?” he asks rhetorically. “Proof.”

My jaw tightens. Sir, something feels off.

“Proof of what?” I ask.

---