Page 37 of Mayhem and Minnie

I lean against the door as I await her verdict.

“You will let me live here?” she asks as she slowly makes her way toward me.

“That depends.”

Wariness enters her features. “On?”

“You must abide by my rules,” I tell her.

“Oh, okay. What are those?”

“First, you’ll shower daily. Second, you will not eat any more contaminated food. Third, you will not make any noise from eleven in the evening until seven in the morning. Fourth, you will not disturb me while I’m working. Fifth, you’re allowed to wander around the house, but you’re not allowed to come to my room. Sixth?—”

“Why am I not allowed into your room?” She interrupts me.

“Because I don’t like strangers in my personal space,” I reply.

She considers my words.

“Do you have a wife?”

“No.”

“A girlfriend?”

“No.”

“A lover?”

“No.” I scowl. “What’s with these questions?”

She shrugs. “I was curious.”

“Well, you’re too curious,” I grumble.

“I would not like to step on anyone’s toes,” she adds.

“You’ll step on mine if you do any of the things above,” I counter. “I’m a very private man and I value my routine. You already are a disruption in that routine.” I pause as I look again at my watch. Ten more minutes have gone by. I should wrap this up soon so I can go take a hot bath and scrub the grime off me. The blood from that creep has dried on my skin, and just thinking about it makes me sick.

“If I’m such a disruption, then why are you helping me?” she asks in a small voice.

“Because clearly you cannot care for yourself. You need someone else to do it for you, and fortunately, you caught me in a charitable mood today, so I shall be that person for the time being,” I explain. But as the words are out of my mouth, I mentally berate myself. How the fuck did I even get in a charitable mood? I’m never charitable, at least not with people.

She gawks at me. I wait for some feminist outcry that she’s her own person and she can care for herself—even though the evidence at hand proves otherwise.

“You’re odd,” she mutters.

“So you have said.”

“And a bit of a control freak,” she adds, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

“Make that a whole lot of a control freak.” I chuckle. It’s not an insult. I am what I am, and I require full control over all areas of my life. Well, now hers too.

She gifts me with a full smile.

“You’re also kind. Thank you. But I cannot in good conscience live here for free.”

“May I remind you that you have no money?”

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