Page 34 of White Wings of Desire

"I don't know," I answer honestly, surprised by what she’s saying. I will need to look up the term ‘love-bombing’ later, because I'm not exactly sure what she's talking about. But it sounds like a not-so-good term from the way she said it. Since I brought her home, I've been doing everything I can to make her feel at ease. I never really considered that she might need to get to know me to feel comfortable. No one has ever been curious enough to find out who I really am. Maybe she's not as opposed to staying with me as I first thought. I should have just taken her much earlier.

"I'm fine right now." She breaks me out of my thoughts. "But it's only been a week, and you've been nice, and I enjoy you showering me with attention and gifts, but that won't be enough forever. As time goes on, I think I'll go insane if we don't start trusting each other."

"Trust?" I ask, my voice dropping to a whisper. It's such a short and easy word to say out loud, but it's one with a lot of meaning that's very hard to gain. I take a deep breath. "Okay, you can ask me whatever you want, and I will try to answer honestly."

"Then let's start with the basics." Her face lights up with what I think is hope. She adjusts her position and scoots a little closer to me. "Favorite color?"

"White."

"Favorite animal?"

"Doves, of course."

"Favorite book?" Her eyes drift to the book on my bedside table.

"The Dark Half by Stephen King."

"Favorite movie?"

"The Birds by Alfred Hitchcock."

"How do you like to spend your free time?"

"At home. Reading. With you. Taking care of my birds."

"Biggest pet peeve?"

"Being late."

"What are you most afraid of?"

"Next."

"Biggest regret in life?"

"Next."

"Favorite childhood memory?"

"Next."

I shoot her a warning glare, but she deliberately ignores it, even though I know she has seen it. She follows up with more questions about my past, trying to dig into my childhood. But I skip over every question about that chapter of my life. When she found out my real name, she must have seen the documents showing that I grew up in foster care. And that is all she needs to know right now. We won't unleash those demons tonight, and I would prefer that we never do.

Eventually, she gets the hint and drops the whole topic. "What does your perfect day look like?"

"As long as you're with me, every day is perfect," I say, noticing how a soft hue of pink spreads across her fair skin.

"Why me? Why didn't you just kill me?" She takes her eyes off me and begins nervously picking at the sheets.

I stay silent and lean back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. Raising my hand, I run my fingers through the loose strands of my hair. Why? Indeed. My brain is operating at high speed. She had asked me something similar on our drive back to New York, but I had deliberately ignored her because I didn't have an answer at the time. Tipping my head to the side, my eyes land on her again, waiting for my answer.

I take a deep breath and let the air escape my lungs with a heavy sigh.

"While I was watching you, I learned your every move, what you like and dislike, how you interact with others, friends, strangers, animals, you name it. And despite our similar past, compared to me and others, you appear so pure, so kind, and so gentle to those around you. With each passing day, I found myself falling deeper into an obsession. To me, you're like a white dove in a world of crows." The words fall from my mouth with such ease that I don't even realize the meaning they hold. "I was torn between fulfilling my duty to kill you and not wanting to because you are the missing piece in my collection. When you cried out my name in that hut while I was pounding into you, something inside of me snapped. I don't care about the job. I don’t care about anything. I know I’m being selfish, but I need you. I've felt dead inside for the longest time, but you awakened something in me, emotions I thought had died a long time ago with my first kill." My heart races at my own confession, hammering against my chest.

She sits paralyzed in front of me, her eyes wide open in shock. The only movement is the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath she takes. "You are fucking crazy," she finally says and moves, pushing herself up, throwing herself at me, and wrapping her arms around my neck.

I gasp at the impact of her body slamming into mine, and my arms wrap around her middle, holding her in place. "Did I say something stupid?" She shakes her head wildly, her face buried in the crook of my neck, and my head bobs from side to side in response.

---