Page 38 of The Butterfly Killer

Marcus already felt like he had one. “Why do you care? You’re going to kill me anyway. Might as well save you the trouble.”

He knew dying anyway other than by Roman’s hands would piss the copycat killer off. It would be anti-climactic and would give the man no satisfaction. That’s why Marcus wished he would die though he didn’t want to. He was almost fine with it not being his choice.

Roman’s touch turned gentle. He slowly turned Marcus’s hand over so he had a better look at the wounds. His eyes were calculative as he looked at the marks Marcus hadn’t realized he’d put there. He hadn’t just been picking at his cuticles, he’d been mutilating them, stripping the skin so far back that it looked like he was trying to dig out his nails completely.

He recoiled, wincing at the wounds on his skin. He could barely look at them. His stomach twisted with revulsion he couldn’t stop.

Roman wasn’t at all bothered. That wasn’t a surprise. He’d most definitely seen and done worse. Though the same could be said about Marcus. He’d seen people stripped apart, but he couldn’t stand seeing something that wasn’t even close as bad as a dead body?

“You know as well as I do that neither of us want that.” Roman became disinterested in Marcus’s self-infliction. He stood, dropping Marcus’s hand like it wasn’t attached to a human at all.

He moved to his desk and opened a drawer. He grabbed a couple things before he came back. He held a small tube, a roll of gauze, and a pair of scissors.

Marcus moved back even though he knew he didn’t have the strength to fight Roman off. Roman snorted as he sat back down. He sat the things on the bed and scooted forward so his knees were against the mattress’s edge.

“I’m not going to fight you if that’s what you think,” Roman murmured. He didn’t look at Marcus as he unrolled the gauze and cut a short piece. He folded it in half before placing it delicately back on the bed.

Marcus watched the hands that had mutilated so many people before. They were precise and steady—whether from Roman’s taxidermy or his killing but it was from practice none-the-less.

Roman turned his hand over, palm facing up and open. Marcus looked from the offered hand and then up at Roman’s face, catching his eye. Marcus felt like he was falling into those dark eyes. He had to force himself back, figuratively and literally since he’d been leaning forward without his knowledge.

He swallowed, his throat still dry. He wasn’t thinking when he held his hand out and placed it into Roman’s palm.

There was no smirk or glint in Roman’s eyes as he started to patch up the tiny wounds on Marcus’s hand. He carried on as if this was just another task he needed to check off his to-do list. He worked quick and efficiently, but he didn’t rush his work.

He was gentle when he rubbed the anti-biotic cream onto each cuticle. Marcus flinched and let out a hiss when Roman moved to the worst wound on his pinky. Roman paused, eyes flickering up at Marcus’s pained face.

“You’re awfully pain-intolerant for being a cop,” Roman mused as he put Marcus’s hand down and waited patiently for the other.

Marcus didn’t hesitate this time. While painful at first, the cool cream on his wounds felt nice.

“Joining the police force doesn’t automatically give you physical abilities.”

Roman hummed. “Just privileges then.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “If you want to say something, say it. Hurting my feelings can’t be the worse you can do.”

Roman rose a brow with a small laugh. “Sometimes hurt feelings can be more painful than a literal knife in the back. Hold your hand out, fingers spread.”

Marcus did as he was told. Roman cut the gauze into smaller pieces and wrapped each finger. By the time he was done, Marcus looked ridiculous. His fingers looked bulbous and he couldn’t fully close his hands. He laid his hands flat, as much as he could, on the bed. Roman got up, taking the items with him. He put them away, turning his back to Marcus.

Marcus took the time to watch him without the man knowing. Though, he probably knew Marcus was staring anyway. Marcus just stared, taking in the way the man held himself, how he moved, and how his muscles moved when he lifted his arms. Marcus tried to find the clue in Roman’s body—the clue that would unlock all the answers Marcus had been building since the recent murders started.

It didn’t make anymore sense than when he didn’t know who Roman was.

Roman turned an inch, just enough to look at Marcus from the corner of his eyes. Marcus quickly averted his eyes. He took a deep breath as Roman returned to the chair, slouching and throwing one arm over the back.

He looked both ridiculous and model-esque with his long limbs awkwardly draped over the small chair. He resembled a spider not used to its legs.

“Are you done being scared of me?”

Marcus kept staring ahead. His jaw clenched before he chose his words carefully.

“Do you want me to be scared of you?”

Roman didn’t answer fast enough. A nervous tick swelled in Marcus’s throat. His head shook as he fought with himself to not turn his head and look at Roman.

“I don’t need you to be scared of me. That’s not what I need you for.”

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