Page 107 of Soul of a Psycho

“You don’t,” I yell. “You have no idea.” I grasp her delicate wrists and pull her against me, ignoring her gasp. “If you did, you wouldn’t be here right now,” I say, and shake her, trying to make her understand. “You wouldn’t even be able to look at me. You would hate me. You wouldn’t want anything to do with me. You would be embarrassed to even be standing here right now.”

Her eyes sear into mine, but there’s not a trace of the fear she should have. Doesn’t she see it? Doesn’t she see me?! I growl and drag her onto the train tracks. She begins to trip and I hoist her up, locking my arms around her. The clouds finally break, and fat, warm droplets begin to pelt us.

“See now?” I demand, anchoring us in the center of the tracks as the whistle draws closer, showing her how easy it would be for me to take our lives.

“I see it all.” She raises her chin. “And I don’t care.”

“God damn it!” I hiss between my teeth. Is she fucking blind? “Do you even know who I am?”

“You’re just Cade.” She smiles sadly and puts a hand on my cheek.

“No.” I snatch her wrist. “I’m your worst nightmare.”

“If you’re a nightmare, then how come I don’t want to wake up? Don’tyousee? I don’t care. I love you. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done or what you’re… what you’re…”

She can’t finish her words, and I squeeze my eyes shut against her short proclamation. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t knowwhatI’m capable of. A taste is all she needs, and then she will go running. It pains me to tell her, but I have to.

“Look at me, Sky, really look at me. Who chased you through the woods? Who was in your room that night? Look at me and tell me you don’t see it.”

Her brows pinch, and I know I have her attention.

“How tall was he, Sky? What was he wearing? Was it all black? Did he wear a hood?” I jerk my chin to my discarded hoodie. “You know who he is. You know who I am.”

She gives a cautious look at the black material I cast aside, and then drops her gaze to my boots. They crunch and sink in the gravel, shining with wet rain, and her bottom lip falls.

“You see it now, don’t you?” My gut sinks with her realization. “I’m your stalker. I’m the twisted, sick fuck who painted their face and terrorized you.”

Rain coats her lashes as she looks up at me and examines my face. I hold still against the burning shame, letting her connect the dots. The train howls behind me, getting closer.

“It was you?” she asks, genuinely dumbfounded.

Jesus, maybe we are both crazy, burying the things we don’t want to see.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I snap. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. What matters is I’m a monster, and you shouldn’t be here.”

She seems to consider this for a moment, and I let my hold on her loosen, sensing the train is nearing with the way the tracks vibrate.

“I don’t care,” she finally says.

For a second, I’m absolved. My sins seem to pool at my feet with the rain that drips from my drenched clothes. She doesn’t care? Something lifts from my shoulders and the tiniest bit of air touches my lungs. It’s the oxygen I’ve been deprived of for weeks and it tastes sweet,forgiving. I want to revel in it, covet it, and devour more. But then I remember why I’ve been choking on my own breath. And who will never be able to breathe again.

“Then you are lost to reason,” I snarl and lock her body against mine.

The glow of a single headlight slices through the darkness, casting light across her face as the train rounds the bend. She squints, eyes narrowing against the blinding glare. The horn blares as the track rattles beneath us, and finally, worry etches into her features. She writhes against me, her body becoming tense.

“What are you doing?” She presses her palms against my chest.

“Speeding up the timeline.”

A brief flash of horror crosses her face as the light grows harsher and the horn becomes deafening. She suddenly clutches my shirt.

“You don’t want to do this.” Her words are rushed as tears fill in her eyes. “You made a mistake. It was an accident. I still love you. I’ll always love you. No matter what. Please, don’t do this. I forgive you—” The train sounds again, drowning out a part of her plea. “—would forgive you.”

I clamp my jaw. As desperately as I want her forgiveness, she can’t forgive what she doesn’t know.

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