Page 17 of Beautiful Prey

“No, no.” He shook his head, as if given some awful news. “I’m sorry.Wuthering Heights?Seriously?”

I blinked. “What? I think it’s kind of beautiful in its own twisted way.”

He groaned as if it pained him. “Ihatedthat book. Catherine was an insufferable bitch of a woman. And Heathcliff, what an utter shitbag. They were both so mentally unhinged and self-absorbed it was nauseating.”

“I…can’t argue that. But they were so utterly obsessed with each other…in a bad way of course. It was awful yet so intense you couldn’t help being astounded and impressed.”

Emery blew out a breath. “Overdramatic. May Catherine rest in pieces. And Heathcliff on top of her. And no one had any balls to stop them. They ruined lives and people just said, ‘Ah, they were so obsessed that they hated each other for it. Let’s make theothers suffer because we’re petty fucks and our kink is to make other’s lives hell.’”

“A classic tale.”

“NowJane Eyre, that I could do,” he continued. “Any of them actually, evenUlyssesoverWuthering Heights.”

I crossed my arms. “You likedJane Eyre?”

He eyed me curiously. “You didn’t?”

I shrugged. “It was alright. But Mr. Rochester was kinda weird.”

Emery appeared totally offended. He straightened in his seat, huffing. “Of course he was. But that’s what made him charming. You would be too if you had to deal with a crazy person locked in your house for years. The old demon. He was a poor lonely SOB.”

I looked at him and, I don’t know why, I started to laugh.

“What?” he said “What is it?”

I shook my head, rubbing my eyes. “Nothing.” I stifled another laugh.

“Seriously what?”

“I just…I didn’t expect you to be so into all that. You’re only like…a few years older than me, aren’t you?”

He looked at his feet sheepishly. “Nothing wrong with liking the classics.”

“No, of course not! I didn’t mean it like that. You just don’t…it’s just surprising. A good surprise.”

“I have a lot of time on my hands…I read a lot.”

“And I think that’s great. I mean it.”

For once, it seemed hard for him to look at me. “I don’t care for Stephen King though,” he murmured. “And they have a lot of him here. Don’t have a great selection like the last place. Except for theShining, that one was good. Better than the movie.”

I smiled. “Another of my favorites. And I agree, Kubrick ruined the ending.”

He hesitated. “Yeah. The cook was the best character.”

I nodded. I felt odd for a moment. Couldn’t place what it was at first until I realized why. It was this conversation. Not the actual words, just the talking. It felt a little too easy.

I cleared my throat after a moment. “Well? Think you got me figured out?”

He laughed. “Not even close,” he said. “But I like that. I think…”

“What?”

He blew out a slow breath. “I think for once I actually enjoy going to therapy.”

My chest swelled. Not like heart failure or anything. But a weird sort of pride. Trying to contain my excitement, I said, “So about that journaling…”

Emery groaned, “I’ll do it, lady, just give me a break.”

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