Page 86 of Bake the Town Red

And my life was Dahlia. ItisDahlia.

“Okay.” My voice is clipped. Impatient. “We’re done, then.”

This conversation needs to end. Dahlia closed her shop less than two hours ago. She’s killing someone. I’m going to be there for it. I’m going to be there for her.

No more hiding.

She’s been visiting me late at night for two nights straight. Never sleeping over, no matter how many times I licked her into an orgasm. No matter how many times I told her I have to protect her by being under the same roof together.

A line was drawn in the sand.

You don’t get to be a controlling asshole, she said.Not until I say so.

Clearly, it’s a lie. What’s happening is she’s hiding herself from me. Being the sneaky killer she is. I haven’t earned her trust yet, and that’s on me.

So I let her. Because I’m the one who needs to prove himself to her. Show up at her shop. Prove to her by actions, not words, that I approve of her special brand of coping mechanism. That I’ll help.

I’m ready for her. Ready for us. For whatever comes our way. I’ll protect her with my own life. If her heart stops, I’ll rip mine out and put it there instead. Or better yet. I’ll follow her soul wherever it might go. And I sure as shit won’t tell her to stop killing people.

This woman is so fucking perfect that it hurts.

“Hey, Tyler?”

“What?”Hang the fuck up, Clint.

“Everything okay?” Over the last couple of years, HR embedded this new bullshit protocol in our company.

Check up on your employees. Look at them as people and not just employees.

Four years ago, when I showed up to work unshaven and with bloodshot eyes, no one bothered to ask me what was wrong.

I don’t need anyone to ask me, not anymore.

Don’t care for their fake compassion.

Don’t care for anything.

Liar.

You care for Dahlia. You love her.

Talking to myself doesn’t surprise me anymore.

Yes, I care for her. Yes, I love her.

“The scratch marks on your face…” he keeps probing when I say nothing. “Want to talk about that?”

“Cut myself while shaving.” Another lie. I don’t shave my fucking cheekbones.

I won’t talk about her. She’s mine. My secret. My woman. My psycho.

Jesus fuck, would he just end the goddamn call?

“Good, you’re smiling,” my boss says. I leave that smile on, hoping it will appease him. That it’d cut this conversation short. “Great, then we’ll catch up tomorrow.”

“Great.” The single word appeases both of us.

The video conference ends. It’s quiet again.

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