Page 7 of The Heart of Midnight

Carefully, I run my thumb over the ridged edges. “Will you let me take care of it for you?”

“You’d want to?”

Disbelief takes over everything else in her eyes, and suddenly it all makes sense. I don’t know what happened to this beautiful girl before she had the misfortune of meeting me, but she’s just as broken as I am. Only she keeps her heart right there on her sleeve and I locked mine away in a box. “Yes, silly girl. Do you have a first aid kit in that tiny little bathroom of yours?”

“It’s not tiny,” she argues, a small smile peeking through as she leads the way there. “You’re just giant.”

Maybe that’s true, but I was trying to get her to let me in the bigger one in her bedroom. Oh, well. A little close quarters never hurt anyone.

Squeezing in with her, I take the first aid kid and rifle through it to find saline solution and a gauze pad. “Chin up, Av.” When she doesn’t immediately move, I grip her chin in the crook of my finger and lift it up. “That’s better.”

Her hands tighten at her sides as her knees press together, but she doesn’t comment on the physical reaction with words. “Didn’t know you were a nurse in your spare time.”

“Nah, not a nurse. Just been around a few injuries in my day.”

“I guess you would, being a mechanic.” Her eyes lock with mine, and with her neck bared at me and her cut on display, I find it hard not to just take her. “Do you like your job?”

Shrugging, I clean the cut as gently as I can and try not to think about how good it felt to cause it. “Sometimes. I like fixing problems, but some cars that come in should just be put out of their misery.”

“I wonder if murderers feel that way about people.”

Oh, we do.

“Do you spend a lot of time thinking about killers?”

That makes her huff. “Yes. Janet says I watch too many documentaries, but I can’t help it. They’re... fascinating.”

She bites her lip at the sting of pain when I press some ointment on her wound, but she doesn’t pull away. My good girl never does. “What’s so fascinating about some creep who kills people for fun?”

“It’s just amazing the different ways humans react to trauma. Most of the time they have some reason why they became who they became. Have you ever watched one?”

Her hands reach out to grip my shirt like she’s struggling to stay standing under my intense gaze, which just tells me I need to back the fuck off a little. Too bad I can’t. “A few,” I admit. Mostly to see how to evade capture, but she doesn’t need to know that. “Do you think they’re all traumatized?”

“No. There’s no rulebook for why fucked-up humans do the things they do. I’m sure some of them only do it because they know they shouldn’t, but I’d want to know their story too. Maybe I’m just as fucked up for caring.”

She shrugs, and as I put the gauze over her neck and tape it down, I can’t seem to stop myself. “Do you think any of them could still be good people? Under all the other shit, I mean.”

“I know they can. Some of them have full lives and families who never suspected anything. I don’t think most people are entirely good or bad, some just have more good to give the world than others, and maybe people who kill choose to only give their good bits to select people. Does that make sense?”

As I double check that the bandage won’t tug on her skin, I’m convinced she’s never said anything more accurate. Avery Valentine might be the only human being on the face of this shithole of a planet who gets the good bits of me, but even those are soured. I still give her the bad too, she just doesn’t know it yet. “You’re very intuitive. And probably a lot more generous than most people deserve.”

Certainly more generous than I’ll ever deserve, but at this point? I’m not sure I want it to stop.

Six

Avery

I can hardly stand the way he’s looking at me. I’ve never been looked at like I was something precious, never had someone to clean up my wounds. My parents never gave a shit, and more often than not, they were the reasons behind my injuries anyway. I was an only child that ended up dating all the wrong men, so not one of them ever tried to take care of me in any capacity. I’ve always been the caretaker, but in this moment I realize all I’ve ever wanted is for someone to take care of me. It’s making my chest tighten with emotions I’m not in a place to confront, and he doesn’t seem to be done with me yet. “Thank you for helping me. I don’t deserve you.”

He flinches just enough to be noticeable. “Don’t say that.”

I know he seems to struggle to see the good in himself, but from my perspective, it’s all I see. I won’t push him though. “Fine,” I concede. “You’re awfully clean after a day at the shop. You finally bring extra clothes?”

“Are you honestly complaining that I’m not covered in filth?” he teases. “I can always go back and roll around on the floor a little...”

Laughing, I smack his shoulder playfully and lead the way back to the living room. “How is it I was just scared for my life and you’ve already made me laugh?”

“Because you’re strong and resilient. And deep down, you know you don’t need to be afraid anymore. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

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