Page 125 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

It takes her a few minutes, but she finally speaks. It’s soft, but crystal clear.

“I tried to kill him.”

Somehow, I’m not shocked by this. I’m more curious than anything else.

“How?”

She hesitates. “I got somebody to give me something to slip him. Knocked him out. Then I pushed him down the stairs.”

I swallow hard and wait.

She closes her eyes, shaking her head like she can see it playing out in her mind. “I ended up calling an ambulance. I don’t know why. For some reason, I just couldn’t let him die.” She opens her eyes, bringing them back to me. “I’m so fucked up, I can’t even kill somebody right.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

She clasps her hands together, her grip white-knuckle tight. “I hate him. Every day, I look at him and feel disgusted.”

“Then why—"

“His disability and social security checks come to me,” she says, shrugging a shoulder, and I have to admit, it’s nice to see a glimpse of the Raya I used to know.

Silence stretches between us.

I watch her. She watches me.

We’re sizing each other up. Getting a feel for this new reality. She’s finally showed me what’s in there, what she thought would scare me away. Now, she’s wondering where my head is at.

“What are you thinking?” Her voice is small and timid. “Do you hate me now?”

I scrub a hand down my face, stare into her pretty brown eyes, and tell hermytruth.

“I’m sitting here trying to figure out how anybody could ever deliberately hurt you.”

Something flashes in her eyes before she gives me a sad, weary smile. “Apparently, most people find it very easy.”

“It ain’t easy for me.”

She searches my face like she’s trying to find the lie.

There isn’t one.

I wish itwasa lie. That would make my life way fucking easier. Wouldn’t be no debating. No conflict. No mental back and forth. That shit I said to her when I was trying to fuck her out of my system? I wish all that was true, too. But the reality is so much more complicated.

I need my boys here to talk me out of this shit. To call me a simp. Say I’m pussy whipped. That I fucked up when I stuck my dick in crazy.

Maybe that’s all true, too.

But it doesn’t matter. Because right now, it’s just me and her in this kitchen, and she needs me.

I’ve been needed before. I’ve been fucking useless before. I’m never gonna be that again for a woman I care about.

Raya’s broken. I can’t fix her, but I can be something that’s solid and safe for her. A resting place.

Because how the fuck did she rest at home, knowing that vile motherfucker was always twenty feet away? How did she stay sane? How did her mind not snap?

I can’t even wrap my head around it.

“So he can be there alone overnight?” I say casually.

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