Page 69 of Broken

“I see things.”

“What things?”

“Details. Stuff most people don’t notice.” She turns her head on the pillow to look at me. A pillow we’re now sharing. When didthathappen? “I see someone’s pain. Someone’s fear. Someone’s anger.”

“You’re empathic,” I guess.

“Maybe. But not really. I don’t feel what they feel. I just see it. I notice what they’re going through, and instead of bypassing them, instead of moving on, I figure out what’s happening to them and I help where I can.”

Her words have me tensing. “What do you see in me?”

“All three. Pain, fear, and anger. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“No?”

“I already told you why—I’m yours.”

“I’m not yours.”

“So stubborn. You are. You just haven’t figured it out yet. But I’m okay with that.” She gives a happy sigh. “I’m with you. I can wait. I’m patient.”

I blink.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

“You have a bed down the hall,” I rasp, my body tensing at the notion of us sharing apillowuntil morning.

Temptation—I’ll be breathing it in all night.

“But this is nicer. You’re here, and it smells of you.” Her brow furrows deeper than before. “Why does nowhere else smell of you?”

“I clean it?”

“Is the mattress covered in blood?”

The question surprises me, even if I tell her, “There are stains I can’t get out, yes. Whenever I move, I always buy a new one and burn the old one.”

“How are you going to burn it in Rome? Do you have a backyard?”

“No. When that becomes an issue, I’ll have it collected and taken to the dump.”

She pauses. “Do you see yourself being here for a while?”

“I do.”

“You moved a lot before. Why? Because of the…”

“No,” I mutter in exasperation. “Sometimes I just didn’t gel with a parish.”

Who does she think I am—Dahmer?

“Here you do?”

“Yes.”

Andrea rubs her face into the sheets again. “I think that’s why I can smell you here. Your blood is in the mattress.”

“Old blood doesn’t smell.”

---