Page 41 of Resist Me Not
“Barely,” I admit. “Kind of hard to imagine keeping anything down right now. Though that smells amazing. Butter chicken?”
“Of course. You said it was one of your favorites, and turmeric is good for nerves. The protein from the chicken and carbs from the rice and naan should help too. I’ll get us some plates to serve on. You relax.” Trey kisses my forehead before bringing the bag of food into the kitchen.
I do feel more relaxed. I was anxious all day worrying about him coming over and what I was going to do, and here he is taking care of me again. And he was doing that long before he needed to worry about me spilling his secret.
Was I going to? Do I want to?
He brought me my favorite food just because he knew it would help make me feel better. Because he knew I was likely losing my damn mind over all this and wanted to comfort me. He really is the perfect boyfriend.
If not for the serial killer part.
“You’re a good sort,” Trey says while plating our meal like a dutiful spouse. It dawns on me that this is the first time he’s been inside my apartment. As far as I know. I really don’t need to go downthatline of thinking, but he’s certainly navigating my kitchen like he belongs in it.
Although that might just be Trey, jack of all trades and master of, well, many things, especially managing to charm me despite everything I know about him now.
“Your sensitivity and compassion are part of what enamors me about you, Walker. Sometimes, I think I encounter more vile people in this world than virtuous.”
“I don’t believe that.” The sofa faces away from the kitchen, so I have to sit sideways to watch him. “I mean, I know it can seem that way sometimes, but I do believe most people are good or mean to be good.”
“This may surprise you, but I believe that as well. Which is why the good need to be protected from the bad. Don’t you agree?”
Is he testing me? I forget that Trey has just as much to worry about as I do in this situation. He needs me to be on his side, but I also think he honestly wants me to understand. “Do you not believe you’re one of the bad despite what you do?”
“Society punishes bad people. Even kills bad people.”
“Not as much as we used to. Half of the states don’t have a death penalty anymore.”
“True. But the other half still do. Prison sentences, even life sentences, don’t ensure someone doesn’t become a repeat offender, and many of the worst offenders never see the inside of a jail cell. Who punishes them? Who protects their victims if no one notices they are being victimized? I simply cannot stand to see people like my mother, innocent, good people, brutalized and wronged when they deserve better.”
“I get that.” I do. It’s almost romantic. For as many superheroes there are with no-kill policies, there are plenty that do, and we still glorify them in comics and movies. But it doesn’t work like that in the real world. If people were always taking matters into their own hands, it would be chaos.
“You get it,” Trey repeats, bringing our filled plates over to the coffee table, “maybe even respect it on some level, but you can’t condone it. I understand.” He sits, not on the sofa with me but in the chair at my left, giving me space. He needs to stop being sodamn thoughtful. But how much calmer I’m feeling around him is making me realize how hungry I really am.
I start to eat, and the first few bites are absolute heaven.
“The only real question, doctor,” he says in that low, husky, panty-dropping voice that first captivated me, “is whether you can accept it.”
That slows the chewing of my current bite, and it feels thicker when it slides down my throat. “If I can’t? I mean, if I don’t want to be with you anymore?”
“I will be disappointed because I enjoy your company very much, but if so, you will never hear from me again after tonight.”
The panic that surges up at the thought of never seeing him again surprises me. Or maybe it doesn’t. I’ve never met anyone like him. I’ve never connected in so many ways with someone this strongly before. I don’t want all of that to end. I don’t want to go back to constantly choosing the wrong partner.
But can I really call Trey the right one?
“Would you ever consider… stopping?” I ask.
He finishes his current bite of food and looks me square in the eyes. “No. It is something I need to do. Something I am compelled to do. I do not plan to ever stop, and I do not need nor want to be rescued from my evil ways. I am who I am, Walker, just as you are you.”
“And you want to keep seeing me?”
“Very much. Our schedules will work perfectly together when you start your fellowship. I’ll often be elsewhere, and you’ll often be busy at the hospital, but when we can see each other, I would very much like to.”
“But if I say yes to that, you’re asking me to be an accessory not only to the two murders I know about but countless others I don’t. And countless more you still plan to commit. I’m a doctor, I…” I pathetically gesture at my poster. “I’m supposed to do no harm! Apathy is still harm. Turning a blind eye is still harm. Idon’t know if I can do that. I don’t know if I believe what you’re doing is the righteous justice you want to call it.”
“He was going to hit you again,” Trey says in a voice so low, it makes my insides quiver. His black eyes don’t move from mine. I don’t even think they’ve blinked.
“Yeah, he was, but once I got over my shock, I would have pummeled him right back.”
