Page 92 of The Tenant
“Forget Blake,” he says. “I love you, Whitney. Please let me show you how much.”
And then he leans in to kiss me.
It’s an okay kiss. It’s not like the first kiss that Blake and I shared, which made fireworks go off in my entire body—the kind of kiss that was still lingering on my lips hours later as I fell asleep alone in bed because he was too much of a gentleman to take me to bed that first night. But when we separate, I can tell it was that kind of fireworks kiss for Elijah.
“Wow,” he breathes. And even though it wasn’t an amazing kiss, the look on his face makes up for it.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” I say.
60
Technically,it wasn’t cheating on Blake.
Blake and I are on a break, and tomorrow morning, Malcolm will return my ring to him. Also, he cheated first, so I am allowed at least one freebie. Plus, this was basically pity sex, so I’m not even sure it counts.
It was extremely average, or a bit worse than average, if I’m being completely honest. Elijah didn’t quite know what to do, and the foreplay was nonexistent, but it was enthusiastic and about what I expected. He loved it, so there’s that.
Now it’s an hour later, and it’s time for me to go. I slip back into the short, clingy green dress that Blake used to compliment me on—I remember him running his fingers along the small of my back and telling me how sexy I looked in it. He always loved it when I dressed up.
After I’m fully clothed, I check out my appearance in the bathroom mirror. I look tired but still good. I have a lot of decent years ahead of me before I start to look old. There’s a splotch of dark red on my chin, and I scrub at it with soap until it’s gone. I take my hair out of the bun and fix it atop my head so instead of being sloppy, it looks stylishly messy, the way Blake likes it.
When I am satisfied, I come out of the bathroom and return to the bedroom to say goodbye to Elijah.
He’s lying on the bed, a hint of a satisfied smile on his lips. It was average for me, but it was a wild ride for him. He thanked me when it was over, which was actually very sweet. His arms are lying on either side of him, very still.
And also, his throat has been split by a bloody gash.
I felt bad about it. I truly did. But Elijah knew far too much about me, and his crush on me was bordering on unhealthy. It’s better this way.
Anyway, I’m not a terrible person. I gave Elijah a good time before I cut his throat open. He literally went out with a bang. And I waited until he was very sleepy and satisfied to do it. It was all over in a split second—he barely even knew he was dying.
Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day, and I don’t want to have to worry about Elijah fretting over me like a mother hen. I’ve gotten what I need from him.
“Goodbye, Elijah,” I tell him.
He doesn’t answer.
I’m not leaving immediately. I’m going to wipe down everything in the apartment that I touched. I have to wait until the coast is clear to leave, not that anyone here will recognize me. And I get the feeling Elijah doesn’t have many friends. There’s nothing to connect the two of us.
It feels satisfying to check off the boxes. First Mr. Zimmerly, then Stacie, now Elijah. Only two left. By tomorrow, I will have set everything right.
61
Amanda is cuttingout from her shift early and tells me she’ll be home by seven, so I arrive at the brownstone an hour before that to give myself time.
This morning, I gave Blake a bag of cookies laced with tetrodotoxin. It’s not clear how quickly the toxin will work, but it won’t kill him right away. I dosed it low enough that I calculated he won’t die for at least four to six hours after eating the cookies I gave him. But he very well might not have eaten them right away.
The timing is crucial. He needs to be alive or recently deceased when Amanda comes home. Because if he is dead, there’s no way the police will think he stabbed her to death. And they need to think that he killed her, then committed suicide. I’ll stash the rest of the bottle of toxin in the drawer of his bedroom.
Death from tetrodotoxin usually occurs from respiratory failure. Over the course of several hours, Blake will have increased difficulty swallowing and speaking, with significant confusion, seizures, and irregular heartbeats. Of course, there’s a chance he might go to the hospital, but considering he has no health insurance, he will consider that a last resort. I’m hoping that he will chalk it up to a flu-like illness and try to sleep it off. I expect to find him lying on the sofa or in his bed, either dead or in significant respiratory distress.
All this is the expected outcome, but as I unlock the door to my old home, I feel an unexpected wave of sadness wash over me.
Blake might be dead.
I didn’t feel bad about killing Elijah. He had such a pathetic life, it almost felt like I was putting him out of his misery. And then there was Stacie, who was a cheating bitch. And Mr. Zimmerly, who was old and unhappy. Even Jordan felt different. I loved Jordan, but in that immature, teenage way.
It’s different with Blake. I loved him with all my heart. I had imagined a life with him in a very concrete way. I wore his ring. I imagined starting a family with him. And I had believed he felt the same way.
