Page 58 of He Should Be Mine
Fuck. If I run in there, Riccardo will be furious. I’m not supposed to care if he kills a whore. He’ll know something is up. He’s already in a dangerous mood. He’ll kill Molly just to spite me. Just because he can.
But if he is already doing that, and I don’t go in?
My hands pull at my hair. This is the very worst version of Schrodinger’s cat to ever have existed.
Burst down the door, Molly dies.
Don’t burst down the door, Molly dies.
And I won’t know which is the truth, until I burst down the door.
I straighten. My hands fall back down to my sides. Action has to be better than no action. I stride towards Molly’s bedroom.
As I step into the shadows of the hallway, Molly’s door opens. I freeze. Riccardo steps out. He is tucking himself back into his pants. His belt is loose and open.
Behind him is only silence. He is blocking the view. I can’t see Molly. Can’t hear him either.
Riccardo looks up at me. There is a cigarette dangling from his lip.
“Is there a body I need to get rid of?” I say.
Somehow I sound calm. Unbothered. Utterly at ease. I don’t know how the fuck I have managed it, but praise God.
Riccardo grins. A truly evil smirk that is reflected in his eyes. “Nah, the bitch is fine. Just loud.”
He turns and saunters out of the apartment with a swagger. The front door swings shut behind him.
I turn to rush to Molly’s side, but he is already walking out of his room, bundled in a fluffy yellow robe. He ignores me and makes a beeline for the kitchen. I scurry after him.
“Are you okay?” I blurt frantically.
He gives me a dismissive gesture and steps into the kitchen. He is not looking at me. He is alive, at the moment, but I’ve seen walking dead before. Injuries can take a while to hit.
“Fine. Need water.”
His voice is a tortured hoarse croak.
My stomach tries to heave again. My imagination is holding nothing back in showing me what Riccardo must have done to Molly to create those choking sounds and the state of his throat.
“I’ll get you one,” I say as I dart forward.
I pour Molly a big glass of chilled filtered water and hand it to him. He takes it gratefully and gulps some down.
I take his elbow and steer him to the sofa. He sits with a weary sigh. I watch like a hawk as he drinks some more water.
Then he places the glass down on the coffee table and curls up on his side, lying on the sofa as if it is his own personal nest.
I run to my room and fetch a blanket. I drape it over him and tuck it in gently. Molly looks up at me. He flashes me a bright smile, but his eyes aren’t smiling. His beautiful blue eyes are sad. Scared. Weary.
“Go to sleep,” I say.
He closes his eyes and wriggles into the sofa.
“You’ll stay, Duckling?” he rasps.
“I’ll stay,” I promise.
I’m going to stay forever, Molly. Forever.
