Page 79 of Pose for Me
Lane settles into the bed, and I climb in behind him, kissing his neck and shoulder. He lets out a long sigh. “I really am sorry for taking off like that,” he whispers, “but I wasn’t going to leave you. Not in a million years.”
“It’s okay, sweet boy. Get some sleep.”
A few minutes later, Lane’s breathing evens out, and he starts his chainsaw snoring. I smile into his back, but it dies just as quickly. Lane loves me. He told me without hesitation, without falsehood in his tone.
His love is everything I’ve never known I wanted. Maybe Jacob was right. Maybe I’m in love with Lane too.
Which means one thing: I’m fucked.
Twenty-Eight
Ryell
I stand justinside my bedroom door, watching Lane as he stares out the window, a book in his hand but his eyes on the horizon.
For the past week, he’s been despondent, a few feet away but not really here with me. I know his mind is on how he can alert his partner that he’s okay, trying to figure out another course of action so we can freely live our lives. But that’s not possible. Not unless…
I sigh and thrust my hands through my hair. There’s only one solution, and no matter how many other ways I thought this all through, it all leads back to setting Lane free.
My heart clenches as I watch him. I’ve grown used to having Lane here, in my bed, walking around my home, pressing against me in the shower.
I’ll miss him.
That’s the baffling part of all this. I’ve never missed anyone, but I already miss Lane, and he hasn’t even left yet. Before he came into my life, I was simply going through the motions, living for my sketches and my victims. While Lane has been here, I’ve only wanted to sketch him. Sketch after sketch of my boy, no blood, no violence. Just him.
I’ve still wanted to kill, but with him here, I can ignore it. When he’s gone, I’ll probably overdo it to feel any semblance of what I do while Lane has been around.
“Baby boy,” I murmur, watching his face while waiting for him to acknowledge me.
When a few seconds pass and he doesn’t answer, I call to him again, this time louder.
Slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, Lane turns to me, his face a sad, blank mask. It takes a few moments for him to cover his wounded expression with one of joy. “Hey Daddy. When did you get home?” His smile is wide but shaky. Like it requires effort to keep in place.
Sighing, I walk over to the chair, kneel in front of him, and lay my head in his lap. Lane drops his book to the floor and runs his fingers through my hair. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tightly.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice muffled.
“Mhm. Tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”
Neither did I, especially after I came to the conclusion that I did. It was hard to be present at work during two complex jaw surgeries, because all I could think about was my decision. It was hard to get out of my head enough to work. I had to repeat the steps of the procedure over and over in my mind so I wouldn’t fuck up. If I’m going to let him go, it has to be sooner rather than later. I don’t want to drag out breaking my own fucking heart.
Like a fucking fool, I fell in love with Lane. I fell for my fucking captive, not imagining that he’d leave me. I can’t put Lane in a body bag, I can’t pose him for my collection, so he has to go. He has to be free. I might be signing my own arrest warrant, but I can’t look at my boy and see how down he’s gotten.
What we have will never work. Lane is an FBI agent, and I’m a serial killer. He loves his job, and I’m almost compelled to takelives. He might say he’s okay with it now, but if he keeps finding my victims, he’ll fall out of love with me. That’s a fate worse than death. I can handle being away from him, but I can’t handle him hating me.
Forcing out a long breath, I look up at him and say, “Let’s go take a shower. I’m tired, too.”
Lane nods, wincing when he stands. Even though I’ve told him not to walk so he can heal, he hasn’t, so for the past week, I’ve had to bandage his feet because he keeps opening his scabs.
We head to the bathroom, and I undress Lane, cataloging every inch of his skin. I have plenty drawings of him, but they can never touch the real thing.
Carefully, he steps into the shower and under the spray. Faint red stains appear, and I narrow my eyes at him. He has the decency to look chastened. “I’ll be better tomorrow, Daddy. You’re off, right? I’ll stay in bed with you.”
A fissure runs through my heart as I pull him in for a hug, wrapping my arms tightly around him. Lane smiles against my chest, holding on to me just as tightly.
“Baby boy, I need to tell you something. Promise you’ll hear me out,” I say. It’s manipulative, knowing how much promises mean to Lane, but I need him to do what I ask.
He nods. “Okay. What is it?” Lane looks up at me. When he sees how serious I am, his smile drops. “What happened, Ry?”
