Page 50 of Shattered
No. It was more than that. The body of a woman that had been killed tragically and Rourke was out there, seeking her redemption. Saving her soul from this living hell.
It always came back to him.
Was I doing my part if I let him keep killing these men, if I didn’t turn him in to the police? Or was he right, that I needed to do my part by confronting Jake for what he’d done?
“Have you ever been in a situation where you couldn’t talk about your feelings?” I asked. Garrett tilted his head. “Not like emotions. Like, if I told someone, say, for instance, if I toldyouthe truth, the police would get involved. They’d have to. That kind of thing.”
“But it is emotions,” he said. “A situation where you couldn’t talk about your feelings. What are you feeling, Mel? What are you hiding?”
Fine. Maybe it did have to do with my emotions. “I want someone I shouldn’t,” I murmured. “A bad, bad man.”
I thought of Haley standing over Aldrich’s body, calling him that.A bad man. That’s all he was to her. Because I killed him to protect her.
Could I call Rourke ‘a bad man’? Was I just as bad on the inside?
“Do you love this person?” Garrett asked. I turned toward him. A smirk was smeared on his lips, those pockmarked cheeks like little smiles in the walls of his skin, laughing at me. Mocking me.
Love? “What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You do, then.” He tapped his feet against the floor in amusement. “Mel is in love with a bad, bad man.”
I crossed my arms. Now he was insulting me. “You think it’s you,” I said. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He threw a hand against his chest. He was having too much fun with this. “Ah, my apologies. The narcissist in me is guilty of it all,” he chuckled. “Now, regardless of who it is, you want to express how you feel to this person. What does this person want, more than anything?”
To exterminate the filth in this world, one corpse at a time. “I can’t tell you that,” I said.
“But you can, Mel,” he said, his voice almost sweet. “I won’t tell a soul.”
It was like he was whispering sensual nothings into my ear, as if saying those simple words would make the words come tumbling out of me. But I wouldn’t betray Rourke. I couldn’t.
Could I?
What did it mean to betray a serial killer? Someone I had let explore my body? Someone I wanted to be mine.
“Think of the need that he has,” Garrett said, “And find a way to express what he wants. Then do it, even if it hurts you. He’ll know. He’ll understand the emotions behind those actions.”
Even if it hurts you. Why would Garrett say that?
I rolled my eyes. Maybe he was talking about the time he face fucked me. If only Rourke’s needs were as simple as a cock getting shoved down a throat.
“This isn’t about a blow job,” I said.
“I never said it was.” A sneer passed through his teeth, then he resumed that calm, placid expression. “What is love, if not the ultimate commitment to protect another?”
“What?” I stammered. Where the hell had that come from?
“You want to protect this person. Unconditionally. Even if the situation frustrates you. You want to please him. To do right by him.” His lips pressed together. “He’s lucky to have that. But he will never be good enough for you.”
There was something different about Garrett then. A carelessness to his words. A recklessness in his demeanor. He wasn’t hiding behind questions anymore, but lecturing me as if he knew more about me than I realized. Like I was an open book he had pursued until its spine was well worn. It was unsettling, like looking into a mirror and not seeing myself reflected back anymore. But seeing him.
Did I love Rourke?
Why did I want to protect him?
Was Garrett right, that Rourke would never be good enough for me?
“You don’t know him,” I said.
