Page 76 of Crawl
“Deal.”
As soon as I hang up, a text message from Cash lights up the screen:WHERE ARE YOU?
When we were at that parking lot, I crawled until my knees bled, and everything seemed perfect. Like we could take on the world and no one will stop us. But now, my knees are healing, and the scabs are red and pink, the edges bruised. The scars they’ll leave will be deep and dark, and they’ll be with me for a long time.
We’ll never be able to take any of this back.
CHAPTER 19
Cash
WHERE ARE YOU?
I send the text and pocket my phone. Taking the point of my knife, I cut a pit into the top of my hand, like I’m trying to remove a splinter. Blood oozes out like a bubbling fountain, but it doesn’t calm me. I’ve spent hours waiting, and I’m still here. What’s more pathetic? A man who calls repeatedly until he finally realizes she isn’t going to answer, or a stupid son of a bitch who thinks their relationship has any value in the first place?
Every moment leading up to this empty parking lot flashes before me. Watching through the wall cavity for a glimpse of her bare arm. Killing her new boss, because why the hell not? Blackmailing her. Going on a stupid double date with her mom. Delivering her stepdad. Giving herfreedom. I should have killed her best friend since she’s a threat too, but I spared her. And now I’m sparing Remedy.
I didn’t kill her. I let her out of the cage. I even let her keep those incriminating photos on her phone. I want to give her the chance to prove that I can trust her like she keeps saying I can. But she’s standing me up.
Headlights graze the parking lot, and her matte red car comes into focus. Like the frosting on my cake. Like her lips on our double date. The same night I brought her here to fuck her in a noose. I can see the outline of her in the car window and I ball my fists. A million thoughts rush into my head.
Where the fuck were you?
If you let another man touch you, I will cut off his dick and choke you with it.
What made you finally show up?
Don’t you understand that I’ve done everything for you?
The car door opens, and it’s like she’s mocking me. She’s in that same dress from the last time we were here, like she wants to recreate our memories. When I was just her fucked up blackmailing boss, and she was just my personal assistant and muse.
Times were simple then, weren’t they, little cure?
Her movements are staggered and hesitant; she’s afraid of what will come next. And I’m glad. She should be afraid of me.
But I should be running too. Instead, I’m digging my own grave.
“What are we doing here?” she asks.
We.The two of us. A damned unit.
I’m supposed to tell her how to escape this mess. To find her true freedom. A practical step-by-step guide on how to avoid the cops. I even considered telling her that I’ll meet her again when it’s finally safe.
But with the missed calls and the rejection on my mind, I want to destroy her.
That unit. A relationship.We.
I force myself to grin and act like this is nothing out of the ordinary. I hold my knife in one hand, the sharpening stone in the other, then flick the metal back and forth across the stone, the chilling scrape cutting through the dull ocean waves. She gazes at my calloused hands. Her musky body odor drifts over the breeze and her skin prickles with goosebumps. The air is cool, but it’s the knife that makes those bumps rise, like little fingers reaching up to crawl out of her skin.
“You remember what we did here?” I ask. Her eyes flicker up to mine, but she keeps her tongue still. That night, she was on her hands and knees like an animal. I had my knife then. I could have gutted her like a pig.
“I could have killed you that night,” I say.
She wraps her arms around herself, but she lifts her chin like she knows this is a mind game. I clench my jaw.
“Why didn’t you?” she asks.
She knows the reason as well as I do, and that’s what kills me the most. She knows the power she has over me. I’m not going to admit that my weaknesses belong to her.
