Page 17 of Grave Love
I blink rapidly, as if the action will make Blaze disappear.
He studies me.
“You just admitted to murder,” I say.
“We’ve all got our secrets. Now, we both know each other’s.” He beams. “You’re a sexual vandalizer of corpses, and I’m a murderer. But there’s no proof now, is there? Words are words. Try holding that up in court.”
I grit my teeth. “Which means your threats of outing me to Denise are full of shit.”
“Ah,” he sighs. He pulls out his phone. “But I do have video evidence ofthat.”
My eyelids flutter, narrowing in on the device. How can he have evidence of what I do here at night? I’ve been careful, haven’t I? Hehasto be messing with me.
That’s what this is: It’s all a joke. It has to be. Besides, if he’s a murderer, why doesn’t he kill me right now? We could have ended this unnecessary conversation with my death an hour ago. Instead, he’stalkingto me. Showing me that he knows me.
“You’re psychotic,” I say flatly.
“Perhaps I am. That doesn’t mean I can’t help you though, Ren. Like I said before, I’ve killed my fair share of unwilling women. Trust me; they all get wet—it’s a coping mechanism—and yet, they don’t always come, you know? Perhaps that’s the change I need. Whereyoucome in. Killing a woman right as she comes, to see that ecstasy frozen on her face, melting into the pure emptiness of death. Conditioning her towantthat release.” He steps forward, and I shift a little further to the side, my spine prickling with nerves. “You like playing with that blurred line, don’t you, Ren? You could be that woman for me.”
The hairs on my arms rise. His lips pull up into a smile, and my insides quiver.
He’s serious.
“Be my fuck toy, and I’ll kill you when you least expect it,” he says. “Teach me to use the retorts while we’re at it. That way we both get what we want: You don’t have to endure this fucked up world a moment longer, you get that finale you’ve always wanted, andIget to kill you.” He cracks his neck, and I gnaw on the inside of my lip. His tone is matter-of-fact, like this is a normal arrangement, when it’s anything but. “Are you on birth control?”
I blink. He’s asking about birth controlnow?
“Who cares if I get pregnant if you’re going to kill me anyway?” I ask.
“I imagine morning sickness is a hassle. If I’m being honest, I don’t particularly like cleaning up vomit,” he says, his entire demeanor calm. I clear my throat, trying to stay centered, but he’s creepy, like a sunken ship at the bottom of the ocean, swarming with fish that will never see the light of day. “It’ll be easier for both of us if we work together, don’t you think?”
My lips part, my thoughts racing with the reality of the situation. Blaze doesn’t want to get caught. That’s why he’s asking forpermissionto kill me. He wants my cooperation so that I can teach him how to get rid of a body without anyone knowing, and he can have his sick little fantasy come to life.
And I can have mine.
The bottom of my stomach heats, temptation floating to the surface. I could disappear. Mrs. Richmond would think I finally ran away. Maybe she’d even pretend that I found a husband to take care of me. She’d make up another lie to cover up my disappearance like she did with my mother.
I’d simply cease to exist.
“You could save a life,” Blaze says, his voice airy. “Think of the potential. You could give yourself purpose. All by givingyourlife to me.”
I huff, my nostrils flaring. He wants me to think of myself as a hero?
I’ve honestly never cared about anyone else. Mrs. Richmond’s life would be easier if she didn’t have to think about me. I tolerate Denise. The only person I might’ve cared about is my mother, and dying won’t bring her back. What do I care if I save a stranger’s life by letting Blaze kill me?
If Blaze truly likes killing women, then my death isn’t going to change anything.
“You turn twenty-six soon, yes?” Blaze asks. I furrow my brows; how the hell does he know that? He must have looked through my employment files or something. “How about this: if I don’t kill you by the time you turn twenty-six, I’ll give you barbiturates, or at least some kind of concoction, so that you can drift off to the other side while you masturbate and dream of dying, as seems to be your habit. Until that fateful day, we’ll use our time to tease that masochistic pleasure out of you. Force you to face death. We can use it like a test run. Practice. Guiding you into that oblivion, figuring out your preferred sensual end. Then, I’ll kill you. And if I don’t, you’ll have the power to kill yourself. In the end, we both get to indulge in our darker desires. You help me, and I help you.”
My heart drums, beating against my chest. He’s serious. So damn serious, it scares me.
“This is crazy,” I whisper.
“It is, isn’t it?” he says. “Honestly, Ren, we’re two sides of the same coin. We could make each other—dare I say it?—happy.We belong together: the killer, and the corpse. We complete each other.”
Complete each other?
I consider the possibility; I imagine it. His hands wrapped around my neck, my vision spotting, his cock plunging inside of me, using me to get what he wants as he takes my life.
