Page 34 of The Wrong Drive-
“That’s what I fucking thought,” I mutter. “You want to give me the silent treatment, but you still don’t want to die.”
She lifts her eyes to me then, meeting my gaze for the first time in four days. “I’d really just hate for you to get blood in your food.”
“I’d eat it anyway,” I snarl back at her disgusted expression.
“Sick fuck.” She shakes her head, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork. She lifts it up, like she might take a bite, but then sets it back down.
I take her in, sitting under the warm glow of the kitchen light for the first time since I killed her boyfriend, and it fuckinghurts. I barely know this woman, really, but yet I hate myself for being the reason she looks so…fucked up.Dark circles hold her jade eyes, dulled and puffy. Her lips are cracked. Her hair disheveled. She doesn’t look like the woman that danced with me in the kitchen four days ago.
She looks like walking death.
AndIdid it. She’s starting to look like Thomas did. Maybe it’s better when people don’t survive me long.
I force myself to eat, now me being the one who can’t lookherin the face. I’ve taken a lot of lives, but this is the first time I’ve seen the repercussions in person—the damage I’ve done. The person I killed is dead in the ground, at peace, but this woman… She’s in hell right now.
I need a drink.I scoot back from the table, suddenly sick with myself for making her eat at my table. I go to the liquor cabinet, something I don’t frequent, grabbing a bottle of bourbon. I pour myself a glass, and then down the whole thing.
Maybe I should kill her. That would bring her peace.
But I hate the idea. I hate the idea of her being withhim, even in death. I’m sure that makes me a sick fucking bastard. I didn’t want her here. But now that she is… I glance back to her, meeting those somber fucking eyes.
I want the Em back that I kissed.
What do I have to do? Do I have to tell her the truth about me?I want to tell her everything, and my expression must give me away, because for a split second, there’s curiosity in her face instead of coldness. I look away.
“It’s the winter solstice,” I grunt, pouring myself another glass. “Four days until Christmas.”
“Why’d you do it?” Her question cuts through my walls, slicing into me. “Turner,” she repeats herself after a few long beats of silence. “Why did you kill him?”
I blow out a breath. I can answer this. “He tried to kill Gunner. I need Gunner.”
She lets out a sharp breath of annoyance, like she can’t argue with that. “Okay, but then why did you try to kill me?”
I look up as I tip the glass back, knowing this one is going to lead to a spiral of truth. “You were in my older brother’s room.”
“I didn’t know the room was off-limits,” she says quietly. “I started looking around when I shouldn’t have, but… I just wanted to know you.”
I swallow the lump growing in my throat. “You don’t want to know me, Em. There’s nothing good left of me.”
“Yeah, I was stupid,” she mumbles, surprising me by not asking anymore questions. She scoots back from the table, leaving her plate basically untouched. “And now, I’d rather die not knowing you.” A tear rolls down her cheek as she stands to her feet. She doesn’t wipe it away, leaving it to taunt me, reminding me of just how horrible I really am.
She goes to walk past me, and I panic, my hand landing on her bicep. “Don’t go back there. Just stay.Please.”
“Why?” Emersyn tips her head back. “So you can try to intimidate me with your guns and psychosis? You don’t scare me anymore, Turner.” The numbness in her face is gut wrenching.
“I don’t want to scare you, Em,” I blurt out, my guard slipping in desperation. “I just want you to stay here with me. I have a TV. I can hook it up for you. We could watch a movie. I can?—”
“Shut up,” she cuts me off, her voice painfully soft. “I don’t want your niceties. I don’t want your fucking TV or your time. I want you to decide what you’re going to do with me, and just fuckingdo it.”
I down the rest of my bourbon and set the glass on the counter, and then jerk her body into mine. She lets out a sharp breath, and I back her into the cabinet. I grab her chin and force her to look at me.
“What ifthisis what I want to do with you?” I lean down, my nose brushing hers.
“So you want to play house then, Turner?” she spews back at me, her voice cold. “Might as well kill me, stuff me, and then set me at your table. You’ll get more of a reaction from my dead body than living.”
I grit my teeth, trying to keep my anger at bay as Gunner whines from somewhere. “Do you justwantme to kill you? Because trust me, when I blackout again, Iwill.”
Shespitsin my face. “Go ahead. Saves me the agony of living with you, you sick fucking psycho.” If she means to anger me, it doesn’t work. It doesn’t enrage me in the slightest. Instead, it drains me of emotion leaving my stomach feeling nauseous and my chest tight. I release her, backing away.
