Page 22 of The Silent Night Stalker
WhenEnzoputsthegun away, I breathe a little easier, and my tense muscles relax. But if he’s not going to kill me, is he going to call the cops? He knows everything about me now. He could have me put away for life. It doesn’t matter if I’m doing good for others. The police and the law won’t see it that way.
I watch him pace, conflicted, frowning with clenched hands and a jaw. I’m trapped from doing anything else since I’m still handcuffed on the floor.
When I was first following him, all those times he sought me out, even when I was hidden from sight, showed how special he is. We’re connected. I can’t explain why or how, just that we are. It’s something I’ve never experienced before, and it leaves me in awe of him.
He beat me tonight, which was partly why I went into a panicked tailspin, but he was only defending himself. I understand that now. He wasn’t meant to die tonight or any night. I didn’t need to end his suffering. What he needs is revenge, not to die.
God, and the way he took care of me, cleaning my face, and he was so gentle about it. No one’s ever been… nice to me, not like Enzo. And he hadn’t hit me again. Not once. He’s not even angry anymore.
What makes him even more special is that I didn’t spiral again when I told him my story. I thought I would, but it came out so easily. Yes, Enzo and I are definitely connected. I justknowit. I even think he understands me, too. He asked me questions about my pain, and he was angry when I told him how long Steve had hurt me.
His knowing my story makes him dangerous to me, but I don’t care. We’re bound. Wemustbe. There’s no other person who’s reallyseenme. What I do is a good thing, but most people don’t understand that. They only see the aftermath, not the process or the why. They don’t see like Enzo does. He doesn’t tell me I’m wrong for what I do. He doesn’t ridicule me or make fun of me. Sure, he mistakenly called me a serial killer, but we fixed that.
Enzo also calms me. I stopped crying once I came to terms with the fact that he belongs to me, and I belong to him.
His face is so beautiful. The bruises are still there, but he’s not swollen anymore. I’ve never been attracted to anyone like I am to Enzo. I may be a little… off. I can feel disjointed sometimes, like I’m a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. And I’m not very educated, but I know enough to understand that just because I’m attracted to him doesn’t mean he’s attracted to me. Especially after my royal fuck up tonight. God, I’d nearly killed him. Then, I almost killed him again because he’d recognized me. And I’m not a murderer, and I almost…
No, I didn’t kill him. It’s okay. It’s okay.
It’s Christmas Day now. I don’t know what I’m going to do about the rest of the year or how I’m going to handle it since I couldn’t save anyone. When I set someone free, I can bear the rest of the holiday. It’s not so bad, and I breathe again. This is my fate this year. I have to accept the consequences of my mistake.
Enzo’s still pacing and mumbling as I watch him. I’m uncomfortable as hell. My face aches, my hands are going numb, and themetal chafes my wrists, but I don’t say anything. I don’t know what’s going to become of me, and I’m afraid to ask. What if he grabs his gun and kills me after all?
Blood still drips down my face from my brow and tickles my nose. I sniff, which instantly draws his attention to me. My heart stops for a moment when he rushes at me. He grabs me and shoves me face down onto the floor. I think I’m about to die, that he’s changed his mind. Instead, he’s unlocking my cuffs and yanking me onto my feet, reminding me of his strength, and I’m not exactly weak. I spent years getting strong after I killed Steve and Mom.
“Come on,” he grunts, unlocking his bedroom door, opening it, and tugging me toward the bathroom by the scruff of my hoodie after he flips on a light. He slams the toilet lid down and forces me to sit on it. “Don’t move.”
I stay still and quiet as I look around his bathroom, which is painted in navy blue with pale wood trim and white accents. It’s really pretty. Masculine. There’s a faint hint of cologne that lingers, which smells similar to him. I can’t even begin to describe what it smells like. Maybe peppery? Spicy?
My eyes are drawn to Enzo as he digs around in the cabinet under the sink. He’s shirtless, still in his underwear, and I’m drawn to his muscles. He has thick thighs, and his forearms have veins all over that I find attractive, but I’m not sure why. He pulls out a red first-aid box and slams it on the counter as he grumbles, “What the fuck am I doing? I must be fucking nuts.”
My body does weird things to me. It’s electrified, and my stomach does this strange flipping. I’m not sure what it means. I’ve had racing heart rates and stomach twists before, but not like this. It feels different, like it’s not scary or bad. It feels… I don’t want to say ‘good.’ It’s too unknown for that. It’s definitely a warm feeling. Maybe hopeful?
Enzo gently grabs my face and moves it around as he inspects my injuries. My skin is even more electrified by his touch, and I like it a lot. My pain disappears as he cares for my face. His dark brown eyes are scowling as much as his mouth is, but he’s careful not to hurt me. When he lets go, he digs around in the kit, pulling out Steri-Strips, bandages, alcohol wipes, and ointment.
“It doesn’t look like anything’s broken, and you don’t seem to have a concussion.”
I’m still afraid to utter a word and break whatever thing is happening between us. I’m in literal awe of him. Here I nearly killed him, and he’s about to take care of my wounds. I can do it myself after years of beatings and never going to a hospital or seeing a doctor, let alone anyone taking care of me.
Enzo grabs a folded washcloth from a small basket on the counter and wets it with warm water in the sink. Then he dabs it around my eye, wiping away the blood before moving to my bottom lip.
I can’t take my eyes off him. I scan his beautiful face, noticing the bruising is more yellow, showing it’s going away. He has a few small moles on one side of his face and a couple more on the other. They’re so cute. There’s also a splash of freckles across his nose. It would make him look sweet and innocent were it not for the hard lines in his face, furrowed brow, and his sharp, clenched jaw. It’s like he’s angry at himself for taking care of me, yet he keeps doing it.
I like his black hair that falls over his thick brows, and I suddenly have the urge to run my fingers through it to see if it’s as silky as it looks, but I keep my hands still on my lap.
What I especially like are his dark brown eyes that are nearly black under long, black lashes. Fathomless. I could get lost in them forever. I bet in the right lighting, I could see my reflection in them—littleblack mirrors.
No, I’m not in awe of him. I’m absolutely obsessed.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words.
I swallow hard, not taking my eyes off him. “I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”
“Shut up!” he snaps.
“Okay. Sorry.”
He rolls his eyes and keeps running the cloth along my face to make sure all the blood is gone. My beard is a little matted from the dried blood there. He cleans that, too.
