Page 24 of Cold

He gazed at me. "Vito-"

"Move," I growled.

Romare tugged at his lip before he dropped his arms and opened his legs. He didn't fight me washing him anymore. Instead, he fell into my touch, meeting each stroke and caress as if he was desperate for it.

"You can't stall forever," I said. "Tell me what happened."

He licked his lips and gazed up at me. "It was self-defense," he stressed. "He told me there were more of the bottles I liked in the back and I followed him. But when we were alone, he was mean to me."

I stopped. "Do not lie to me, ragazzo."

"I’m not a boy," he pouted

I gripped the edge of the tub. "Don't change the subject," I snapped, sidestepping his question altogether. "This is about you, that man, and the fact that you're lying to me. So, tell me what happened. Now."

Romare sighed and slumped against the back of the tub. "He was saying terrible things," he finally admitted. "Calling you an old pervert. And saying that I was weird. I don't know why I did what I did." He choked on his words and shook his head. "It's ingrained into me now. Into everything I do."

"What is?" I asked.

Romare met my gaze. "Nothing," he whispered. "It's done and I'm sorry. Can we please move on?"

I scoffed. "There's no moving on, Romare. It's not that simple." I dipped the loofah into the water and scrubbed his chest and shoulders. The loofah left faint redness spattered across his flesh, but he didn't seem to mind. "I just needed to know what the hell happened. Tilt your head back."

Water cascaded over Romare's head as I poured water over his fluffy locks. More blood joined the water and I grimaced. Even after the bath Romare was going to need to take a shower. He'd insisted on getting into the tub, but that clearly wasn't good enough.

I washed Romare all over. He fell silent and it looked like he was a million miles away. What goes on in that head of yours? Romare Ashford was a mystery through and through. I wanted to see underneath all the layers and figure out just how much was truth and how much was fiction.

"Where did you get the knife?" I asked curiously.

Romare blinked at me. "The knife?" he questioned.

"Yeah," I growled. "Focus. The one I took from you at the mall. Where did you get that thing?"

Realization dawned in Ro's eyes and he pointed to his cat. "There's a zipper on the back of him. I keep it in there." When I continued to stare at him, he frowned. "It's not my fault! Having Mr. Whiskers and the knife makes me feel safe!"

I stared at him and bit back the laugh. But the look on his face, the stuffed animal, the pocket knife? It was all so ridiculous that I couldn't help the sound that escaped my lips. I laughed hard as I shook my head.

Romare frowned. "It's...funny to you?"

I waved a hand. "Not so much, but it's just everything that's happened lately." I sighed and stood up. Walking over to the cabinet I pulled out a thick towel. "Come here and I'll dry you off."

He stared at me. "You're not mad?"

"That you killed an asshole? No, I'm not mad. The truth is that I don't care about that. Hell, I don't care about most things."

Romare stood and held his hands up. "Why? You're so disconnected," he whispered.

I frowned and wrapped the towel around Romare's body. "That's a long, sad story, Ro," I answered truthfully. "But it'll have to wait. I'm going to put you in your room and lock you in."

"Again?" he asked.

I stared at him. "Yes. Again. You haven't proved that I should trust you yet. And I don't want to end up like Dave."

Romare looked down at the floor and my stomach twisted. I only felt a little bad for what I'd said, because it was the truth. Romare had looked innocent and sweet, but I knew that wasn't real. There was something darker in him. Something that needed to be figured out.

And soon.

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