Page 36 of His

Of course, her birthday. She would respond better once she saw that I was going to treat her well on her birthday. I should have started with that, maybe. Now I had to find a present that would suit her.

I dug through my closet upstairs. There had been something I’d found a while back, a box of jewelry from my mother. I’d stolen it and hidden it away after she’d died. My fingers touched something hard in the back of the shelf, and I pulled out the rosewood box. It gleamed a dark red where I brushed the dust off of it.

Opening the box, I took out the necklace. A silver necklace, two hearts intertwined. I remember my mother wearing it, the silver chain sparkling around her throat. Her throat…

Her throat was cut. My father held the knife. Blood, blood everywhere.

The box clattered to the ground, spilling the other jewelry across the floor. The shadow swirled up, the darkness invading the bedroom.No.I did not want the shadow here. Not again. It was too soon.

The silver chain in my hands dug into my skin, but I clutched it all the tighter. I closed my eyes but I could still feel the shadow there, waiting patiently at the periphery of my eyes. Waiting for me to find it again. In my hand, the thin metal hearts seemed to beat.Mother. Mother. My mother…

I howled, and the sound echoed through the empty, empty house.

Kat

The razor had cut through the bottom of my bra, and I was adjusting it so that it wouldn’t poke out when the light on the stairs came on. Hastily shoving it back underneath the padding, I leaned back against the wall, my arm twisted up and hanging limply from the pipe.

Gav pushed open the door slowly. Still topless. He hadn’t put another shirt on. I didn’t know whether or not he was trying to show off his muscled chest, or if he actually didn’t care. From what I knew about him, I’d have to guess the latter.

Now, he was holding something in his hands. A present, he’d said. He came to me and held it out. It was a necklace. A silver chain, dangling from his fingers. The heart charms hanging off the end gleamed brightly in the thin light.

“Here,” he said. “Your present.”

“You didn’t wrap it,” I said. I wasn’t going to play this particular game, not after he had chained me back up to the pipe.

He paused, and as his face turned halfway to the light I could see that his eyes were rimmed red under his dark lashes. Had he been crying?

“Do you want me to wrap it?” he asked. His voice was small, confused. In his fingers, the necklace turned, the hearts spinning at the end of the chain.

“I don’t want it,” I said. I tried to sound confident, but for some reason I couldn’t make my voice raise any higher.

“Why not?”

“Because I want to leave.”

“You can’t leave. You can have this, though. It’s a gift.” He sounded pleading.

“I don’t want any gifts from you. I hate you.”

I pushed his hand away, and the necklace swung like a pendulum. Before I could say anything else, he’d taken my hand and twisted it down and behind my back. I could feel the chain cutting into my skin between our hands, even through the bandages that covered my cuts. In my bra, the razor turned and pushed against the fabric. I hoped that it wouldn’t cut through to my skin.

He kissed me hard, and as he kissed me he pressed into me. I could feel his erection growing through the fabric of his pants, pressing against my thigh. His obvious attraction sent a shudder of uncalled desire through my body. His bare chest was hard, his muscles rippling under the pressure between our bodies.

Hot, it was so hot. I struggled to breathe and he tilted his head, letting my lips go and pinning me back so that his forehead was against mine and our faces were only inches apart.

“You’re attracted to me,” he said.

“I still hate you.”

“Why do you hate me?” he asked. His skin was smooth against mine, and his breath was fresh, like spearmint. I hated to even think about how bad my breath smelled, but he nuzzled against me as though it was no problem at all. I struggled to get away from him but he held me fast.

“You’re a monster,” I said.

He paused before speaking.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? You kill people!”

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