Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I couldn’t figure out what I felt emotionally. Disgust at what I’d done, who I truly was? Guilt for being party to it? Regret for not calling the police?
Regret and shame stabbed into me like knives, not as urgent as my throbbing bladder, though.
The second I tried to move, Elliot’s arms tightened, showing the thinness of his sleep.
“Calliope?” He jerked upright, holding us both, instantly alert, concern clouding his features.
He searched my face, brows knit.
I tried to form a sardonic smile. “Here with all of my faculties.” My voice was hoarse, as if I’d screamed for hours last night.
I had in my mind.
“And my faculties require use of the facilities,” I added, ignoring the downturn of Elliot’s lips. I nodded to the bathroom door when he didn’t move.
He reluctantly let me go, still frowning. “Do you need help?”
I stood, stretching my aching muscles while staring at him with an arched brow. “Help? In the bathroom? No, I’m not there yet. I think I can manage to pee.”
The crease of worry in between Elliot’s eyes turned into a crater as I realized where his trepidation was coming from.
“I’m far too much of a narcissist to do anything like hang myself from the shower rod,” I joked.
Elliot didn’t smile.
Suicide jokes weren’t going to work with him. Noted.
I did my best to ignore the pressing need of my bladder to let out a sigh as Elliot sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to touch me but was hesitating.
It was good that he didn’t reach for me. He shouldn’t touch me. I was soiled, impure. Truly.
I opened my mouth. To ask him to do it. Break it off cleanly so I didn’t have to keep tensing, waiting for the blow.
I closed my mouth, turned my back on him and went into the bathroom, closing the door. My clothes were not piled in front of the shower. There were no flakes of dried blood on the white tile, though there certainly should’ve been. My molars ground together while I used the bathroom, fury and guilt ravaging me at how Elliot obviously cleaned up after me.
I forced myself to look in the mirror when I washed my hands. My face was pale, sallow. Smudges of purple marred the hollows of my eyes.
My hair was wild, my lips pursed in a thin line.
Who was she? The woman in the mirror?
A killer. A coward.
Elliot was still sitting on the bed when I opened the bathroom door. His elbows were propped on his knees, head in his hands.
He instantly looked at me.
I stayed in the doorway, uncertain of where to go, what to do with my face. It was awkward. Like the night after a one-night stand.
“What did you do with my clothes?” I asked him.
“I burned them.”
I didn’t reply, though my insides screeched in agony at what he’d done for me. Burning evidence of a crime. “And the bathroom? You cleaned it?”
Elliot nodded.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. There was a lot of guilt that belonged on my shoulders, but nothing was as heavy as this.
“Thank you,” I whispered, looking at the floor. “You shouldn’t have had to do that, clean up after me, but thank you.” I took a deep breath and faced him. “I won’t ask anything of you again.” I tried my best to make my voice sound strong, like the Calliope I had been before yesterday. “You can go now. I can handle myself now. All the bogeymen have been cleared from under the bed.”
“I can go?” Elliot recoiled before he pushed off the bed and stalked toward me.
My gut churned in unease, but I forced my back to stay straight, to not move an inch as he approached.
He stopped in front of me. “As much as I appreciate your commitment to your lie, you cannot handle yourself right now.” He searched my face. “Or maybe you really believe that you can. Maybe you will be able to handle yourself.” He brought my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “But I’m not going to fucking let you, Calliope. You’re not alone. I’m not leaving you.”
The weight of his words, the conviction in them did little to warm my fractured heart. I closed my eyes, sinking into his touch for a moment before I pulled back.
“I killed Jasper last night.” I tried to keep my voice even, but my words cracked.
Elliot’s face softened. With pity. Pity for me. The killer. “I know,” he said quietly.
“I stabbed him. In the neck.” I spat out the words. “I killed him, and before that, I watched another man die at my feet.” I laid the facts out plainly, without adornment.
“The man who ordered you to be raped and beaten?” Elliot asked.
I folded my arms. “What does that matter? Who he was doesn’t matter. Who I am now does. I’m a killer, Elliot. You can’t ignore that.”