by C. E. Wilson
“Working on some sketches?”
My face blanched. “W-why? Why would you say that?”
“I could hear your pencil when I was starting to wake up.” She pulled her damaged ankle closer to her body. Her flexibility was amazing.
I started to lean in to look, but after what I had been doing, she could probably use a few minutes without me looming over her all the time.
“I don’t know why, but it was kinda nice. Soothing almost.”
“Soothing?” I repeated. Maybe that was why she had been saying my name. When she heard the pencil, she’d unconsciously thought of me. I didn’t know why, but the idea of it made me smile even though she probably had no idea how much I took that as a compliment. When I looked down at her though, she didn’t seem to be as excited as I was. “Something wrong?” I asked. “Another bad dream?”
She shook her head before reaching back and trying to fix her mess of pink waves.
For a moment, something stirred in me, wanting to help somehow, but more than anything, wanting to touch her hair. I kept my hands to myself.
“No,” she said. “It’s not that. It’s actually been a few days since I had a bad dream. Kind of odd, all things considered.”
I couldn’t help but agree with that. “So what’s up? You look like you’re stumped.”
“I guess you were working on a new sketch of her?” she asked carefully, changing the subject. When she saw my confused face, she let out a huff as she finished setting her hair in a single braid that rested over her shoulder. “You know who I mean,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Remember? I’m not supposed to say her name—”
“Oh!” I blurted, feeling stupid for not having realized it before. “Mauve. You’re talking about Mauve.”
“Yes,” she said shortly. “I guess you were sketching her?”
“No,” I said. “Actually I wasn’t.”
“So what were you working on?”
“Scenery,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t know how she would take it. However, I didn’t think she was too happy about my answer of scenery either. While I didn’t want her to know I’d been sketching her, I also wanted to make it clear I hadn’t been sketching Mauve. I didn’t want her to think that. I looked away for a few moments before I stood up and started over to the kitchen. “So what do you want for dinner?”
“Whatever you’re having. As usual.”
I didn’t know what to make of that comment, but I tried to shrug it off. Almost three weeks in, my supplies were already running low. That close to the end of the month, I should have made a list already. I glanced over my shoulder at Verity as she folded her blanket neatly and tucked it into a corner of the chair. Only now it was starting to bother me that while my bed wasn’t the greatest, at least it was a bed. Maybe we could work something out. She didn’t take up a lot of space.
“I’ll need you to tell me what you need for the next time my wardens come,” I started. “If you’re still here, I mean.”
“Wardens?” She thumped to the floor before pumping those metal wings and fluttering closer to my side. As I pulled out a frozen-solid piece of haddock and started to run it under warm tap water, trying to thaw it out, she landed on the countertop near me. “As in…”
“As in my prison wardens,” I clarified. “Remember? This is an alternative to jail. My wardens come once a month to drop off supplies, but the guys I work with are pretty all right, so sometimes they take requests. They don’t always get me anything. Like, I can’t ask them for Double Stuf Oreos or anything like that, but they’re pretty reasonable.” I glanced down. “Do you need anything?”
“N-no,” she said immediately, lowering her head as my eyes met hers. “You’ve given me more than I could hope—a place to stay and you sharing your food with me.”
“It’s not like you eat that much, Verity,” I said with a weak laugh. “Fine, then. Is there anything you want?”
That made her think. I tried not to look directly at her eyes again because she seemed to be in a weird mood that evening, but she shifted nervously back and forth on her feet. Her bare feet.
“I’m going to ask for some cotton or cheap fabric,” I mused. “Whatever they can get.”
“Why?”
“So I can make you some socks, for Christ’s sake,” I grumbled. “I hate the fact that you’re always barefoot. Aren’t you cold?”
She shook her head. “I’m all right most of the time. I’ve been used to it—”
“Well, I don’t want you to get used to it here. You’re my guest, and I’ve been a shitty host lately.” The words kept tumbling out. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was everything getting on my nerves? Why had I only noticed these things recently? “I can’t sew very well, but I can figure out something. I’ll make you something better to sleep in with the same fabric. Probably a dress because I can’t sew that well, but it’ll be something.” I continued to frown. She had been wearing those same damn clothes since she got here. I know she took baths pretty often, but she probably hated putting on the same dirty shit once she was somewhat clean again. “And your favorite food—I’ll ask for that.” I turned off the water as the haddock started to bend. It was probably thawed enough that I could throw it in my frying pan. “What do you like?”
“Seriously, Malcolm, you don’t need to do that—”
“I want to,” I said over her. I pinched my hands into fists. “I feel bad, okay? I feel terrible about what happened to you, so I’m trying to make up for it, all right? Can you work with me a little? Please?”
“It’s been days,” she retorted nervously. “What changed?”
Good question. What had changed? I didn’t even know. “Tell me what you like, and I’ll put in a special request. Felix usually can fix me up with one good thing. What do you want? Coffee?”
She shook her head.
“Candy or chocolate?” I tried next.
Another shake of her head.
“Chips? Bison steak? What?”
Again with the damn head-shaking.
“Fine,” I said irritably. “You don’t want anything, then I won’t ask for anything.” I hunched over so I could pick up my pan and rest it on the hot plate. “Sorry I asked.”
“Malcolm, I—”
“What?” I snapped, showing my temper. I was losing control of my anger. I tried to hold it together as her blue orbs settled on my eyes, dancing back and forth. That look always made me feel terrible. She looked afraid of me. “I mean…” I tried to lower and steady my voice. “What is it?”
“I don’t know if I even like any of those things,” she said. Finally, that scared look in her face was starting to go away.
I set the fish in the pan, watching it sizzle. I could leave it alone for a few moments until it needed to be flipped.
“I don’t remember,” Verity finished off.
“You…you don’t know?” I immediately felt horrible for snapping at her. “You really don’t know?”
She shook her head again. “I don’t remember a lot of what I liked in my human life, and at the facility, we weren’t exactly eating the finest of foods. I know what you’re talking about—chips and cookies and the like—but I don’t know if I like them. I might, but I don’t know. And it’s not fair to ask you to waste your one special request on something I don’t even know if I’ll want. You should get something for yourself.” Her words poured out with a mixture of embarrassment and humiliation. She rarely talked about where she was from or the memories she had or lost. The facility. I wondered what the hell that was.
“Look,” I said carefully. “What I choose to do with my special request is up to me. Hell, it’s not even a guarantee, you know? Just because my one warden would do it, that’s only if he shows up, and he doesn’t come every month. My other wardens… they’ll laugh me off… or worse.” I tried not to let my inner turmoil show at the idea of Milo coming that month. “They’ll be fine with getting me some fabric and sewing supplies—
it’s not like they can complain about a man wanting to make a shirt or something—but if there’s a chance I can get something different here, something for you, I’m willing to take that chance.” I glanced back down at her after I flipped the fish over. A nice golden sear. “Okay?” I tried.
Again with the nods.
“Verity, please. Can you verbalize?”
“Yes,” she said, though her voice sound a little defeated. “I heard what you’re saying. Why don’t you pick something out that you really like, and I’ll see if I like it too? How does that work?”
I looked over at her, surprised. “That…that sounds good, actually. Yeah. That’ll work out fine. I know a few things I wouldn’t mind having next month.”
“Like what?”
“Like… I dunno.” I mused as I flipped the fish out of the pan and onto a plate. “Dinnertime,” I said, holding it up and motioning toward the table. As I started to turn away from her, I remembered. Damaged wing. Damaged foot. Goddammit! Couldn’t I be a gentleman for five minutes? “You want some help?” I asked, quickly setting the plate down on the table and returning to her. “I know, with your injuries—”
“I’m really okay, Malcolm. I can do it myself—”
“I know you can…” I said, a hint of irritation in my voice. “I would still really like to help.”
“I know you feel guilty about what happened.” She took a step away from my oncoming hand. She was pulling away? Why? What did I do? My hand froze in the air. “You don’t have to do anything special for me. Treat me like you always do.”
“That wasn’t so great, was it?”
“It was a lot better than this,” Verity said. “Seriously. I get it. I know you’re sorry about what happened, but it’s over now, and I’m recovering just fine. Can we please forget about it?”
“There must be something I can do,” I muttered, ashamed as I let my hand fall to my side. Only I, Malcolm Davenport, could make a woman feel bad by trying to make her feel good.
“I didn’t mind when you treated me like you did,” Verity continued. “You want to know why?”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you treated me like a human being.”
I blinked. “You…you are a human being.”
“I know you believe that now, but you definitely didn’t believe it when we first met. You thought I was a doll. And honestly? I was so scared you were going to treat me like one. At the facility, they treated us all like dolls, from what I can remember. Or…if we weren’t being babied, we were being,” she cleared her throat awkwardly, “taught.”
Again with the facility talk. I didn’t know anything about it, but the place obviously had brought Verity great pain, and for that, I hated it. However, I still wasn’t going to push her. Actually, the less I pushed, the more she revealed. I guessed she liked it when she felt she was in control to talk about whatever she wanted to talk about. “I couldn’t see you as a doll now,” was all I could bring myself to say. “You’re small, but everything about you is so… you’re like a person—a small person—but dammit, still a person.”
She smiled. “Thank you. And that’s what I like about you. That you can see who, what I really am. Some people can know you for months, but because you look a certain way or are a certain size, they can’t separate reality from their mistaken first impression. When you’re like I am, it’s hard for people to see you as real. It reminds me that I really was a person before this happened to me.”
My lips burned. I had to ask. “Will you please let me take you to the table?” I moaned. “My fish is getting cold.”
She smirked. “After everything I said, that’s what you’re worried about?” I expected her to throw a fit, but her smile only grew wider. “Malcolm, you really kill me.”
I froze up at the words. She might not have meant anything by it, but it stung, stirring up memories I thought were best locked away—forever. Then I realized—I could give something to Verity that she would actually want. Even if she didn’t, I was still ready to tell her.
“Tell you what…” I said, “I’ll let you go to the table yourself if you do one simple thing for me. I swear it’s not much!”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“I want to tell you how I ended up here—how I ended up in jail.” I looked down at her face. Nothing was hidden. She was shocked that I was finally willing to offer up any information about my past. “I’m tired of keeping secrets from you—er, I mean—I’m tired of keeping secrets. I think I’ll feel better if I talk about it.” And maybe I would finally get Mauve out of my mind because it was time to face reality. She wasn’t going to see me. She wasn’t going to contact me. And she sure as hell wasn’t ever going to forgive me. “All I ask is that you let me get out the whole story,” I said in a choked voice, backing up toward the table and taking a seat, never letting my eyes leave hers. “I just want to say the whole thing, and then you can ask me questions. Anything you want. I swear, for the rest of the night, I’ll be an open book.”
“And you’re sure?” She lifted herself off the counter and settled next to my plate.
I broke off a piece of the flaky white fish and set it on the edge so she could eat it. I warned it was hot, and she nodded, but as usual, she didn’t wait too long and plucked it up, eating it hungrily. She always seemed so hungry. I wished I had more to offer to her.
“I’m sure,” I said. I broke off a piece of the fish for myself and chewed it slowly, buying time. I wanted to take my time telling my story. “I’m here,” I swallowed and dipped my chin to catch her eyes, “because someone died because of me.” I frowned. No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t even true. I wanted to be honest. “I’m here because I killed someone, Verity. I’m a murderer, and I’m going to tell you how it happened.”
Chapter Ten
“I’m not going to that fucking club tonight, Mauve. I can’t. You know I can’t,” I said with a sour expression. “It’s Friday night. Why can’t we stay in tonight?” I waggled my eyebrows for effect. “Take it easy?”
“If it were up to you, we’d take it easy until we were dead,” she snipped back. “And don’t act like I don’t know why you don’t want to go there, Mal. You’re just fucking worried that my ex will show up.”
“I’m not worried about him,” I grumbled loudly. “I’m not scared of that pussy.”
“Then what’s the problem? You afraid the big bad bouncer won’t let you in because of your baby face?” Her tone was teasing, but it felt cruel. Her full upper lip was curled in a triumphant smile. As I started to plead my case and explain to her that yes, not getting let into the club because of my age was one of the reasons, she set her brush down and tossed a hunk of bright-red highlighted hair away from her eyes. I swallowed and leaned back on the bed. “What’s the matter, baby? You nervous because you’re only nineteen? You think the big bad bouncer is gonna take away your fake ID?”
“Maybe I am—”
“You can get a new one.” She lifted her leg and straddled me on the bed, pushing me down on my back so I could look up at her as she removed her thin shirt. Her breasts were incredibly full for how tall and skinny she was. I had once asked her if they were fake—not my best moment. “You know I can get you a new one, baby. I wish you would turn twenty-one soon.” She arched her back, letting her hair fall onto my face, and I inhaled the smell of her Pantene conditioner. I didn’t know why, but to me it always smelled like Swedish Fish. I was always hungry for her—and the damn woman knew it too well.
“It’s not my fault you’re so freaking old,” I said, trying to tease her. When I felt a sharp yank on my hair, I realized she wasn’t in the mood to be funny, but at least she was in the mood for something. She ground against me through my jeans as she took both my wrists and secured them over my head. I could have easily stopped her, but she liked being in control. I moaned loudly at the hold the woman had on me.
“I’m going to the club, Mal, whether you like it or not,” she whispered hus
kily. “It’s up to you whether I’m doing this with you…” she trailed off and gently nibbled my earlobe, “or the next guy who comes by. I could use a new toy.”
“Fuck that,” I growled, pulling my arms from her grasp. Fuck her need for control. Quickly, I had her pinned down to the bed, and she was the one having her wrists held. How did she like it? I glanced down at her blue eyes. She liked it. Oh hell yes, she liked it that way too. Mauve had been a revelation to me. As a nineteen-year-old boy, I couldn’t believe that amazing woman wanted anything to do with me. I was so scrawny. So tall. I looked more like a high school student than a man who belonged with a twenty-two-year-old temptress, and yet—there I was, grinding myself against the most wickedly beautiful person I had ever seen. Her looks. Her personality. Her passion and her desire for pleasure and excitement. She was my favorite drug, and I liked to think that I was hers.
An hour later, I was standing up and fastening the buckle on my jeans. Mauve was already back at the mirror getting herself ready for the night. Her eye makeup was heavy, and her lips were pink and glossy. I licked my lips, which she caught me doing in the reflection of the mirror.
“Don’t even think about it, Romeo,” she said huskily. “A girl needs a break once in a while.”
“And you intend to take that break dancing with me?” I asked, crossing the room as I shrugged myself into a tight navy button-down shirt.
“Sure,” she said, speaking to my reflection. “And maybe not only you…”
“Only me,” I growled into her neck. I bit the tender skin gently, and she arched her back, pressing her ass into me. “Come on, Mauve. Please? I know you want to stay home with me. I can make it worth your while.”
“Don’t even try it,” she said, still bucking her hips against me. She wasn’t completely satisfied. She never was. And just like that, she pulled away, swinging her hair back around into my face with a coy grin. “I’m not going to let you tempt me, Mal. I want to go out tonight, and I want you there. So… are you coming or not?”