‘I’ll run you a bath.’
I walk to the window and look out over the city. Gregory was born into a life he didn’t deserve, that no child deserves. And his demon is down there somewhere, hiding. Weaving between buildings. Most likely out of his mind with a toxic combination of alcohol and the thrill of my dad’s kill.
‘Here,’ Gregory says handing me a crystal glass with a small amount of brandy in the bottom.
He wraps a wool blanket around my shoulders and I sit down onto the sofa, pulling my knees into my freezing-cold chest. The glass shakes in my hand as I shudder, part from cold, part from seething hatred.
‘I want to kill him,’ I whisper.
‘Pardon?’
‘I. Want. To. Kill. Him.’ The words leave my mouth through gritted teeth.
Gregory takes a seat on the sofa beside me, his legs wide, his elbows resting on his knees.
‘Don’t let it take over you, Scarlett. He’s not worth it.’
He takes the brandy from my hands, then leads me to the bathroom. The freestanding bath is deep and full of bubbles. The lights are dim and Gregory has lit candles around the room.
I cast my eyes from the bath to him.
‘I’ll leave you to it. I’m sorry but this is the best I can do for now.’ He pats the blue hooded jumper he’s placed on the heated chrome towel rail.
‘Thank you.’
I watch him leave the room, his white shirt still tucked into his trousers, despite the events of the last few hours. He should be working.
Sinking into the bubbles, the hot water stings my skin at first then settles to soothe me. I close my eyes and see Gregory, pulling his own hair in the lounge. Dipping my head beneath the water, I stare up to the dark ceiling, candles flickering in my vision.
‘He’ll never be free,’ I whisper to myself.
I realise that the hate, the anger I feel now, Gregory has felt all his life. The little boy I keep seeing felt like this instead of having a childhood. What he said about the children in the hospital – how they should be shielded from the darkness of the world – it all makes sense now. I want to end it for him. I want revenge for my dad and an end to Gregory’s pain.
The hooded jumper only just preserves my modesty. Gregory watches me as I walk from the bathroom, towel drying my hair, to the kitchen island where he’s perched on a stool, now wearing jeans and a fitted, black tee.
‘You showered,’ I say, acknowledging his wet hair and fresh scent.
He continues to watch me, his head moving with me as I walk towards him.
He clears his throat. ‘Jackson brought food. You should eat something.’
Standing from his stool, he lifts the lids from the various dishes he’s set out on the island.
‘Salmon. Chicken. Pasta.’
I run my hand down the length of his spine and press myself against his side. ‘Kiss me.’
Gregory turns, his back against the bench, and pulls my waist into his. He runs his fingers tenderly down the side of my face and exhales, long and slow, a slight shudder in his breath. Then his lips are on mine, his hands holding my cheeks. I let my mouth linger on his, enjoying the sensation. His tongue parts my lips and touches mine. I bite his lower lip and he groans, pulling my hips into his hard crotch. My legs part instinctively. Breathing softly onto his neck, I lift the bottom of his T-shirt, exposing his chest.
‘We don’t have to do this,’ he whispers.
‘I want to. I want to forget.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Help me forget.’
I kiss his pecs and pull his tee roughly over his head.
