And surely I couldn’t have if I’m here?
Malachi moves away a little, looks at the furniture instead of me. I watch him go, perhaps hoping he’ll say something to make me feel my old self again. He doesn’t. He sits on one of the chairs and points at another one, as if I’m supposed to relax in this elegance. I couldn’t even if I tried. Not only is it so far away from me I can’t imagine the money it costs, but I’m still too damaged inside to relax on anything.
“Sit, Alice.”
I shake my head and look out of the window, unsure what I’m even bothering with conversation for. Brett and Brandon will be here tomorrow, and then we’ll all be gone with any luck. Whit will hide us again. We’ll run fast and far in the hope that Franco Greene doesn’t find us to exact even more vengeance now.
“I tried to imagine that you didn’t matter to me,” he says.
That turns my head, and I frown. “What?” He crosses his legs, lounges like someone would if you owned this place. Still so juxtaposed, though. Even this place doesn’t suit him. “Why imagine? I don’t matter to you. We were just … whatever we were. Your pills, I guess.”
“But I hadn’t had any. That made whatever was happening between us real to me.” I look back outside, unsure what that would mean. Real? That place wasn’t real.
What happened to me in Dallas was.
My arms wrap around me, a shiver coming from the memory still so deeply embedded in my skin. “That’s done now, Malachi. You don’t need to pretend anything anymore, but thanks again. I think we should all move forward.” I turn to leave the room, hoping the sanctuary of his bedroom will give me some peace until the boys get here.
“Why did you kill my wife, Alice?” I stop, freeze actually. “What was in your mind when you did it?” Tears well up in my eyes instantly. I can’t stop them. He’s just made it real, made me know the truth that in some fucked up world where lines blurred into insanity, I did kill someone else.
My head shakes, shoulders trying to keep themselves straight. “I don’t … Don’t know.”
Nothing’s said in response. He’s just quiet. I don’t know what to think about that, or what to say either. I’m just … lost still. What happened there with his wife. What happened to me. What happened between us before. It’s all a fucking mess that I can’t fix or alter. And now I’m here, in his house, a murderer. Again. “I don’t remember doing that. The pills maybe.” I sniff up the tears, refusing to let anymore fall for things that are gone and done, and lean my forehead on the doorframe. “I’m sorry and …” And what? What can I say? Nothing. “I’ll leave now.” I push off the door, hoping that he’ll let me. He might not. Maybe the cops are already on their way.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he snaps. “I may be attempting to be careful and chivalrous around you, but don’t doubt you’re still the same woman you were to me and I am still the same man.” I turn to look at him, watching as his slight sneer infiltrates a face that was simply inquisitive. “You have time here, Alice. I suggest you use it. Rebuild yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”
Unsure what that means, I stare and watch him stare at me. Memories filter through my thoughts. Him when he took me. Him when he was all force and brute strength. Him when he cut me. Him with his talk of fixing things, fixing people. That was all him before he tried to take his own life.
“I can’t stay here after doing what you’ve said I did.”
“You’ll stay where I can protect you.”
“You don’t care about the fact that I killed her?”
“I care very much, but not about her death. Only the reason it happened.” He gets up, moves closer to me. “And I’m also pissed I didn’t honour my vow. I said I’d protect you. I failed.”
I’m so fucking confused I don’t know what to say, but if he thinks he’s got some reason to look after me after what I’ve done, he’s wrong. “It wasn’t your fault, Malachi. This was always coming for me.” I’ll own that part at least. “Chivalry isn’t necessary.” I killed Tommy. I took that risk. I put us all in danger. “You can’t fix this. It isn’t your mess to fix. I’m not yours to fix.”
He takes my arm and puts it through his. “I can fix anything given the right tools and enough impetus. And you, little Alice, are not broken. You’re just bruised.”
I’m walked out of the room, through the hallways, and back up the stairs until we get to his bedroom again. He pulls in a long breath, leads me to the bed and coaxes me into it. “You can have one week to flounder in it. And then it’s done.” Done?
“I killed your wife, Malachi.”
“Or perhaps it was a skiing accident.” My brow shoots up, astounded.
“You’d lie for me?”
“Possibly.”
“What does that mean? Why would you?”
He stares, flicks his gaze to the window and then back to me. “Fix yourself, Alice. You won’t like how I do it if I have to.”
I sit up, confounded. “You think I can just forget it, them or her?” No movement. Nothing. Just him staring as if there’s an answer to this quagmire I’m labouring in. There isn’t. I was raped. Repeatedly. “First I kill her, and then I’m used and treated like a fucking whore, and you think I can forget it in a week?”
“Well, that's a better attitude.”
“What?”
