Instead, I think about how I lost control – how something in me snapped, and all I could think about was claiming him, marking him, owning him completely. Right there. Next to a corpse.
It scares me a bit.
I felt unhinged, consumed by a need to possess him in every way possible.
He's mine.
All mine.
If that means covering up a murder, then so be it. Some people don't deserve to live. My father is the prime example of that.
Maybe my childhood messed me up more than I thought. But if it means I get to keep Sebastian, I'm okay with it.
Hours pass before I doze off, but I wake when I feel him stirring beside me.
"Daddy?"
"I'm here, my boy." I kiss his forehead. "I'll go make coffee and bring breakfast."
"No. Don't leave me," he says with panic.
"I'm not leaving you, my boy. I'm not leaving. I promise."
I know he doesn't just mean the kitchen. He meansdon't abandon me.
And I don't think I ever could. No matter what he does. No matter who he is or how many sides of him I've yet to see.
"I'll be right back."
"Okay."
He curls into himself, and it hurts to see him like this. But he needs food and caffeine, and honestly, so do I.
I make the coffee as fast as I can and grab the tray I'd prepared during the night.
When I return, he's sitting up against the headboard, eyes down, and fidgeting with his hands.
I set the tray on the bed and sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
"Let's eat. You need food."
He nods and starts picking at the fruit I cut. I eat too and sip my coffee until the tension eases.
Once we're done, I take the tray back to the kitchen. On my way back, I find him sitting on the couch, cross-legged, gaze downcast, and fingers twisting nervously.
I sit close, take his hands in mine, and wait until he looks up.
"I'm not leaving you," I say quietly. "Killer or not, I'm not leaving you. You're my boy."
Emotions flicker across his face - panic, relief, disbelief. And then he starts crying, full-on sobbing. I pull him into my lap and hold him, rocking gently.
I hate when he cries. I hate it. I want my boy to always be happy and have a smile on his face.
When he finally calms down, he pulls back, eyes wet and uncertain.
"Do you mean it?"
"I do," I answer without hesitation.
