“You can rest here,” I tell her, my voice softer, exposing a vulnerability I seldom show.When the shock of today’s events wears off, the first thing that might catch her eye is the small, personal bookshelf, handcrafted by Caleb.Each shelf holds books that mean something to me, but there's one I placed specifically for her.These Is My Words.I wonder if she'll notice it, if she'll realize it's there for her,becauseof her.
Scattered around the room are art pieces I've collected over the years.Each one has a memory attached to it, some of them are even good memories.There's a small, original canvas by Zaria Forman, its stunning, hyperrealistic icebergs a chilling reminder of nature's beauty and fragility.Near the window hangs a photograph I took myself of a lone tree standing resilient against a stormy sky, a symbol of endurance and a date in the corner only I recognize.Above my desk is an abstract piece by Kadir Nelson, vibrant and evocative, pulling the viewer into a narrative crafted from color and form.
The furniture, like the bookshelf, was handcrafted by Caleb.It's a touch of warmth in the otherwise cool aesthetic of the room.I find myself hoping Melinda sees beyond the surface, that she understands this isn't just a place where I sleep.It's a reflection of who I am.The books, the art, the furniture made by Caleb's hands, they're all pieces of me, laid out for her to see.
In this moment, as I introduce her to this personal space that no one but her and I have ever entered, I'm not just offering her a place to rest.I'm offering her my soul, hoping she finds comfort and maybe even a piece of herself there.
Knowing there’s nothing I can say right now, I help her sit on the end of my bed before closing the door with a gentle click, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet of the hallway.
The night's events have irrevocably bound us together, pulling her into my world permanently.As I lean against the door, the realization dawns that protecting Melinda isn't just about physical safety.It's about shielding her from the darkness that surrounds me, a darkness that now threatens to engulf us both.
“There’s a shower,” I say, keeping my voice low.“Clothes in the drawer.I can stay out in the hallway.”
A tiny nod.She’s staring not at me but past me at the corner of the ceiling, edge of the window.Then the rituals start.She aligns the water glasses on the nightstand so their rims are flush, gets up and locks the door I didn’t, checks it twice, then a third time, breathes on an odd-count.Anxiety as architecture.I don’t interrupt.
I close the door and sit in the hall.I listen to water, then silence, then the tug of drawers.When I go in later, it’s only to set a tray on the nightstand and leave.She eats.She drinks.She finally falls asleep in my bed, after turning the lamp off, then on, then off again.
I don’t sleep.
The next morning, I leave the hallway and make my way to my office.It’s a space where I've made countless decisions, some harder than others.Today's decision, however, weighs heavier on me than most.As I initiate the video chat, the faces of my brothers fill the screen, their expressions ranging from disbelief to outright anger.
The moment I recount the night's events, their reactions are explosive.
“There is huge fallout that could come from this,” Caleb says over Adrian, who’s already talking.
“His disappearance,” Adrian snaps, “could be traced back to you if anyone with half a brain pulls the thread.You didn’t just cut a man, Cassius, you tied Melinda directly to the cut.”
“I hate to say it bro, but what the hell were you thinking?”Atlas asks, and for once he isn’t laughing.
“I was thinking he was going to rape her,” I yell, not worried about Melinda hearing from her place in my bedroom.
“We’re not arguing the act,” Caleb says.“We’re arguing the lack of calculation.You orbit her and that fixation is going to destroy you.”
Adrian’s mouth hardens.“Your obsession is sloppy, and sloppy is weak, two things I never thought I’d see from you.Not to mention every rival will threaten you through her.”
“And every rival will die,” I answer.
Caleb swears under his breath.
“I’ve mitigated the immediate risks,” Adrian says.“I wiped the security footage clean and crafted emails from Wyatt's account.HR gets three emails and a phone call.Phone GPS shows him driving south.We’ll dispose of the body.”
I know without Adrian having to say it that the emails aren't about covering for me, they're a stalling tactic, a way to muddy the waters until Wyatt's absence becomes a concern, and his body is discovered.
“We’ll have it all displayed,” Caleb says.“We’ll stage a trail that ends in the desert with a stalled car and no signal.Enough ambiguity to keep it cold.”
That knowledge is a cold comfort.It's a band-aid over a gaping wound.I could give a fuck if Wyatt’s death is attached to me and I spend my life in a six by eight cell.What I care about is upstairs, forever changed by what happened last night.No amount of carefully planned ruse can change what she witnessed.
“Thank you,” I say.“All of you.”
“You’ve got to get her on board with this Cassius.She witnessed what you did,” Adrian says.“We cannot risk a variable that big.”
“I know that,” I admit.“I don’t think she’ll say anything.”
“Thinking and notknowingis how men die,” Caleb says, repeating something I’ve told him countless times.
“I can’t exactly chain her to my bed,” I say.
“Well…” Atlas starts.
