“No,” she replies bluntly as we move towards the kitchen. “And why would I when watching you react to them is so enjoyable for me.”
“Hmm.”
“And secondly, The Breakfast Club is one of the greatest coming-of-age teenage movies ever produced.” I let go of her hand for the first time since we walked in here to pick up a red plastic cup. I fill it with beer from the keg situated on top of the marble kitchen island.
“I’m not disputing that,” I point out, offering Heather her drink.
She takes a small sip before continuing, “The funny thing is, you do actually look like the type of guy who would pour sugar on bread and crush some chips into it, making a sandwich, and—” She pauses for a second, tilting her head to the side as though she’s trying to figure me out and here it comes the same. “Oh my god, you do, don’t you?”
“Have you ever tried it?” I chuckle, filling my own solo cup and taking a sip of alcohol, already knowing her answer to my question.
Heather screws up her face in disgust. “No, and I never plan to either.”
Give it time.
“So what do you put in your sandwiches then?”
“Jam, a selection of meats. Y’know… like a normal person.”
“I don’t know if you’ve realised, Heather—” I bend at the waist, bringing my lips to the shell of her ear. “I’m not normal.”
“Here’s a little secret.” She turns her head ever so slightly, our eyes meeting intently, and I know she feels the same way I do, wants what I want, as I watch her eyes momentarily flick to my lips then back up. “Neither am I.” She winks, and fuck, it’s becoming harder and harder not to lean in and kiss her.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
I need to show her something first.
Everything after that… is fair game.
Music blares through the large black speaker placed in the corner of the kitchen as well as others placed strategically throughout every other room in the downstairs part of the house. Music I used to like—enjoyed, even—until the events of that night. A night I’ll never forgive myself for, until—
“Where are these guys you’re looking for, anyway?” she asks, dragging me from my thoughts.
I jerk my chin behind her, signalling to the large staircase leading upstairs. “Let’s go somewhere quiet and I’ll explain everything.” Her eyes flick to the staircase, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip with nerves. But she doesn’t need to be anxious, nothing between us will ever happen without her consent. “I promise you’re safe. I’d never hurt you.”
“I know,” she replies, holding out her hand for me to take, and I don’t waste even a second not doing so. It feels right when we’re like this, and it’s the happiest I’ve been in a long time.
“Let’s go upstairs. I want to show you something first.”
“Trying to get me into bed, Ricky?” She laughs through the question, and I want to tell her that she has no idea how true the question is.
The hardest part of this night has been not touching her the way I so desperately want to. Keeping everything to myself about how long I’ve watched her for, and letting her make the choicesshewants to make. I’m a serial killer, yes, but I’m not a fucking monster.
As we walk back through the crowded hallway towards the staircase, I follow behind her, and she leads me up each dark wood step and down the corridor where all the bedrooms are located. Popping her head in a few and interrupting couples making out, doing drugs, or just snooping around. She continues until we reach the final room at the end of the hall, and suddenly my heart leaps into my throat.
I haven’t been in here for two-hundred days.
Part of me wants to steer her away from it, to ask her to choose another room. Any room other than this one. But all of me wants to burst through it, shattering the door off its hinges so I can show her exactly what’s inside the four walls in front of her.
Let her see all my pain.
Heather lets go of my hand and takes hold of the round silver door handle, and even though the music is loud enough to burst every person’s eardrums inside the frat, I can hear every single creak of the metal doorknob as she twists it to the right. The eerie sound sending a deep shiver from the base of my spine, all the way up to my scalp, putting every single hair on my head on edge.
This is it.
The moment I step over the threshold, a cold feeling comes over me. I’m not sure if it’s the cold breeze blowing into the bedroom from the open window on the far side of the room, or it’s the chill of something I should be concerned about. Ignoring it as best as I can, I shake off the worrying sensation churning through me and walk further into the bedroom.
