Only, that isn't sustainable, and Miller isn't mine to keep. He's just simply being a good friend, one that gets rid of the body when you kill someone.
Miller releases me slowly and returns his right hand to my face, grazing my skin with such care. "I have to go," he repeats. "But Silver will be here any minute. He'll knock twice. I need you to let him in, and he'll handle everything, okay?"
I swallow down the panic that rises at the idea of some stranger coming in here and bearing witness to what I've done. But if Miller is telling the truth, neither one of them is truly a stranger to death, and this is part of their semi-daily life.
I trust Miller—I don't know why, I just do—so I have to trust this Silver guy, too.
"Okay," I confirm because I don't really have any other choice in the matter other than to call the cops and let them handle the situation. As fucked up as it is, I'm not so sure I'd like that outcome.
I've never been the type to stray away from accepting the consequences of my actions but when they involve me going to jail and potentially inadvertently killing both of my parents, that isn't the choice I'm willing to take.
"Here." Miller takes my hand in his, his warmth soothing the raging fire of my nerves. "Come sit on the couch while you wait. He should be here soon."
"But what about the blood?" I glance down at my body and wonder if I'll ever be clean of the gore.
"It's just a couch, Cora. I'll have it replaced."
"I think it's expensive," I tell him.
Miller guides me over to it anyway, nudging me to sit down. "I could buy you as many of them as you wanted."
It isn't until I'm sitting here alone after I've reassured him that I'm fine and he can leave that I realize he said to me, not the building owner or company I work for—that he would buymeas many as I wanted.
I allow that very simple declaration to consume my thoughts and pass the time, my mind reeling when a solid double knock hits the door. I flinch but rise to my feet, plastering on what I can of a fake smile to greet whoever is behind the door.
Clutching Miller's jacket around my chest, I turn the handle and pull, allowing the person to step inside.
"Hey," I say, which the second it's out of my mouth, feels so fucking inappropriate considering the circumstances.
We take each other in at the same time, his seriously dark eyes meeting mine. Silver is easily twice my age and size, and suddenly, I feel so small in his dominating presence. The salt and pepper of his beard matches the shaggy but well-kept hair on his head.
He clears his throat and does one final look up and down my body. "Where's Miller?"
"He had to leave."
Silver doesn't question any more about Miller, yet asks, "Where's the body?"
"Right this way." I motion toward the kitchen and assume that he will follow me. I glance over my shoulder one time to confirm that he does, but his footsteps are so quiet, despite his stature, I couldn't be sure without looking.
I lead him to the bloodbath and cross my arms over my chest at the foot of my dead boss.
"Murder weapon?" He points to the box cutter sitting on the counter.
I make my way over, grabbing it and confirming, "Yeah."
"I'll take it." Silver, or at least, I think that's his name, holds out his hand.
I place the bloodied thing into his rather large palm and ignore the heat of his skin on mine.
"You did this?" He raises a bushy brow and tips his head toward Joshua.
"Yeah." I don't know if I'm supposed to be admitting guilt or not, but it's not like things can get any worse. I'm covered in the man's blood...there's no denying it was me that stabbed him to death.
"Huh." Silver takes in a breath. "Well, I'm going to get started. Do you have somewhere safe you can go to get cleaned up and dispose of your clothing?"
"Um..." I don't mean to, but those pesky fucking tears well in my eyes again. I don't want to cry. Not here, not now. Not in front of this stranger. This murder cleaner-upper.
"Shit, what did I say?" Silver tilts his head toward me. "This isn't your first kill, is it?"
