“I’m not a good man,” he says, spearing a lump of scrambled eggs and bringing it to his mouth. “I’ve never pretended to be.”
“We know that,” Kai says dryly.
Bastian holds up a hand. “You don’t. Not really.” He takes a breath, then another sip of coffee, setting his cup down with precision. “I wasn’t planning to let Melissa go.”
Kai’s fork clatters down onto his plate. I flinch, but my eyes stay glued to Bastian.
I knew he kidnapped her. We both knew that. But I’d convinced myself it was…
What? A game? A twisted teaching moment?
“You were going to kill her,” Kai mumbles weakly.
I find Kai’s hand under the table. He grips me back twice as hard as I hold him.
“Why?” I ask. “Did she have something on you? Did you…do something to her?”
“No. Not yet. But I was planning to.”
“Why?” I ask again, my voice trembling as tears press hot behind my eyes.
We have to know, but I wish more than anything Bastian would stop talking. That he’d crack a smile and tell us he was just kidding. That he was a bit of a narcissist, had a bit of a temper, but that was it. A few minor red flags—nothing some therapy couldn’t fix—and we could still have whatever version of a happily ever after was available to us.
But this is starting to sound less like a confession and more like a Dateline episode.
“Why?” He tilts his head, chewing before he answers. “You two had up and left. I became…frustrated. I needed something to take my mind off you, and coke and booze weren’t doing it anymore.”
“But youdidn’tkill her,” I say, grasping for the tiniest scrap of something positive. “You let her go.”
“Yes. To frame Kai.” Bastian points his fork at my boyfriend. “Because he rejected me, and I needed to be in control again.”
Our professor sounds…strange. I’ve never heard him this flippant before, like he’s just relaying facts and none of this actually matters.
“You’ve killed before,” I state, my voice a hell of a lot calmer than my mind.
Bastian sets down the piece of toast he’d just picked up, uneaten. “Yes.”
“More than once,” Kai adds.
“Yes.” Bastian doesn’t even hesitate.
I shouldn’t be this calm. Maybe I’m still in shock after yesterday. I mean, surely, I should be running to the door and plowing through the snow screaming bloody murder.
But, no. I’m just…sitting here, idly wondering if I’ll be able to stomach some food because I feel weak with hunger. I take a sip of coffee, and it’s as if my movement breaks Kai’s paralysis, because he jerks and grabs his cup too.
We both drink coffee and stare at Bastian, and he takes turns watching us back.
“Who?” I ask calmly.
“Did I kill?” Bastian tilts his head again, pushing his plate away, but grabbing a piece of bacon as a second-thought. He bites into it, chewing for a moment, then shrugs. “Your father.”
His eyes flick up to me as if he wants to catch my response.
“His overdose wasn’t an accident. I just made it look like one.”
My father—the junkie, the monster—is dead because the man I love killed him.
Surely I should be horrified. Terrified. Maybe even feel a little betrayed.
