He lifted his head. His dark sunglasses reflected the smooth light and shimmered. His lips pressed softly together. Sympathy, I think. Or maybe he was confused. I did not know. “Do you…want to cry?”
“Well, of course. I want to be like everyone else.”
“Not me.” His forehead lined. “I only want you to be like you.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest.
“Besides,” he said. “Won't crying mess up your mascara? You wear Herin, that shit is expensive.”
I heaved out a weak laugh. “Yes, that is true. I’m lucky then.” I clenched my jaw and looked away. I think I would have preferred to have dribbly mascara over my cheeks and be normal than be... whatever I was.
“Hey.” His single word was deep, but soft.
I lost my jaw clench. “Yes?”
He reached out to me, cupping my jaw gently. His calloused fingers were warm on my skin. “Look at me.”
I did.
He was so serious now. I think behind those dark sunglasses, his eyes were peering deep into mine, as if trying to find me. “I tell you what, anytime you feel like you want to cry, just let me know, I’ll cry for you.”
That warmth in my chest turned into a furnace. “You’ll…cry for me?”
“Sure.”
“But you're a crazy Soulless serial killer, you're not supposed to cry.”
He checked his face mask, prodding at the serum. “I don’t think there’s a lot of things I'm supposed to do. But I don't give much of a shit about that. You tell me when, and I'll start leaking salty water out of my eyes. Okay?”
“I don't think that's how it works. If I feel sad,I’msupposed to cry. Not you.”
“If you're sad, I’m sad too.”
I leaned into his hand, holding him and this precious moment. My heart felt suddenly so heavy. I wondered if I could claw the useless thing out of my chest and let him hold it for me. “Okay, Dig.”
His grin was disarming.
“What about your mother?” I asked. “Where is she?”
The grin was discarded. He took his hand away and returned to my nails. “She’s alive.”
“That's nice.”
He paused filing my nails again, dwelling in a quiet moment before moving onto a new finger. “Yeah.”
“You got a girlfriend or boyfriend?”
“You.”
I was beginning to lose interest in killing him. “I think you’d probably do anything for me.”
He moved onto my next nail. “I’d develop a foot fetish for you.”
That did not surprise me. “I’m hungry, but I don't want to ruin my nails. Can you peel an orange for me please?”
“I’d peel the skin off a screaming man for you.”
“Alright.” Before he got up, I grabbed his arm. “Can you take your sunglasses off for me?”
