Or maybe I’m hoping cursing him out will get me punished again.
He doesn’t take the bait, though. He merely folds me to him all the harder, and guesses, “You’re sad your parents died.”
I never thought I’d roll my eyes at hearing someone tell me my parents died, but that’s just what I do. Sometimes I wonder if Quill isn’t a legit psychopath. It’s like his brain isn’t wired the same way as mine. Maybe he actually didn’t realize how vulnerable I was earlier. Maybe he never thought about how upset I was about my parents’ murder, or scared, because he doesn’t experience emotions the same way.
No. Stop making excuses.
“You’re scared,” he continues, clearly not noticing my eyeroll. “You’re scared the person who killed your parents will kill you next.”
Another eyeroll, carefully hidden in his chest, because there’s no point in poking the bear.
Especially when you’re sitting comfortably in the bear’s lap and really want to stay there.
“You don’t have to be scared,” he concludes. “I’m here.”
I manage to bite down on a snort. “Oh, really? So that means you’re myprotector?”
When I say it this time, the word is drenched in sarcasm, but I can’t tell if he notices. I can’t tell if I want him to.
He pauses a beat, then says, “You can call it that if you want.”
“What would you call it?”
His arms are like a vise as he holds me to him, and his hot breath tickles my nape. “I call it,” he answers, his voice deep and rough, “killing anyone who gets close to you.”
A thick, weighty silence follows those words, as my mindstruggles to make sense of what he’s just revealed to me.Killing anyone who gets close to you.
“Have you…” I swallow. “Have you done that before?”
He pauses for another moment as my skin starts to feel clammy. I don’t need him to answer. I already know. He’s the reason no one ever called back. Did he really kill them all?
I feel sick to my stomach as I think back to the maybe ten dates I’ve had over the past three years. With all of them apparently ghosting me after just one date, I had come to assume I really was as annoying as Quill made me out to be. He’s done a number on my self-esteem.
Even when he was acting like he loved me, I always felt like the most annoying person on the planet with him.
Annoying. Bossy. Chirpy. Stupid. Nerdy. Ugly.
I’ve internalized every one of his words over the years. Is it any wonder I run after Quill even though he makes me feel worthless?
“Did you kill all of the… the guys I dated?” I ask, wondering why I’m kind of hoping the answer is yes. Just to prove myself wrong.
Maybe I’m notasannoying as I feel.
“Only a few of them,” he answers at last.
That’s the worst answer possible.None of themwould, of course, have been the answer any sane, normal person would have wanted to hear, which probably means I’m about 75% sane, because that’s about the percentage of me that was wanting to hear that.
A not completely microscopic part of me, though, wouldn’t have minded anAll of them.That would have been scary as fuck, and would have made me feel terribly guilt-ridden, but at least, I would have felt better about my own personality.
Everything’s fine! They didn’t avoid me because I was annoying, they were just dead!
Only a few of themwas Quill’s answer, though.So… most of themdidthink I was annoying? And I’m also indirectly responsible for several guys’ deaths?
“Only the ones who wouldn’t listen,” clarifies Quill. “I beat up the rest and that was that. I don’t kill innocent people, Piper. Don’t worry.”
Right. I’m still sitting on his lap, wondering what the hell is wrong with him for talking so cavalierly about killing people. And also, wondering what’s wrong withmebecause I can kind of see his logic and I don’t entirely mind.
In fact, it feels almost… romantic.
