I don’t hold up the knife though, either. First of all, despite what he might be thinking now, I’ve never used a knife against anyone. And second of all, I don’t want to escalate this.
I take a breath, but I have a flashback.
My mom and biological dad fighting.
The hole Dad kicked through my dresser. His loud voice. The way my brother covered my ears.
My chest tightens and my stomach is all worked into knots.
I can see Will’s pulse beat beneath the hairs on his throat.
A vein is there, pulsing.
We’re the same height, but he’s broader.
He doesn’t have a weapon, Neve.
I repeat it in my head like it matters. Like that will save me.
The bad thing about knives is you need to be at close range to use them. The good news is Will is pretty fucking close. The worse news is if I somehow manage to stab him and inflict damage, that’s not going to look too good to the detectives who are probably still investigating Jackson’s death.
One stab wound in my vicinity, okay.
Two, it’s on me.
“What did he say to you? Who were you with? We both know you can’t keep your fucking legs closed so who were you with?”
I think he’s insinuating the person I was “with” murdered Jackson? I don’t know. It’s hard to follow boy-logic.
He tries to come closer but this time, I brandish the knife, the point close to the underside of his chin.
He stops, glancing at it, then back at me. He looks like he’s vibrating with rage.
“Do you know who killed him?” He’s whispering, but it’s full of barely-restrained violence. “The police didn’t tell me anything about how they found him, but I bet you know, don’t you?” He glances at the blade, so close to his skin. “Was it this? Didyoudo it, you fucking whore?—”
Before he can get the word out, I angle the knife in a way that if I arced my arm down, it would go through his chest. Would I have enough momentum and strength to do any damage? I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter.
It’s enough to make Will shut the hell up.
It’s my turn to talk, motherfucker.
“Go home. I understand you’re very upset, and you have every right to be. I’m sad he passed, too, but I didn’t do it, and I don’t know who did.”
“He waswith youlast night, Neve! He waswith. You!”He lunges for me then, grabbing my forearm, near my elbow, and stopping the knife from coming closer to him. His grip is tight, his jaw clenched, and he pushes me backward by his hold on my wrist.
I drop my phone with a clatter and shove against his chest while straining to keep the knife’s blade closer to him than me.
Do I scream?
Is now the time?
Do I try to calm him down?
Why does that always seem like a woman’s responsibility? To calm men and their fucking emotions? No one ever tries to calm mine. Not a man anyway. Not even Nolan. If anything, he fans the flames.
“What did he say to you? That’s all I want to know, Neve. How did he find out about us? Did you tell him? Did you want to come between us?”
The shock of the question is my downfall. I stop fighting back, and his words are lost as my spine collides with the door and he presses my arm there, too, so I’ve still got the knife but it’s up in the air and he’s pinning me in place.
