Chapter Eighteen
Ifmy head spun any more, it would spin right off my shoulders. After Mason had been assured I knew how to use a razor without trying to kill myself, he left me to get showered and dressed.
Only, now that I was alone, standing beneath a steady stream of hot water, all I could do was think. Funny how that worked. When he was near me, all I could see was him. When he was gone, I forced myself to think of the bigger picture. Otherwise, I would only think of him.
I examined every inch of my body like it held the answers to my questions. What did he want from me? There had to be something.
I’d told myself to harden my heart and snuff out the absurd feelings I felt for him, but it was easier said than done. I felt so naturally comfortable around him. The awkward girl barely made an appearance. When he called me beautiful, I knew he meant it.
How could he say I barely remembered him? I might not have known his face, but I knew his voice. In the recess of my mind, I even knew his touch. He’d pulled me from a tub of bath water full of blood, holding me on his lap and refusing to let me go.
The man had saved my life not once, but twice. I’m not sure he was aware of the second time, or he had a freaky sixth sense when it came to me.
I never saw his face that night; I only heard his voice rousing me from slipping away. I felt his suit jacket around my shoulders before I was comfortably numb.
The mysterious man I’d been desperate to see again was Mason Andreou. How could someone so sweet, gentle, and kind have a hobby that involved murdering people? And why the fuck didn’t that bother me more than it was?
What if Mason was like me, and I was like him? Maybe we were both two halves of one soul. If only my head would let me be. I could voice all these thoughts aloud.
I had questions. My entire twenty-one years of life, and all I had were questions. I should have demanded answers in more than half the situations I found myself in. I didn’t even find out why he locked me up.
It was time to get answers for once, and that required me to lead with my head and not my heart. But that was easier said than done, when my mind could turn against me at any given moment.
Chapter Nineteen
Mason said the word ‘sexy,' and I felt like a turtle trying to put on a clown costume.
He brought me a two piece lacy little number and a sheer robe to go over it. I did my best to pull it together. Honestly, I had no clue what I was doing. The result was my reflection in the mirror looking better than I felt.
No, I didn’t want to wear the ridiculous ensemble, but if I was ever going to figure him out and find out what was going on, I couldn’t rebel every chance I got.
Using the banister to guide me, I slowly walked down the stairs. The strong aroma of hot food was in the air, making my mouth water. When was the last time I ate something?
Not seeing Mason in the foyer, I wandered into the dining room, but he wasn’t there either.
Figuring he would show up like he always seemed to do, I walked to the living room. The night I had tried to get away from him, I’d seen some of his paintings on the wall.
There were four of them, each on their own canvas. Two were done in darker colors, and two were abstract. They were grotesque and morbid, but at the same time intriguing and unique.
Just like Mason.
If I hadn’t known what his muse was behind them, I never would have suspected corpses. None of the paintings featured the room or the chair.
One of the abstracts had a woman missing her eyes, but her mouth had been sewn closed around one of them in the middle.
A darker painting had a man in it. His skin looked similar to an eroded penny, and his nose was missing. Without realizing what I was doing, I began tracing the outline of the frame. I could picture Mason taking his time to get the definition just right.
How did something like this manifest into a hobby? I wanted to be a violinist once, but I didn’t go around slicing people up for inspiration.
“What do you think?”
I jumped, pulling my hand back as if I’d been caught doing something wrong. Looking over at him leaning against the door frame, I felt my face flush.
He’d left me with a jumble of conflicted feelings and a body that ached for his touch. Seeing him again had them returning full force. I shifted on my feet, squeezing my thighs together. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. I had crotchless underwear on and could feel the heat gathering between my legs.
“They’re interesting,” I admitted honestly, looking away.
“Do you like them?” he questioned, coming to stand behind me, sliding his arms around my waist. I melted back into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
