Page 81 of Miserable Marionette

But there’s something wrong with him.

Gideon needs me.

“Tell me,” I breathe, trying to calm myself once he lets me breathe.

He leans back, taking stock of my expression, noting all of my features, studying me for any sign of deception. My pulse spikes even knowing he won’t find one. At the end of the day, I knew, I think… maybe part of me always knew this was in him. It’s not as if he’d hidden from me, not really.

“I tried so hard to make them perfect, to make them like you… it never worked.”

“So, you got rid of them? All those women, they’re dead because of me,” I cry, trying my best to keep from sobbing. “Who else?”

“My mom. She was always trying to scare you away.” His face twists like he’s in pain before blanking again. “Are you mad at me, Audrey?”

I go still. It makes sense now, horrible, jarring sense. Her frazzled, worried eyes always tracking and peeking in on us. “That-that’s why you left, isn’t it? Holy fuck…”

“I never wanted to go. I never left you, not really. We had to, to keep you safe, to keep the police—"

“Wait, your dad… your dad knew?” Bile swells in my gut again, my whole body trembling at the effort to swallow it down.

He nods, bringing his nose against mine in a little brush, mirroring the kiss I gave him before the wedding. “Are you disappointed in me?”

“Never. I swear it.” I hiccup, cupping his face in my hand, rubbing my thumb over the stubble on his cheek. “There’s just… there’s something wrong with you, Gideon. You need help.”

He nods.

“It's too late, though, isn’t it? For help.”

“Yeah, puppet, way too late.”

I don’t know what it is, maybe the soreness in my bones, the exhaustion, or the weight of it all, but when he carefully maneuvers me into his lap, holding me close, I don’t fight him. I don’t say stop or push him away. I don’t ask any more questions when he squeezes me tightly to his chest, letting me sob. Soon enough, despite everything, I fall asleep, praying whatever my nightmares are… they’re better than this.

37

What Makes Gideon Bell Snap?

Audrey, Present Day, 1994

My dress is bunched up high by my hips as I drag a fine brush through Krissy’s hair, humiliation still burning bright as Gideon watches me. Fifteen hours, god, it’s been fifteen hours of being… attached. I’d begged for the first, only to be snuggled roughly against the bed and told he’ll cut us apart when I start acting like someone who doesn’t need to be restrained. I’d needed the bathroom so badly earlier, doing my best to hold it, not to go in front of him, but I’d barely made it. Hours of being groomed, washed, and doted on, hand fed, and… humiliated by how much I liked it. How I’ve never wished for much more than to be the center of Gideon Bell’s attention. However horrifying. The words are trapped viciously between my teeth as I work Krissy’s hair. I know I shouldn’t ask again… it only makes things worse but…

“Gideon?” I whisper.

“I-I think that I would feel better if I just knew, if you could just… I need the closure, that’s all. You know how important it is for someone to—"

“Enough, Audrey,” he snaps, making me flinch, his grasp on my ankle turning brutal, but all things about Gideon are beautifully brutal. The way he loves me would be no different.

I roll my eyes despite myself, only this time I don’t stop, and he doesn’t stop me as I shove Krissy from my lap and clamber off the bed, forcing him to follow me. Something about being couped up in his bedroom… being doted on, wrapping my mind around the awful things he’s done and the fact that it changes nothing for me… of knowing that means I’m awful too, has altered me. Gideon is bad, so I am too. Maybe that’s why I’m here, to be the part of him that feels the weight of what he’s done.

“Where are we going, puppet?”

I ignore him. Our arms tugging painfully, the sutures popped in some spots, angry red in others. It hurts... even numbed. Every movement keeps me awake to stare at him, the handsome angles of his face, trying to picture him through their eyes. What his sweet mom must’ve thought when he hurt her, if she even knew before it was too late. I’m heading down the stairs with my dutiful shadow, our hands clutched together to keep from tugging. He lets me lead him to the basement stairs before he finally tugs us to a stop. “Come back to bed. There’s nothing you need down here.”

“If I go down… will you hurt me?”

He sighs, growing weary himself, not of the agonizing sutures but the fact that it took me a lifetime by his side to finally master one of his most lethal weapons.

Silence.

The first ten hours were terrifying, watching him rage as he jerked and threatened me, bit and forced himself between my legs, forced me to moan and want it so badly only for him to pull away.