“Nothing.” I wet my lips. “Everything.”

“You red?”

I laughed. “No. For once, I’m not red.” I was black and blue from years of emotional beatings. Gray as dust from solitude.

He sighed. Not one of exasperation or relief, but the gentle exhale one makes when they relax back in bed, their head settling into the pillow, their eyes closing. “Tell me.”

I told him everything. About the lockout. The fight through my door. Jeremy’s arrival. My break.

“Did you really want to hurt her? Or were you just expressing anger?”

I slid my back down the wall until my butt hit the floor. Considered the question. “Are you asking if I was in control?”

“People lose their tempers all of the time, Deanna. Normal people. I lose my temper. Most people’s don’t turn physical, but a lashing out is normal. I’m asking you if that’s what this was.”

I closed my eyes and tried to return to that moment, to that place. To what I felt when that door finally broke open and I had the freedom to move. How Jeremy wasn’t even a consideration, his audience to my actions inconsequential. I had stormed, I had grabbed, I had screamed and wrapped my hands around her neck and wanted to kill her.

But would I have stopped? In an empty setting, in the middle of the day, with no one there to pull me off, no night urges to combat… would I have stopped before her skin lost its heat?

I think… I think I would have, which is… surprising to say the least. Especially considering how much I really hate that bitch. I’d never really asked myself that question before. Not that I’d had my hands wrapped around too many throats. It wasn’t my ideal way to kill, took a lot of hand strength and endurance. We’re talking about consistently squeezing a cord of struggling muscles for a good minute or two. It’s difficult. A knife was so much easier. And fun.

“Yes.” I interrupted my mind’s fall down its slippery path. “I think it was just anger. I don’t think I would have killed her.”

“That’s a great exercise to work through, Deanna. We can control anger and reactions.”

“Well, honestly, I don’t care if I did kill her. I was calling you about Jeremy.”

He chuckled, a long, low sound. “Oh… Deanna. We have so much work to do.”

I like midnight Derek. He lectures less and uses his bedroom voice more.

“What’s the issue with Jeremy?”

“He pulled me off of her, pushed me inside. Was mad at me about it.”

“It’s a lot for someone to swallow.”

“Yeah but…” I dropped my head against the wall and looked up. Noticed a healthy collection of cobwebs on the overhead light. “He seemed frustrated. Said he couldn’t deal with it.”

“I’ve told you to be up front with him. To explain your disorder.”

“I have. Mostly. I’ve told him about my urges. He kind of pushes them to the side.” And I didn’t chase the issue and shove it down his throat. If Jeremy didn’t want to believe I was a psychopath, that was fine with me. I didn’t need to roll a dead body in front of him. I kind of liked the starry-eyed way that Jeremy looked at me. And, when I wasn’t shoving him out the door so that I could be locked in, we felt like a normal couple, with a normal relationship, and I felt like a normal girl. I liked that.

“Was this the first time he saw your violent side?” I heard the trap in his question. Derek thought I hid violent activity from him. I’ll just set that sentence to the side and let it be.

“Sorta. I mean, you know what happened when we met.” When I jumped naked off my bed and tried to kill him with my bare hands and later, his box cutter.

“You have to see this hole in your relationship. You have one hiccup and he’s running away.”

“It’s kind of a big hiccup,” I pointed out. “It’s not like I was late to dinner.”

“It’s you. If he’s in love with you, he needs to be in love with all of you, not just your good side.”

My good side. Do I have a good side? That’s a long discussion I needed to have with myself someday. Though a current toss-up of that subject would delay the processing of what Derek just said. And the excellent point that he just made. I leaned forward and examined the dark blue polish on my toes.

“Deanna?” Of course he wanted a response.

“What are you doing right now?” I sat back, away from my polished toes, and closed my eyes.

“I’m in bed.”

“What do you look like?”

“That’s not really an appropriate question.”

“I’ve looked for you online. No pictures. That’s weird. Most people have pictures.” A confession I never thought I’d voice, but it hovered in the air between us.

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

I opened my eyes. “You’ve googled me?”

“In a purely professional sense.”

I looked left, to the mountain of technology that was my cam production. “I’m not big on pictures.”

“Well… neither am I.”

“You can send me a pic. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“You alone right now?” The question jutted out from my lips and hung there, a step in a direction he never lets me take. I closed my eyes and begged him to answer it.

“Yes.” Short and sweet, without the elaboration I would have preferred, but I’d take it.

“Me too.”

“What did Jeremy—”

I spoke quickly, before the sentence grew a point. “Please don’t ask me about Jeremy. I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

“Whether you talk about it or not, you need to think about it. What’s healthiest for you is a strong relationship, built on an honest framework.” His voice grew strength when it was on topic.

He and I, by that thought process, could never be in a relationship. I’d buried enough lies between us to dam a river. I wondered what a relationship with Derek would be like. If it’d be a hundred different analyzations or a perfectly executed coordination of emotions. I wondered if it’d be heaven or hell.

“Think I should call him?”

“Yes. Always yes. Communication is what is most important.”

“Okay.” I looked back down at my toes. “Thanks for answering.”

“You know I’m billing you for this, right? I’m on after-hours rates now. Double.”

I smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Send me the bill.”

“Good night, Deanna.” I loved the way he said my name.

“Night, Doc.” I hung up the phone and looked at the display. Eight minutes thirty-two seconds. My average cam session lasted longer. I wondered if my clients end our chats feeling as conflicted as I did right then. I opened my phone log and scrolled down to Jeremy’s name. Communication is what’s most important. I locked the display and pushed myself to my feet. Headed to the closest dresser for something to wear. Grabbed FtypeBaby’s keys off the hook on the way.

CHAPTER 48

Present

IN THE STATE of Oklahoma, there are a variety of conditions that must be met before a warrant is issued. I researched the conditions, did my due diligence, and then waited, my butt on the floor, back against the door, a paperback in hand. On the second day, the second paperback, I hear the elevator, hear the steps, hear the voices. Voices that don’t belong to any of the fifteen residents of this floor. I press my good ear to the door and listen, try to gain a sliver of insider knowledge in the moment before they knock. When I open the door, there is a moment of standoff.

“I’m not sure that you understand, Ms. Madden. You have to let us in.” TheOtherOne. This guy again.

I fold my arms across my chest. “I understand that this is the second time you’ve bothered me in three days.” Is it Jeremy? I want to scream the question but bite my tongue.