CHAPTER 53

Present

I DIDN’T KNOW about the other officer, a cop outside the complex. I didn’t know but through my stumbles, and silence, and moment of hell, I hear his shout. I hear the shout and turn my head and see the black uniform on the black cop standing on the black pavement. He shouts Brenda’s name and cups his hand to his mouth and I strain in my shoes for his words because they will be different and a distraction and I need a distraction right now. And my sneakers bite into the pavement and my knees bend when he speaks.

We’ve

The word leaves his mouth in slow motion and I can hear it clearly, my legs pushing off.

got

I need to be there, he has found something, I can see it in his stance, in the cry of his mouth. I will rip the item from his hand and prove EyelinerLiar wrong and everything will be okay.

blood

The wrong word, a bad word, a word my madness loves but I hate, especially right now, especially with Brenda’s Jeremy Pacer lie so fresh off her stupid lips. My right foot leaves the ground and I will sprint toward him and he will be wrong and maybe I’ll never stop running until the entire world is on fire and everyone but him and I are dead.

When Brenda’s arm closes around mine, it is hard and strong and cruel. I am jerked back and the man comes from nowhere and no one is watching FtypeBaby and where are her keys and then my hands are behind my back and I feel cold metal and everything stops when the man wastes his time and opens his mouth.

“Deanna Madden, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Jeremy Pacer. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can or will be used against you in a court of law…”

I find my sight and it collides with Brenda. She stares at me and I see confusion and am, for a moment, comforted. Then, I lose control and scream.

I can only keep crazy confined for so long.

PART 2

They say that if you love something, you should let it go. I should have let Jeremy go. Let his life slip from my fingers and onto its own path. I should have opened my mouth and spoken the truth, bared my soul, confessed my sins. Watched his eyes widen and his feet step back. He would have left; he would have let go. Despite the words of love that fall so often from his mouth, he would have run. Any smart man would have. But I didn’t. He was the one clean thing in my life, so I held him close. Seduced him further, let him love. I was too selfish not to. It’s my fault, in a hundred different ways, what happened to him.

CHAPTER 54

Past

I BOUGHT JEREMY’S house and closed on it without ever setting foot on the property. Strange to be here now, past midnight, the lights inside all off. The front porch is dark, unable to show off the polished wood floors, the decorative fans that the MLS listing had bragged over. I reached forward and rang the bell.

I waited, curling my toes against the plastic foam of my flip-flops, hearing the chime ring and fade, ring and fade. Saw the light when it went on in a back room, most likely the master, saw the dark outline as it walked down the hall, the shoulders wide and strong, the waist corded and tight, pajama pants low on hips that have pumped against me. I crossed my arms against the night’s chill and waved a hand at him through the front door’s glass. Wished I could see his face, see whether it broke into a smile or scowled. I expected him to reach for the switch, to flood the front porch with light, but he did neither, just unlocked the front door and swung it open. Stepped out and wrapped a hand around my waist. Dragged me inside and into his chest. Wrapped his arms around me and inhaled a deep breath into my hair. Lifted me up against his chest and carried me four steps back. Set me down long enough to move his hands to my waist and lift, boosting me up into the air and then down onto the island, his hands settling down on the granite on either side of my legs, his mouth coming down on my mouth and kissing me hard and greedy, long deep pulls, the room silent, the only sounds in the space ours. He leaned forward, my knees parting, legs wrapping around his waist, my flip-flops hitting the floor, the left and then the right. I felt the trail of his hands, first at my ass, sliding up and under my T-shirt, skimming off the fabric, our kiss breaking as my shirt was pulled off, his big hands balling up the cotton and tossing it to the side. He leaned forward, his hands brushing at items behind me, and I flinched at the crack of glass as something hit the floor. “Shh…” he said, though I hadn’t said anything. Then he leaned me back, his hands guiding me onto the hard island counter, his lips soft as they trailed down my neck, and my breasts, sucking one through the cotton of my bra, then down the centerline of my stomach.

I closed my eyes and dug my fingers in his hair. Lifted my butt when he looped fingers underneath my shorts and pulled them and my panties off. Gasped when he lowered his mouth to my skin, his hot breath fanning the area first, his mouth so warm and wet and gentle when it settled, right in between my open legs. His hands slid up my stomach, each finger a pleasure center, the trail and tease and bite holding me in place and controlling my arousal, the squeeze of my breasts in tune with the chorus of his mouth. I arched my back against his touch, pushed on his head with my hands, and whimpered his name as he moved lower, taking a deeper taste of me before returning to my clit. “Please,” I whispered, holding his head in place, my legs shuddering as my body seized and my orgasm took flight.

He growled when I screamed, and held me down when I curled up. His tongue was perfect, flicking across the bud of my pleasure, and not stopping, not when I thrashed against him, not when I cursed his perfection and dug my nails into his scalp. He carried me to my death, then gently swept me up to heaven, stretching the experience further than I’ve ever had it, my limbs trembling underneath him by the time he slid his hands underneath me and carried my limp body to his bed.

Jeremy was different that night. Harder. He ordered rather than asked. Took rather than pleaded. I turned my body over to him and he used it every way he wanted. I loved it, but I recognized it for what it was. Submittal. Punishment. A plea with him to keep me as I was, broken.

I lay in between olive sheets and wondered if he picked these out. They were nice. Nicer than I would have expected. The last time I lay in a man’s bed was back in college—those nine months back in the day—my nine months of normal. Away from my grandparents’ house and the whispers of high school kids. Away from newspaper clippings, police reports, and gravestones. I had plucked a community college at random, electronically submitted a half-ass application, wrote an entrance essay about female empowerment, and gotten accepted. Worn colorful tanks and Ray-Bans and chugged beers in crowded apartments. Almost killed three different times, one near miss occurring in a bed just like this one. Only that bed had smelled like Froot Loops and beer, and Jeremy’s smells like dryer sheets and soap. That bed had cheap navy sheets that scratched my legs, versus Jeremy’s, which slid smoothly. I rolled over and nuzzled the line of his backbone. Inhaled his scent and marveled at the heat that rose off his skin, even in sleep.