I put my glass down and stand up slowly, eyes on his tall, strong back as he messes with the ice
cannister, fidgeting to get his excessive energy under control and I walk forward. Growing in
determination and confidence, knowing this is what I should do.
Watching him as I close the gap between us and sensing his own quiet despair that me knowing about
what he did will send me running for the door twice as fast. I can feel his tension from afar. That scared
little boy awaiting the inevitable rejection from another woman deeming him unworthy of love because
of the things he was programmed to do.
Who could love someone who kills so brutally, so cruelly?
Me.
I could.
Because I understand why.
No hesitation, nothing else in my head except this overwhelming feeling that I want to do this. I need to
do this. I owe him this.
I walk up right behind him, slide my arms around his waist and push my head against his back as I hug
him tight for a second, and squeeze him with all my might. Somehow, I want him to know that what he
did … it means nothing to me in the way it should. I’m not any girl; I’m numb and broken to this world
because of all I have endured, and I understand that in his world, torture and murder don’t have the
same value as out there in a safe suburban existence. Alexi killed for me … that is how he translates
his devotion. It’s fucked up, crazy, but utterly right for who he is.
And I’m equally insane. Only someone like me could see the act of devotion in something so vulgar
and despicable and want to reward him for it.
He feels good, too good, smells even better, and the way his touch has always brought me a sense of
safe and secure envelops me again. Wrapping myself around him as his body stiffens at first with the
contact and then he relaxes in my arms. Feeding my need for his touch and reassuring him that I don’t
feel disgusted at what he did for me.
Alexi catches my wrist around his flat, hard abdomen and tugs me around him, lifting his arm so I’m
pulled to the front of his body and hugs me back. Wrapping me up tight in his arms and pushes his chin
over the top of my head so I’m cradled small and tight within his embrace. Held firmly in the safest
place in the world. Entangled bodies fitting together so effortlessly. We just fit.
His tall, strong mass and my slender curves. Like two pieces of yin and yang that slot together to make
one whole.
“We are a completely fucked up pair.” His low husky tone buries into my scalp along with the warmth of
his breath, and my head tingles. His chest sounds hollow for a second as his voice reverberates
through me and I hold tight. It’s the biggest understatement of the century, and yet he’s right.
Only someone as fucked up as him could ever truly see someone like me as worthy. We are both
screwed in terms of normality.
“Maybe that’s why I like you.” I bury my face in his chest and close my eyes, breathing in his unique
Alexi scent. Heart hammering through my rib cage because I admit that maybe I do. Wanting to
immerse myself into the familiarity of his body. Feeling that tingle of safety and security only he has
ever given me and relaxing a little.
It’s a start, I guess.
“I’ll take like. It’s something anyway. Room to grow into something more.” His voice oozes over me like
smooth velvet and I hold on tighter, wondering why this man seems to be made for hugging when, in
life, he is not the cuddling type. He doesn’t do much of the touchy-feely stuff but that doesn’t matter
right now. He isn’t letting me go.
His hand smooths down my spine slowly, flat and strong with ample pressure then back up as he
strokes down my long hair gently, flattening it out and brushes its length with his fingers. He seems to
have a thing for playing with my hair, not that I’m complaining. It’s crazily sweet and unexpected from
someone like him. A tender, genuine affection, and I lift my face to look up at him as I get that little tug
as he plays with a strand of my hair.
“What now?” It’s a good question because I honestly do not know what we are supposed to say or do
after this. I’m not ready to throw myself at this man just because he possesses a heart. I’m grateful for
what he did, but as I pull myself away, feeling him release me reluctantly and straighten myself up, his
eyes wander over me slowly. No further forward than we were minutes ago.
“You tell me.” He looks wary and I sigh heavily, repositioning myself against the counter so we stand a
foot apart. Strained awkwardness returning now we are no longer touching.
Isn’t that just the thing? I have no clue.
There’s a long tense pause as my brain scrambles for a response, and I stare at him reluctantly,
absorbing every single one of those masculine features. He truly is a handsome devil, even with those
cold eyes and that brooding frown. He just continues with that unreadable expression and watches me
just as intensely.
“I need time to think. I need to sleep. My head’s a mess and there are a million and one things in there
flying around.” I step away from him to get a little extra space I so need right now, catching the look of
disappointment as he realises the hug was a one-off, for now anyway. This is my only option to get
some headspace.
I don’t know what I’m doing beyond going to bed and being alone for a while. There are a million and
one things to process that are piling up to mountainous proportions, and my poor frazzled head can’t
separate all of this.
London, Rick, Love, Murder … Jesus Christ, Alexi. You really are a major in terms of head mess.
“I’ll be here.” He nods towards the couch and I stare at him for another long moment.
“Will you do something for me?” It’s soft and pleading but I need it. Vision straying to that box in the
background and yet I still cannot bear to let my eyes fall on them directly.
“Anything.”
His response pulls a tiny smile from me, but I curb it quickly and focus on what I need.
“Burn those journals for me, please. I never want to see them again. I never want to talk about it … or
Rick. My past is the past, and all that’s connected to it doesn’t exist anymore. It all died with him. It’s a
moot subject from here on in. Promise me.”
It’s a stern-voiced command and Alexi has the sense to nod and say nothing. A moment of intense
staring at my face before he shifts on his feet. He turns and walks to the table immediately, picking up
the box and fishes around inside it for a moment, pushing the books aside. And I glance down at my
feet, afraid to see him pull one out.
I really cannot handle their existence in this room.
He puts it back down and walks to me, something small in his hand and holds it out casually, his face
lightening with a hint of a shy smile.
“You may want this. Don’t think it should meet the furnace.”
I blink as my eyes focus on the black tube in his hand, confused for a second as to what I’m looking at,
and I realise as my eyesight settles on it that it’s the red lipstick I lost the last time I lived here. The no
longer manufactured shade of red that was always my signature colour. The exact shade of my hair.
The one I looked everywhere for and realised it must have been left behind.
Weirdly, emotional trauma makes me happy gasp at the sight of it. Truly having a last psychotic break
after one long evening of way too much drama.
“Oh, my God, where did you find it?”
It’s almost like everything from the last few hours fall away to nothing. Focusing on something so
unimportant and meaningless, but it’s a distraction from this reality. It’s something to yank me back to
yesterday before this topsy-turvy night happened and pulled the rug from under me. Normal on a wave
of surreal.
“Cleaner found it under your bed and I couldn’t throw it away. It’s all I had left of you.” Alexi looks
instantly uneasy at this obvious admission of feelings and I smile at him, stupidly. His words seeping in
and what he just admitted to.
He kept it for sentimentality. Alexi the devil incarnate Carrero, kept a tiny piece of me, even though it
was something insignificant. It’s cute, for him anyway.
“And I used to think you were devoid of all human emotions.” I jest and poke him in the abdomen for
good measure, aware of my sudden jokey urge to touch him, and the instant lift of my mood over some
materialistic object. I always used possessions to push my feelings away into that box in my head.
Deflection at its finest. Some habits die hard.
“There she is … my sassy brit with her comebacks. I was worried I had lost you there for a little while.”
He smiles back, a genuine soft dimple raising glint that reaches his eyes and hands me my tube of rare
and wonderful red liquid bliss. I grip it and take a long, heavy inhale, this time careful not to graze
fingers, even though I want to feel his warmth on my skin one more time before I go.
There’s just too much confusion inside of me, and my senses are telling me to walk away and give
myself headspace. He’s too potent, too good at pulling me back to him. Tonight, has drained me of
everything and flipped me upside down. I would be too susceptible to fall back into his bed while feeling
this way, and that would be disastrous. I’m too vulnerable and I must protect myself, even if he does
care about me.
“I should go to bed; I have a lot to process.” The air of awkwardness between us returns once more
and we separate again by a few feet as he returns to the table to put the lid on that damned box before
sliding it under his arm securely. Hiding out of sight the things I asked him to get rid of. I’m guessing he
will do as I asked and remove it as soon as I’m out of the room and knows that space is probably a
good thing for both of us.
Doing as I asked without question. There is hope for him yet.
“I think sleep will do you good. You look wiped out. We can talk whenever you want. I’m not going
anywhere.” Alexi strays a little closer but it’s too much, I have so much going on in my head and under
my skin that I move away to breathe. I no doubt have a million more questions to get out of my head
before I feel able to stand and be okay with him again, but for now, I’m prickling with the need to be
alone. I just feel like, right now, I don’t know him anymore.
The man of the last months is not the one who stands before me now, and having one sentence
change our entire dynamic, has changed who I see before me. It’s too much. My head’s a mess.
Alexi the cruel, controlling tormentor, has become the man who murdered for me, trekked to London to
find me, and confessed to being in love with me. I have so many scenarios to replay and rethink now I
know these things, and the last months could do with being analysed carefully while I figure out what to
do. It’s a lot to swallow.
He didn’t leave me in that hospital and discard me like an unfeeling son of a bitch. He stayed until he
knew I was okay. He held my hand. It changes so much.
He’s complex for sure, and I feel like I have barely grazed the surface.
“Okay, so …” I trail off and turn on my foot sheepishly, moving away shyly and trying to go towards my
bedroom. That heavy atmosphere of two people feeling strange around each other, even though only a
short while ago we were having hot naked sex in the room only twenty feet away.
I blush at the memory. Another odd reaction in a tense and strained moment.
Blushing over sex? I would never do anything that weird. Sex was my life, my skill, my weapon. With
Alexi, however, sex always felt different, even when he was using it against me. He took it from being a
tool for me and turned it into something more. Something intimate.
I turn on my heels properly and walk to my room, gripping my lipstick tightly as though it’s the most
valuable possession I own. I think maybe because he held onto it all this time, because it was a part of
me and he couldn’t let it go, somehow helps me believe that all of this is real.
I’m intent on lying down in a dark space and unravelling all this mess in my head. I have so much to let
loose and think over.
Alexi, Rick, the diaries, everything that happened tonight and where do I go from here. What do I want?
I’m just so emotionally empty.
“London?” Alexi’s voice stops me, and I glance back over my shoulder at him.
“What?” I look at him through narrowed eyes as I catch the odd soft expression as he watches me walk
away. Still standing where I left him, only now the box is in his two hands, held tightly in front of him.
“You’re not nothing … you’re everything. My everything.” His eyes on mine, voice gentle and sexily low
with that half smile I see him with sometimes; a genuine moment of real Alexi.
My heart thuds heavily with a weird, painful pang that isn’t sore. It’s an odd moment of deep emotion,
and I swallow the instant lump that forms in my throat, threatening to choke me. Tears hitting the backs
of my eyes and I blink them away.
I have no words, no response to that. He just blew me away unexpectedly.
“Goodnight.” It’s all I can force out as my eyes mist over, despite my efforts, and I turn and hightail it to
my room before he sees me break down and cry my weird little heart out; because for the first time in
my life, someone said it and I believed them without question.
Sleep eludes me. Not that I thought it wouldn’t, but it’s frustrating just the same.
I spend what seems like forever tossing and turning in the bed, unable to clear my mind of anything
and everything and rolling myself into a frustrated mess. Up and down like a yoyo. Mood and emotions
twisting me up and trawling me out just to do it over again. My bedclothes get so screwed into an
unholy mess I end up getting up and fixing them several times, so unsettled and restless that I’m
making myself crazier than hell.
I can’t think straight because I’m so utterly tired, yet I can’t clear my head enough to close my eyes and
think of nothing at all. It’s exhausting and making me irrational and tearful all at the same time.
He really has a lot to answer for.
Alexi is all up in there in a hundred different ways. Good and bad, I guess. Churning over months of
scenarios and shining a new light on meanings and outcomes. Picking apart every conversation we
have had since I came back. Pawing over hurt and happier memories like I can’t really believe any of it
for how they seemed anymore. Face value means nothing now I’m looking backwards.
Sex, confessions, Rick, life in general around Alexi. It’s all a jumbled, confusing bundle of a mixed and
muddled mess. Trying to slice open all that I thought I knew and add this new insight to every detail.
Trying to take away the obvious and apply a lot of double meanings to really see Alexi acting like
someone who gave a shit instead of someone who didn’t.
And that one burning question which is sending me into an emotional meltdown.
What now?
I know I love him; I can’t deny that fact no matter how hard I try. It is how it is, even if I don’t like it, but
loving him and admitting it to him and giving him the last ounces of power over me terrify me. I don’t
think I can do it.
I can’t forget what he did or how easily he can rip me to shreds. He may be playing nice now, but what
if he turns, what if we don’t work or I piss him off? Can I ever trust him with all of me once again? I have
been there and done that and he threw me aside like an empty rubbish sack.
You don’t do that if you care.
He wants us to be something more.
What does that even mean? What is more? Can we be more than what we are? Is that even possible,
given where we have come from and what has gone on between us? What does ‘more’ mean for him
and what would he expect from me to be that ‘more’?
A relationship?
I don’t even know what that is like, even by normal standards. I never had a real relationship with
anyone in my life; in any way. Not even any sort of real two-sided friendship let alone love; well Mico
and Jackson don’t really count because it’s business, and they are paid to tolerate me.
My own mother couldn’t stand to look at me and I don’t know how to form long-term bonds or trust with
anyone, let alone a man who crushed me in two and was the root of me trying to end my life.
Trust is a funny thing, and despite my affections for Mico and Jackson, I don’t even think I trust them.
And they have done nothing for me to doubt them. How can I begin to learn to trust Alexi? After
everything he has put me through.
To trust that he cares for me so we could be something more—if he even does.
If I believe him.
I do.
Sort of.
Maybe.
I don’t fucking know anymore.
I kind of do, yet there are so many doubts and fears in knowing what he is capable of, standing in my
way. Blocking any thoughts of trying to see how this goes.
If he loved me back then and could still do those things to me, then he is capable of doing them again.
Why wouldn’t he? He has no limits, and he can snap and repeat shit to hurt me if I push him enough
again. Punishing me, hurting me. It’s in him. I mean a guy who can torture and murder someone in cold
blood can definitely inflict more mental damage on me. All in a day’s work for someone like him.
I can’t take it anymore, and finally, I relent and get up to go fix myself a warm drink and find some
sleeping pills in the kitchen. Anything to get a break from this self-inflicted torture and give my head a
rest. I feel like my brain is wringing itself out and pushing its mass through a meat grinder. Sleep
deprivation will not help me figure anything out, and it’s giving me nothing but a headache.
I pad out to the kitchen through the dark living room and almost jump out of my skin when I turn into the
kitchenette and walk smack bang into him at the fridge. Heart missing a beat and squealing like an idiot
as I collide with a warm, hard body in the semi-darkness. He has all the lights set to low, so I literally
didn’t see his all black dressed skulking self in the shadows.
‘Fuck’s sake, Lexi!’ I jump half a mile and almost drop dead of a heart attack.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He smiles at me, looking daunting and obviously impressed with his
sinister prowess when lurking around in the partially lit apartment. I just eye roll at him as I try to calm
my erratic heart and weak limbs.
Panther comes to mind. He has the silent, confident walk of a ferocious black beast in the shadows.
Wearing what looks like a form-fitting work out tee over sweatpants. Modern day ninja or cold assassin.
“Don’t you use beds?” I ask sarcastically, still recovering from my minor stroke as he moves out of the
way to let me pass. I lift the milk jug out before I head for the counter past him to put space between us
again and regain control of my shallow breathing.
“Sometimes. It smells of you, so I didn’t think sleep would be achievable.” He answers it so matter of
fact, but those eyes are homed in on me and every movement and I can feel them following me around
the space. Alexi is trying to read me for any kind of reaction, I guess.
What he said though has a more profound effect. I blush right down to my roots and eye him up
sheepishly as I get what he meant by that. What we did in his bed hitting full force like a pornographic
replay in my mind’s eye, and I can’t deny that little heated tingle between my thighs at the thought. I
push it down again and try to ignore the way my whole body just perked up with the appetite of a
ravenous whore. I mean the guy fucks like a lothario and has the tools to make it memorable. Getting
turned on by him has never been a problem.
Seems my libido had a fast recovery anyway, even if my mental state hasn’t.
“Right, of course.” Instantly losing my cool and spill milk everywhere on the surface as I try to fill a mug
for the microwave. Very skilled.
“Did you get any?”
What? Sex? The smell of Alexi on my sheets? What on earth is he talking about? I blanch at him
questioningly, face warming as that juvenile blush creeps up to my temples and gets two shades
darker, judging by the heat my face emanates.
“Sleep … you look frazzled.” He finishes, and that glow turns hot crimson on my face as I inwardly
curse myself for turning into this odd uncool freak with him right now. I have no clue what’s wrong with
me, other than complete fatigue. I’m acting like a virgin who got caught alone with the school heartthrob
hinting at nooky.
What happened to my years of seducing men like a pro and being the level-headed seductress with all
the moves?
He’s killed my sexual prowess dead.
I wasn’t expecting him to be out here, and now I’m all fingers and thumbs and feeling unusually
nervous around him, while he seems completely normal once again.
What the hell is with his effects on me? I swear it’s some kind of voodoo. Must be some demonic skill
given to the devil to lure unsuspecting women to their deaths.
“No, not really. Lots going on in here.” I tap my temple with a long-manicured nail and try to turn my
attention to heating milk for a hot chocolate to help me relax a little and not look like such a ditzy klutz.
I’m overly aware of how big he is in this small space and the way he is hovering around me, moving in,
sapping all the oxygen in the room. I drop my spoon and inwardly curse at the uselessness of my own
digits.
“You seem nervous.” Alexi points out the obvious and I blow out a lot of air heavily, knowing I can’t hide
it from him, and resistance is futile. I’m sweating nerves and he is so close my heart is palpating and
making me so uber jittery, it’s crazy. My skin is tingling all over and I’m so sensitive to his nearness I
can practically feel him. He isn’t dumb and reads body language and mannerisms better than anyone.
He can clearly see the hot mess I have become.
I drop the spoon again, clattering onto the surface loudly and try to look like I have my shit together
when I retrieve it.
I don’t know why he is now having this kind of effect other than because I know he is expecting an
answer I don’t have. Or maybe because my head just keeps screaming ‘ALEXI LOVES YOU’.
Nerves because everything has changed between us. Or just an emotional break as I finally leap off
the sanity shelf and into the mental breakdown pot. Who knows?
“Look, I know you are wondering what I’m thinking about in terms of what you said. I just …” I have no
clue how to say it. I just feel like I need to fill the gap with something verbal.
“You’re scared.” Alexi states bluntly and I pause to catch his eye. He seems normal once more and
much like the Alexi I’m used to. It’s oddly reassuring in a very fucked up way. He seems unfazed,
unaffected and devoid of all normal human emotions. So, back to usual then.
“Confused.” I correct him, but even I know he was right the first time.
“I’m not expecting you to dive into my arms and announce a relationship, Cam. I’m not asking for that. I
know that’s something I have to work towards and earn, all I’m asking for right now is the chance to
spend time with you. Take you on a date or two and not have you run out the door like a maniac at 4
AM after mind-blowing sex.”
Mind-blowing? Is that him telling me that sex with me is as good for him as it always is for me?
Don’t overthink it, Cam. Sex is sex for men. As long as they get to poke a dark wet hole until they cum,
they’re usually happy.
He leans in against the counter beside me, propping his butt at it so he can look at me while I fumble
with jars of cocoa and almost drop the mug when trying to get it in the microwave.
Lord have mercy on my soul.
Please stop disabling my hands and making me look like an utter moron in front of this man.
“Sounds so simple when you put it that way.” I stammer out, attempting to sound like me, only higher
pitched, much antsier and hanging on the verge of a mental break.
“It is as simple as we make it.” He takes the jar I have lifted from my hand and opens it for me, laying it
on the counter, making it clear he can see how much I’m struggling to do basic tasks. I take a deep
breath, hating how obvious I’m being and try to steady my trembling fingers before I continue.
“Hmm,” I answer as though I’m distracted, but really, I’m inwardly shaking. He’s not trying to pressure
me, actually he probably is, it’s Alexi after all, but either way, it suddenly feels very intense in here and
I’m struggling to catch my breath.
I think they call that a claustrophobic response to being cornered. He is pushing for an answer I don’t
have and I’m running the other way because I’m not ready to decide.
“I know you still care about me. Last night coming home to that, was all I needed. It’s what I have been
looking for … a glimpse that you still feel for me. I won’t fuck this up again. I know I only get one
chance.” He leans in again and takes the jar out of my hand as I attempt, ungraciously, to get the lid
back on, and closes it for me before handing it back.
So domestic nowadays.
I avoid looking at him as he slides nearer, and I concentrate on putting it back in the cupboard without
dropping it on my own face.
“I thought you were dead … I was emotional, erratic.”
Insane.
“Perfect.”
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