Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“This isn’t like you,” he says. “You fight everything tooth and nail. Something happened,” he says. “Tell me what.”
His voice is low and comforting. He uses one of his thumbs to brush tears from my cheek and waits, patiently. I feel my mouth open. I feel words start to form. I don’t feel like I am in control of them, or of myself. When I pulled the trigger, I did something irredeemable. What happens next is inevitable.
“No,” I say, surprising myself with my ability to keep my secret even when I don’t think I can anymore. “I can’t tell you. It’s too bad.”
He shifts slightly, resettling me on his lap. The small motion reignites the heat in my ass, reminding me of his dominance and soon to be disappointment. “Whatever it is, it cannot be that bad.”
But it is that bad. I’d rather push him away than have him discover what I did and hate me. That’s probably selfish. No, not probably, definitely. I should tell him, and then he’d know. He could move on with his life.
“Sally,” he says, using my name. Usually that word ignites a response of disgust and rebellion from me. This time it makes me start weeping as the confession tumbles out of me of its own accord.
“I killed him.”
“What?”
“He killed a police officer. I found him a second time, and he got hold of me, so I shot him.” It sounds blunt when I say it that way, but blunt is the only way to confess. I’ve seen criminals explain things this way before, with the same level of apparent detachment. It never occurred to me their stomachs might be swirling with guilt. It’s absolutely fucked up how different the inside and outside of a person can be at the same time.
“Alright, so hate me now, or revenge kill me, whatever,” I say.
There is a long pause. The worst possible of all things: silence.
Is he going to kill me for revenge? Am I going to be another mutilated moth victim? I brace myself for the end I am sure I probably deserve.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly.
I close my eyes, thinking he’s apologizing for what he is about to do to me.
“Just make it quick,” I mumble. “I did that for him.”
“Christ,” Justice swears. “I’m not going to kill you. What kind of monster do you think I am?”
I open my eyes and look into his monstrous face, his eyes, his antennae, the all-too-human nose and mouth, hard jaw, the handsomeness and the monstrousness blended together in a predatory chimera.
“The kind to avenge a fallen brother?”
That’s the kind of monster I am. That’s what I did. Without thinking.
He draws in a deep breath and lets out a sad sigh. “I said I am sorry because I should have killed him myself. Instead, I let the job fall to you. You did what had to be done, and you did it at the expense of your moral code and, I suspect, your sanity. That burden should never have fallen on your shoulders. I know you were under pressure to catch the responsible party. I knew that human lives were at stake. I failed you. You did nothing wrong.”
“You’re not angry with me?”
“No. I wanted to have everything, and I should have known that I could not have everything. I wanted to capture Rage, protect lives, and have you. Those three things weren’t all possible. In the end, you made the decision.”
He is stroking my hair and holding me close, comforting me. This is the most surprising interaction of all. Far more surprising than discovering that mothmen are real. I have never had a partner like this, who respected my strength, took responsibility for his own failings, who refused to let my walls stand, but made himself safe for me when they fell.
I feel the most overwhelming welling of love from him and for him. I feel cared for and cherished. I feel a whole host of emotions, some of which I’ve never experienced in my life.
Tears start to roll down my cheeks, but they’re no longer tears of guilt and fear. Instead, they are tears of relief. He understands me, and that understanding feels like the greatest gift I have ever received.
Justice holds me through all of them, rocking me a little until my eyes dry themselves.
“I can’t believe you’d forgive me for that.”
“I haven’t forgiven you, because there’s nothing to forgive,” Justice says simply. “Rage chose his path. We tried to intervene, and he chose further violence. It’s tragic, but I cannot pretend that he or I have been wronged.”
“That’s very logical for someone who just lost his brother.”
“I was hatched with dozens of others,” Justice explains. “I am closer to some than others. I wanted to save his life if it was possible, but he was too far gone. I would rather have you breathing than him.”