She mulls this over while raveling a strand of her hair around her finger. “What about Jason? Would he stay there? I don’t want you to have to run into him again either.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure he’s staying at his parents’ house.”
“That’s good. How are you feeling about seeing him again?” She shakes her head. “Never mind. That’s a dumb question.”
“No, it’s not…” I waver with my lips smashed together. “I honestly don’t know.” Scared? Pissed off? Worried?
The latter stems from this odd feeling festering in my stomach, that Jason had something to do with that girl’s death—the one that was found in the park yesterday. How did he know so much about her death? It doesn’t make sense, since he allegedly just arrived in town. But how could I think the man I was married to killed a girl? I lived with him for years, and never thought he was a killer…
That’s not entirely accurate. There were times, in the darkness of our house, where I believed he might force me to take my final breath. There were times when his fingers wrapped around my throat, where his knuckles slammed against my bones with too much aching force, when he shoved me with his brutal strength with too much force. He didn’t kill me, though, so that means something… right?
I’m not convinced it is, and that’s more horrifying than anything I’ve experienced. Could I have lived my life with a man capable of doing things that have haunted my mind for years? Things I couldn’t see but felt?
“What’re you thinking about?” Clara asks, her voice drifting through my haunting thoughts.
“Just some stuff about Jason,” I mumble without much forethought. “Like how odd he was acting yesterday.”
“That wasn’t normal for him?” she questions dubiously as she takes a sip of her coffee.
“No and yes.” I debate how much to tell her. “I think it was odd he knew so much about that girl’s death when she was barely found, and he supposedly just got into town.”
A crease forms between her brows. “Are you implying that you think…” Her brows raise. “That you think he killed her?” she whispers the last part.
Do I?
That’s insane…
And yet…
His fingers wrap around my throat, squeezing my windpipe.
I can’t breathe.
I’m going to die.
He’s going to kill me.
“I don’t know,” I whisper shakily.
“Holy shit,” Clara breathes out as she reclines back on the sofa and absentmindedly pets Bailey, who’s lying beside her. “That’s a big accusation. Not that I’m saying you’re wrong, but…” She dazes off at the floor, lost in thought.
“It could be a wrong accusation,” I feel the need to say.
Her gaze lifts to mine.
Silence passes between us.
“But what if you’re not wrong?” She slants forward, her gaze intense. “He seems angry and intense. Plus, he acted like you should just obey him because he snapped his stupid little fingers. Not that I’m saying that makes him capable of murder, but I feel like it could be signs that he could be.”
“From what I’ve heard and read, killers are calm and calculated. At least a lot of infamous psychopaths are.” I stare down at my hands. “But some are angry and unstable and…” I close my eyes. “He acted as if I should obey because I used to do that all the time.” I squeeze my eyelids shut tighter as tears burn in my eyes.
The air is silent, still, unlike my racing heart.
“Do what I say, Ava. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Without me, you’d be dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“You can’t do anything right.”
