I can’t pinpoint why it bothers me, but it does. I know how much he feels the need to repent for being born to a monster. But I wish he knew that because of him, I’d seen beauty in a world full of darkness. No child of a monster would be capable of that. The more I think about it, the more I realize, with a sinking feeling, that the Blackfriars Brotherhood is not as nice as it pretends to be. Perhaps there are horrible people lurking there too—they just pray to a different deity.
“I have somewhere to be when we get to London, but I’d be happy to have my car drive you home. It will be nearly dark by the time you get to Oxford,” he explains, sitting.
I nod, sitting across from him. “Sure. That’d be great.”
Truthfully, I need to sleep for three days straight, and I could use a free ride home. I look over at Benedict, who is already in work mode, though he looks as tired as I feel. He’s on his phone, typing furiously. He sighs and I see him hold it up to his ear, looking at me quickly before speaking.
“Yes. I will be there. Nine. Prepare the room. Okay. See you there.”
He puts his phone on the table next to his bed and rubs his eyes.
“Are you meeting with the Brotherhood tonight?” I ask, my boots tapping against the carpeted room. “That was Hayes, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and yes,” he answers simply.
“I want to go,” I respond, sitting up straighter.
He sighs, his weary eyes blank as they find mine. I see the wordnopass over his face—his readying counterargument for when I fight his decision. But something changed this weekend—something vital between us. He’s no longer protecting me. We’re equals. And he can sense it, too.
“Okay.”
I’m stunned by his words. I was planning on going anyway, but I didn’t expect him to agree so easily.
“Really?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know you’ll show up anyway. There’s no use fighting it. If I tell you no, it will just light a fire beneath you.” He stops and frowns at me. He tried to keep me away, but he’d forgotten how tenacious I am in the three years we’ve been apart. “I’d rather not have you sneaking around.”
Smiling, I bounce excitedly. “That’s a very good point.”
He pins me with his eyes, his expression burdened. “You should know it’s not safe.”
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Benedict. I’ve been doing it for years.”
He opens his mouth a couple of times before changing his mind. “I need a drink to kick this hangover.” Standing, he holds his hand out for me. I take it and he pulls me up so that we’re close, our bodies nearly touching. I like the way he so effortlessly moves me—the way he gently handles me, ensuring he never hurts me, ensuring I can continue trusting him. No other man would understand. Maybe that’s why I don’t loathe him like I loathe the others.
“I know you can take care of yourself. Of all people, I know,” he says gently. His dark eyes find mine, and I can’t help but stare into the pooling depths of his nearly black irises. “Shall we head to the bar?”
I nod, swallowing thickly. “I’ll meet you there. I’m going to use the restroom.”
He nods, letting go of my hand and opening the door before passing through it. I close it behind him, locking up and brushing my teeth again since my breath still smells like whiskey. When I’m done, I lock our suite and walk down the aisle toward the first-class dining area. My blood is thrumming with excitement about tonight—mostly to see Benedict in his role as Director—but my prying mind wants to experience the strange and curious meeting, and the perverse things awaiting me.
As I march down the aisle, I open the door to the connector—the circular area connecting the train cars together. It’s much louder in this small space, and there’s a small, sliding door to my right with a window. We’re somewhere in the Parisienne suburbs, and houses and fields whip past me. I press both hands onto the cool glass, closing my eyes as I rest my forehead against it. The traction vibrates through me, causing my teeth to chatter, and the whirring of the connector car fills my ears. My hair whips all around me, and I smile.
My hand slowly inches down until it’s resting on the handle, and my heart rate accelerates with excitement. I wonder what would happen if I were to turn it? I wonder if the high speed would suck me out, or if I’d have to jump. I wonder what it would be like to die—there were so many times over the years with Auguste that I stood on death’s door. I shouldn’t be here—I shouldn’t be alive. By all accounts, I was lucky. Not many women survive their first month of captivity—let alone three years. I’d had guns pointed at me, knives held to me, needles injected into me… I’d seen women murdered right in front of me. Why wasn’t I one of them? It didn’t make sense.Why me? Why was I saved? What happened to the others?It was my mantra, something that I thought of more often than not. Something I may never know the answer to.Yet another questionI may never know the answer to.
I turn the handle ever so slightly, keeping my eyes closed, the blood rushing through my veins. Just an inch more, and the door would fly open from the pressure. Just an inch between the roaring tracks and hard dirt below. I didn’t necessarily want to die but playing with death like this felt normal. Stroking the fine line between life and death thrilled me. It defied some sort of intrinsic human instinct to survive, and yet, the only time I felt alive was when I was within an inch of death. I was curious about it, and it didn’t scare me. Defying the oddsevery single timegave me a sick sort of satisfaction, and it always made the space between my legs fire up.
It was perhaps the very thing I’d been looking for in the Bodleian without realizing it—the reason I was here. It was definitely the reason I stopped seeing my therapist—stopped enduring the looks of judgement when I told her my fantasies. It was why I went off my antidepressant, too. I wanted tofeeleverything. I was sick of being numb. I sought out the thrill. If I escaped death once, could I do it again? If so, did that mean I was destined for something greater? I wasn’t sure I’d ever have the answer. And one day, I would probably fail.
“If you die, he wins.” My eyes fly open and I jump, causing the handle to turn from my jerky movements. The door slams open, the forceful speed of the train causing it to ricochet against the other side a few times. I am tugged backwards as the connector car fills with wind. Benedict steps in front of me to pull the door closed, and once it snaps into place, he shoves me against the metal wall.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he yells, the sound of the wind making it hard to hear anything.
“I don’t know,” I answer, trembling. I look like a maniac.
His body pins me against the wall, and when I go to push him away, he holds both of my arms at my sides. His erratic heartbeat quickly thumps between us, his breathing irregular. This close, the sweater he’s wearing brings out the richness of his eyes and the auburn in his stubble.
“You do know,” he growls. “Because this isn’t the first time.” I try to move, but he tightens his grip on my hands and presses into me harder. Something red-hot and tinged with exhilaration fills me as he lowers his face. “Do you think I wasn’t watching you all those years ago? Far enough away not to catch your attention, but close enough to leap to your rescue?” I protest and try to jerk away, but his hold is tight. “The train tracks. The streets. The bridges. The bars.”
