32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Ethan

I thought that if I could show Kayla what I've been doing, I'd make her understand, accept me even. But how could she accept me when I'm such a failure?

That little girl. Cynthia. I will never forget the sight of her, naked, under Oberman's snoring body. She will never forget it either. Thanks to me, she will be waking up screaming for the rest of her life. What a gift I gave her.

The voice telling me that everything is my fucking fault is back, and I can't ignore it. The only thing that helps silence it is sinking into Kayla's hot pussy, and I can't even do that now, because she's awake and she's seen me for what I am.

When I fucked her in her sleep, it was still rape, but at least back then, I could fool myself into believing she wanted it. I could take her sleepy moans as dubious consent. If I tried to touch her now, she'd scream and fight me, and I don't think I could take that.

She's quiet now, and I know without looking she's eyeing the door I left open. I don't blame her. In fact, it's the smartest thing she's done since moving into Bluebell Springs. Since meeting me.

"Go," I say, my voice hoarse with unshed tears. I refuse to let them fall. I never cry. "I won't stop you. The door upstairs is unlocked."

I'm a shitty kidnapper. I wanted Kayla here, but I also wanted her to choose to be here. If she doesn't want to be with me, there's no point in keeping her. There's no point in anything.

When she leaves, I'll take a gun and finally end it all. Silence that stupid voice forever.

Footsteps.

Kayla's bare feet plop on the hardwood floor, reminding me I didn't give her socks. She must be cold. Her feet are always cold. That's why she wears those ugly as hell, pink fluffy socks to bed.

Then her hands touch my arms. I don't move. I'm not sure if it's real, and I don't want to break the illusion.

"It's not your fault," she whispers so close I feel her breath on my skin. "Not your fault, Ethan."

I pull my hands away from my face to look at her. She doesn't vanish into thin air. She's still here, kneeling in front of me, holding me.

She's still here.

The damned sleeping bonnet I put on her last night slipped to the side a little, freeing a bunch of her curls. I tied like five knots to that thing and it still slipped. When she puts it on herself, it never slips.

I touch a strand of her hair, letting it wrap around my finger. "I don't deserve you. You're so perfect and I'm…not. That girl—"

Her petite hands squeeze my upper arms, and she gives me a little shake. "No, Ethan. Whatever that monster did to that girl was not your fault. You saved her life. I know how you feel."

She must have heard my scoff because her voice turns angry. "You think I don't? Do you have any idea how many times I've seen kids grow up in terrible conditions, and I had to walk away because no matter how bad the situation was, it didn't warrant removing the child from their family? And, let's face it, foster families are often just as bad. I feel responsible for every single case, every single child I meet, and it breaks my heart when I can't help them. But I know I can't let it crush me, because if I do, I'll never help anyone."

Her words are true. I know that. But knowing it and truly believing it are two very different things. And besides, even if I could forgive myself for what happened to Cynthia, there are other things I've done. "I raped you." I tried to pretend I didn't regret it, and I don't, but I also do, and it's killing me inside.

"You did." She tilts her head, her expression pensive. "On the same day you killed that bastard and saved the girl. That's not a coincidence, is it?"

Did I mention how brilliant she is?

"No," I admit. "The thought of you was the only thing keeping me sane. The only thing stopping me from running my car into oncoming traffic. I focused…" I shake my head, grasping for thoughts, but they keep slipping away. "I thought…one step at a time. Kill Oberman. Forensic countermeasures. I normally get rid of the bodies, but I wanted him to be found. I wanted everyone to know. The parents of those kids…"

"I'm sure they're grateful for the closure," Kayla says, sitting down next to me.

She's still here. Why is she still here?

She tries to put her arm around my shoulders, but our height difference makes it uncomfortable for her. I expect her to pull away, but she tugs on my T-shirt instead, urging me to lean into her. To rest my head on her lap.

I'm too weak to resist.

She smells like cherries. I curl up on the cold, hard floor and place my head on her lap, careful not to put too much of my weight on her. Kayla's far from dainty, but I'm bigger, and I don't want to hurt her.

Her fingers are in my hair, and she caresses me as if I'm a wild animal she's trying to soothe. "What was the next step?" she asks. "After that forensic thing? Is that like making sure you didn't leave hair in the crime scene?"

"Among other things, yes." I don't know why she wants to hear all this or why she's even talking to me at all, but if it makes her stay a little longer, I'll explain every procedure to her in detail.

"And then?" she prompts.

I stiffen up, but her fingernails gently scratching at my scalp soothe me again. "The girl. Cynthia. I drugged her too, you know?" I scoff, disgusted by myself. "I didn't want her to be awake and afraid. I wanted her to wake up somewhere safe."

"Hmm, you probably did the right thing. I mean, it's not okay to drug kids when they're just being annoying," she forces out a strained chuckle at the terrible joke, "but it's better she slept through everything. Won't she recognize you, though?"

I shrug. "It was dark and she's just six years old. I doubt she'd give the police a detailed enough description for a composite sketch. It doesn't matter, though. Even if she saw me clearly, even if she knew my fucking name, I still would have returned her to her parents." Without even realizing, I raise my voice, desperate for Kayla to believe me. "I would never hurt her. Ever." She already thinks I'm a terrible person, but if she thought I'd be willing to hurt a child to protect myself… I couldn't take that.

"I know. I know that, Ethan." She shifts a little, lowering her head to kiss my temple. It must be uncomfortable for her sitting on the cold floor, but when I try to lift my head off her lap, she holds me down. "Keep talking. I want to hear it. All of it."

I don't want to recall it all, but if my bunny wants to hear it, I'll tell her. "After I made sure Cynthia was safe, I drove back home. I…I'm not sure I stopped on the way. Maybe once? For gas? I don't remember. I wasn't thinking straight. I kept thinking about Cynthia there with Oberman and how it was all my fault and why was I even coming back?"

"Because you had me," Kayla says softly, her fingers never stopping their endless weave through my hair.

"Because I had you," I echo. "I came straight to you, like I did every night. To your bed."

"You slept there before. That's why I was always so warm."

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. "You're an icicle. Even with your fluffy socks and a blanket that was no doubt made for wild camping in the Antarctic, you were still so cold to touch every time I joined you in bed. It's a wonder you don't wake up with frostbite."

Chuckling, she lightly smacks the top of my head, then returns to caressing my hair. "It's not so bad. Besides, I had you to warm me up. I think I knew, even back then. I mean, the bed was warm, and there was this manly scent everywhere. I might have found some of your hair on the pillow too, but I just ostriched my way through it all."

"I'm not sure that's a word," I retort, stifling a snort. "But yeah, you totally hid your head in the sand when it came to me. Why didn't you look for the other cameras after finding the one in the kitchen?"

She shifts her weight, and I get the feeling she's embarrassed. "I wasn't sure it was a camera. It was so small! And, well…maybe a part of me liked the idea of someone watching over me."

I close my eyes. How did I ever think I could resist her? Stay away from her? Impossible.

I still haven't said what she wanted to hear, so I push on. "I just wanted to hold you. To feel your body against mine. To listen to you murmur from your sleep. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. The darkness… There was nothing but darkness. And the only light in it was you. You saved me that night, even if you didn't know it. And the nights after that…" I hesitate, ashamed. I'm not often ashamed, but what I'm about to say makes me feel like a true scoundrel.

"Let me guess," Kayla interrupts. "You thought since you've already done it before there was no harm in doing it again?"

"Something like that."

She smacks me a little harder this time. "That is not okay!" she grumbles but doesn't sound truly angry. More like mildly inconvenienced. "Do you know when was the last time I had great sex? Before today, I mean?"

"Uh…" Out of all the things I expected her to say, this was not one of them. "With Nick?"

She doesn't bat an eyelash over me knowing her ex's name. "No! With him, it was always just okay. Not great, not terrible. The last time I had amazing, mind-blowing sex was in college with this exchange student from France. That was YEARS ago, Ethan!"

"Uh-uh." I'm too busy thinking about the best way to hack into her college's registry and track down all exchange students from France who attended classes at the same time Kayla was there. It's a good thing I have a passport because I'll have to take a trip to France.

She smacks my head again. "Focus. I'm not mad at you for having sex with me without my consent. I'm mad at you for having sex with me when I couldn't enjoy or remember it! And, yeah, I know it makes me weird, but it's not like you did it because you wanted to hurt me. It's just…disappointing to have all those sexy dreams but not being able to remember the whole thing."

"What?" I sit up, needing to look her in the eyes. I need to know whether she's telling the truth or just trying to placate me. "Really?"

She worries her lip and I ache to kiss her, but I also need the truth, so I wait.

"Yes, really," she says, holding my gaze. "I know I'm weird, but maybe that's a good thing? Like… Me being weird makes me compatible with you…? Like—"

Her words shatter the last remains of my self-control, and I capture her lips. "I'll make it up to you," I promise fervently. "Every night. Everything I did. I'll do it again so you can remember. So you can enjoy it. So I can hear you moan and scream my name. Okay?"

"Okay," she breathes out, and that's all the consent I need.