My eyes dart over his shoulder to the dim hallway where the door of the linen closet is hanging open.
I forgot the closets, like I forgot the front door…
But there’s no time for admonishments. Adapt.
“Baby girl,” Bowen chuckles, “your self-awareness is for shit.”
Stop calling me that. And no, it’s not.
I adjust my stance, my arms still locked in front of me, “Are you here to kill me?” I ask him.
He shifts his gaze from me to my Glock, pointed straight at him, “Seems you’ve graduated from pens to something more useful. You’re not afraid of guns anymore?”
He didn’t say no…
“Why are you here?” I demand, focusing on keeping my muscles tense but calm.
“I want to take you on a hike. You used to love that.” The way he says it is unsettling, like he’s reminiscing, but not about me.
Pivot.
“You gave me my book back,” I glance at the wall, the flash drive still plugged into my computer in the office, “I thought it was gone forever.”
He’s had it all this time, and somehow that’s worse than if he just clicked Delete.
“Nothing’s ever gone forever,” Bowen gives a slight shake of his head, looking down as he picks at a callous on his palm, “I’d have let you keep it if I knew you were just going to write a bunch of lies about me instead.”
Yeah, well, that’s a bummer isn’t it…
“They’re not lies,” I state bluntly.
Bowen looks up, meeting my eyes, “It’s been a year, why hasn’t he married you?” He squints, disguising his jab as curiosity, “What’s wrong with you?”
It’s no one else’s concern, especially not his.
“You don’t have to marry someone to prove that you love them,” I focus on my periphery as I speak, “just like you don’t have to love someone to marry them.” If Bowen’s still talking, it means I still have time.
“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” Bowen deflects, “He has you now, but every time he touches you, he knows what I’ve done to you…what you like me to do to you…just like the last object of his affection.” His smug grin turns my stomach.
More projection, more games…
“Col’s such a fucking baby,” he scoffs, “I took away his toy back in high school and now he’s bitching and moaning because he couldn’t hang on to his next one. And I didn’t even have to look for you, you came right to me. The first time I saw you, every moment after that,” his face softens and he shakes his head, “you were so right. And no one else mattered, just you and me…” He trails off for a few moments, a faraway look in his eye, before a smile seeps across his face, “Finder’s keepers.”
I clench my jaw, trying to ignore his sinister tone, “I was there, you know, in our bedroom. You can’t act like—”
“Lying by omission is still lying, Brett,” Bowen barks, cutting me off. It gives me a start, but I manage to keep my hands steady. “All I did in that room was remind you of what would happen if you kept fucking around and playing with fire.”
I remain silent as he oscillates between desire and seething hatred. He didn’t come here for catharsis or closure—at least the kind that I’m willing to give him.
“You don’t get to talk to me about lying, by omission or otherwise,” I glare at him through the rear sight aperture, “Yeah, I cheated on you, with the man whose sister you murdered. And I’m fine with it.”
Bowen stretches both arms above his head and hooks his fingers over the edge of the door frame, making himself look even bigger than he already is—the same thing animals do when they feel threatened. I don’t have to see the holster tucked in the back of his jeans to know he’s carrying. He’s always carrying.
His arms flex and my eye catches something on the inside of his left arm; a tattoo that wasn’t there a year ago. The thick black curves of the body stand out against the delicate grey shading of the wings, making it look almost whimsical.
A honeybee…
My pulse quickens and I gently angle my body as I prepare to move.
“I’m not usually a forgiving person, Brett,” Bowen’s eyes move down to my abdomen and linger there for longer than necessary. Eventually, he looks back up at me, filled with indignation, “But I can overlook mistakes—lapses in judgement—when I want to.” He pauses, and after a minute, his voice softens again. “I bet she’ll look like you. What’s her name?”
My skin crawls. How the hell does he know that my baby is a she?
Oh yeah, Valerie…
Regardless, he needs to stop talking about my daughter and implying that she’s anything close to a mistake. For a split-second, I consider lying, making up a different name just to move on. But then I remember that room, and then the closet, the box, and everything inside…
There is no going back, no compromises, no negotiations. Everything is out in the open now; the lyrics, the fox, now the honeybee…but why the bluebells? Where did those come from? It doesn’t matter, the ink on his arm confirms that I’m already dead to him, so I might as well tell him the truth. It’ll all be over soon, anyway.
“Evelyn Ashley.”
I see the subtle flash in his eyes, if only for a split-second before he darts behind the mask to hide again. He looks at the floor, a tiny grin appearing at the edges of his mouth. For a second, he looks like the Bowen I met all those years ago, before I really met Bowen.
But this is why I need to remember that night. I can’t let myself forget the feeling of Bowen’s weight on top of me, smothering me, throwing me around that room. I can’t—I refuse—to forget the look on his face. That sneer; the utter contempt for me while he stood over me, relishing in my terror.
“You hate me so much, but Col’s the one who broke you. When I found you, you were just a scared, damaged piece of ass. A good one,” he says with a smirk, “but damaged nonetheless. And you wouldn’t have turned out to be such a disappointment if you’d just fucking listened to me and cut him loose,” he mutters with disdain. “Your trauma bond…”
“I guess we’re all disappointments, aren’t we?” I taunt him, “How about Valerie? How does she measure up to the rest of us?”
