Because, bitch, I’m the ghost of Christmas fucking past and I’m here to remind you of your transgressions.
“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” I look her up and down with a smirk. “You used to love when I’d come around.”
The color drains from her face as it contorts into a nauseated grimace. And, as much as I love watching Hannah lose her mind, I don’t have all night.
“So, here’s the thing,” I sniff and adjust my stance, “Brett means a great deal to me. She’s the only person I care about in this world—other than my family, of course,” I shrug, and then settle my gaze on her like a ton of bricks, “but you already know that, don’t you? So, imagine my dismay when I find out you’ve been sneaking around trying to fuck with her in the one place on earth where she should feel safe. Do you think that made me very happy?”
She stares at me like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi, barreling forth to turn her into a fine pink mist.
“Answer me!” I swing my heel back and kick the nightstand with a resounding crash, knocking the lamp, books, and anything else on it to the floor.
Hannah gasps and braces her trembling body against the dresser, “No!” she croaks, trying to pacify my wrath. “No…”
I cross the room in three strides, towering over her as I lean into her pinched face, “No, it doesn’t. Because if my girl’s not happy, then I’m not happy. And you and I go way back, so you know what happens when someone makes me angry, don’t you?”
Hannah stares at my chest, refusing to look at me, lest she crumble into a wilted pile on the floor. But that’s how she’s always been; she’ll poke the bear and talk shit, but as soon as the claws come out, she runs scared like a little rabbit. Because, in the end, she’s a fucking coward.
“If I see you go near Brett or that house, I’ll bury you on that property,” I tilt my head, leering over her, “because you have a habit of coveting things that aren’t yours. You let your eyes linger too long on things they’re not supposed to, on things you can’t have…” I bend down until I’m looking at her dead in the eyes, “and it makes you do things you thought you never would.”
I stare at her for the longest time. Her eyes dart to mine and then immediately fall again, over and over, until finally she settles into a catatonic gaze on my chest. I straighten up and take a step back, confident I’ve made my point.
“You do it again, I’ll end you and then make sure everyone knows what you are,” I look her up and down with such disgust that I might as well be surveying a rotting elephant carcass, “the fucking angel of death.”
Hannah looks like she’s about to either faint or puke her guts out, and that’s my cue to head out. I turn and waltz out of the room, leaving her shaking and whimpering into her hand. But as I step through the doorway, I glance over my shoulder to say goodbye.
Like a gentleman.
“Does Hildy still not know what you did?” I snarl, “Some friend you are.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Brett
Present
“We went out into our woods over the weekend and he started teaching me how to shoot.”
Judy doesn’t miss a beat, “With what type of gun?”
I remember her telling me that her husband is a big game hunter, so she probably knows her way around some firearms, at least enough to talk about them.
I take a deep breath, feeling her zero in on my hesitation, “It was a Glock,” I reply, “the same kind...” I trail off, confident she already knows what I’m about to say.
And I’m right, she doesn’t bat an eye, “Given your past experiences, how do you feel about that?”
“He said it would probably help, that I won’t be so afraid of them if I know how to handle one myself.”
“That’s understandable,” she nods, “but I asked how you feel about it.”
Damnit. “Better than I thought I would,” I admit.
The truth is, I hated holding his gun at first, because the last time I held it I learned something both empowering and frightening about myself. And before that…
Let me put it this way, I hated holding his gun, but I loved being out in our woods, and I think that’s what changed my mind. I was standing with him, in our woods, together, while he brought me one step closer to not being afraid anymore. From the moment I set foot on that property, when I walked into the house, and then when he took me deep into those woods, I knew I belonged there.
I knew I was home.
“He offered to do it a while ago, but I wasn’t ready. But this time—I don’t know—I just knew it was time. And he was right, it’s what I needed to do.”
Judy narrows her eyes, taking a sip from her pastel purple Stanley water bottle, “How did you know?”
“After—” I pause, unsure of how to even label it, “after I got away, he asked me if I wanted to know what it feels like to be a predator. And the truth is that I did, more than anything. Because I knew there was a reason why he wasn’t afraid of anyone, and that was it. To be fearless and protect the people he loves, he had to become a predator himself.”
I appreciate that Judy is an expressive person. While so many therapists sit there, stone faced, staring at you with an air of condescension, she wears her emotions on her sleeve. It makes me feel validated even when I’m saying the most fucked up shit imaginable to her. And this time is no different.
She sounds intrigued, “That’s a pretty intense position to take.”
I let out a grunt in response, “I mean, you’ve met him...”
“I have,” Judy flashes her eyes and doesn’t even try to hide her smile, “and I understand my colleague, Mark Holloway, has had quite a field day with him. Mark said he’s found—” she hesitates with a smile, “interesting ways to deal with grief.”
That’s an understatement.
“Mark didn’t elaborate further, of course, but your boyfriend’s quite an interesting man,” she pauses in consideration, “very complex and multidimensional.”
I look down, trying to stifle a laugh, but it sneaks out anyway.
Multidimensional…
