Page 117 of Like A Moth To A Flame

“Gimme one good reason not to walk out there and tell the sheriff what you did.”

Finally, he dropped his gaze, looking away from me.

What was the shadow that crossed behind his eyes? Was it anger or shame?

“I didn’t do anything to you,” he said, his voice low.

“Really? You didn’t?!” I ripped my purse down from my shoulder and tore it open, my shaking hand diving inside and pulling out the mass of evidence I’d found at his house—panties, my hairbrush, my IUD, and numerous pictures I hadn’t even known had been taken. I watched him swallow hard, and turn away, his shoulders falling and his hands balling into fists.

Was he angry? Did seeing what he did piss him off that much?

Maybe he was ashamed of himself.

“Fine,” he said, turning to me with eyes that sparked and burned with an inner fire that scorched right through me. “I did it. Is that what you wanna hear?”

I sighed, shaking my head. Somehow, hearing him admit it wasn’t what I had imagined. I didn’t feel any better. It didn’t calm me. I didn’t feel anything.

Maybe because some deep, inner part of me had known that all along.

“I don’t need to hear it, Tommy. I knew it,” I said, stuffing my handful of evidence back into my purse.

“Then what? Hmm? You want me to say I’m sorry?” He got to his feet, turning toward me, his hands draping through the bars inches away from my face. I’d had those hands around my throat, and as much as I wanted to now, I couldn’t hate it. “You want me to be sorry, Vanessa?”

He grinned, and the look on his face told me he was anything but apologetic. He was proud of himself. His knuckles were inches away from my face, and I could see the split skin and the splattered blood. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t think, let alone speak. I could barely breathe.

“I’m not sorry, Moth. Not even a little.”

“Why?” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper. The cold of the room had seeped into my flesh, leaving me aching.

“Because I’m fucked up,” he said, shrugging. “Because something about you drives me crazy and I can’t fight it. I tried. You’re like my weakness, and every second I spend away from you is more painful than I know how to explain.”

“How long?” I said, hating the crack in my voice.

I didn’t want him to hear my weakness, but it was there, regardless of how hard I fought it.

Maybe we had that in common at least.

“Since the funeral,” he said, and he sighed. He looked away from me, and when he looked back, the look in his eyes had shifted from pride to shame. There it was. There was his shame. It was unmistakable.

“That’s it?” I asked, my arms crossed over my chest. “Not longer?”

He narrowed his eyes at me, his fingers shaking as they wrapped around the bars.

“What are you talking about?”

“How did you know I was in that house, Tommy?” I asked, reaching out and wrapping my hands around the same bars, pushing towards him until we were inches apart. He could reach out and grab me, but I knew he wouldn’t. “Funny that you’re the one who saved me, and a few years later, you’re the one I need savingfrom.”

“No,” he growled, his eyes narrowed to wicked slits and a muscle jumping along the line of his jaw. “I am not afucking pedophile.”

“Oh, my bad.” I rolled my eyes, stepping away. “Just a stalker.Wouldn’t wanna get it twisted.”

He stayed quiet, swallowing hard.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. I was taunting him, like an angry bull with a waving red cape. The only thing keeping me safe was the bars between us. “Do you wanna hurt me, Tommy?”

“No,” he said again, shaking his head as he turned back to look at me. “I told you. I wouldneverhurt you, Moth.”

“Then why not just talk to me? Why go to all this trouble? Stalking me? Breaking into my house?”

---