Page 43 of Cut Me Down

“Then why did you do it!?”

“Because you’ve paid enough!” I freeze at his words. A shock hits my heart, knowing that he isn’t talking about the bill. “You’ve paid enough.” He says as more of a whisper. His face softens again, and he stares back at me. Sadness, and what looks to be something along the lines of grief, deepens the blue in his eyes.

“I don’t need your pity.” I declare, the choked words coming out in a whisper. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away or show any signs that he thinks any less of me, and we stay silent for a moment. Staring into each other’s eyes as if it’ll solve all of our problems. The silence only causes my anxiety to creep along. So, I break it. “What else did you do today? Any other surprises I should watch out for?” He shakes his head.

“Nope. Just handled business.” His soft tone is still present.

“What kind of business?” And just like that, his face hardens again. A darkness creeps over his features, as if a cloud formed over his figure.

“That kind that touched what didn’t belong to him.” He says slowly. Menacingly. A cold chill runs its way through my body, and I find myself cowering into the bed. My body turning to ice.

“What?” I whisper. “The asshole from the bar, that was your business today?” The louder I speak, the more quakes that show in my voice.

“Part of it.” I feel the wave of fear washing over me again. Hell and high-water strikes…I know the question I want to ask, but should I? What if then I'll know too much? What if he doesn’t like me snooping…I'm extremely vulnerable right now. Feeling raw and exposed, but I can’t help the word vomit coming up my throat.

“You killed him?” I don’t mean to say so shakily, but at this point, every piece of me is shaking. My palms are sweating, and even though my hands are in my lap to conceal the tremors from my anxiety, it’s not working.

Cooper was one thing. He tried to kill me, and almost succeeded. But the asshole from the bar? He didn’t really do anything. So, what if he grabbed me up like a whore, I’ve dealt with worse, and it’s not like I would ever see him again.

“You’re fucking right I did.” He declares. The look in his eyes sharpening with the words. “I told you; no one will hurt you again. You’ll come to learn very soon that I always mean every word I say.” Just from the look in his eyes alone, I can tell this man has extremely complex emotions. How can someone look so sinister, yet so endearing? His eyes are pinning me against the bed, but with a softness I can’t describe. He did something terrible but justifies it by doing it for me. Someone grabbed ‘what was his’ and he died for it…

“Oh my God…what is wrong with you?” The way his body stiffens doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Excuse me?” I stand up and start pacing the room, making sure to make my way a little closer to the door.

“You killed him because he touched me? Why would you do that? To prove how unhinged you are? You've kind of already proven that!” I'm treading on very thin ice here, but I feel my anger and desperation course through my bloodstream. That’s now two victims connected to me, could be more for all I know, and he did it in my honor. How am I supposed to live with that? Knowing that two lives ended short because they were connected to me?

“To prove that I keep my promises! It’s not like I kill innocent, child saving, puppy petting, everyday Joe’s! He had countless charges of domestic violence, rape, attempted murder, and what would’ve happened to you if he came after you for rejecting him? I'm not sorry!” Not sorry? For killing a random man from a bar, he’s not sorry? For touching someone he claims?

Is he capable of remorse? Has his line of work hardened him to the point of feeling nothing for anyone not in his immediate circle? He has so many emotions, I find that extremely hard to believe. Or maybe he feels nothing at all and is the greatest liar to ever exist. What the fuck is this?

“Why do you care if someone touches me!? What does it matter if some greasy asshole puts his hands on me? I’m not worth murdering someone over!”

“DON’T SAY THAT!” I shudder at his boisterous voice, trembling even more. He runs his hand through his hair and fists the strands at the base of his neck. Regret grows in his gaze before he looks away from me and takes a calming breath. “Don’t you fucking say that…” He says much calmer than before. “You are worth so much more than you believe. If not to anyone else, then to me.” He pauses, and I allow myself to release a pent-up breath. My chest muscles loosening to weight of his statement. “I wish I could explain why. Explain how these feelings have completely invaded my mind and the weight of them on my chest. I wish I knew! All I know is that you have completely taken over every aspect of my life, and there is not a single thing on this planet that I wouldn’t do for you.” He pauses again, taking a shaky breath. “So don’t say you’re not worth it, because I know these feelings mean something.”

“Holy shit…” What have I gotten myself into? What have we gotten ourselves into? Why does a part of me want to reach out and comfort him? Tell him that he’s not alone, and that I don’t understand this either. A desire to crawl back into his arms and let his grip give me all of the answers arises, and it’s almost too tempting to resist. That makes me just as crazy as he is… “You need to leave…” I choke out the words. A shiver runs down my spine to see his eyes narrow to my demand.

“Excuse me?” His expression hardens as the weight of what I just said sinks in.

“Get the fuck out! Leave me alone! I didn’t ask for any of this!” He stands up and walks up to me menacingly, making it over to me in only a couple of strides before leading me against the wall. I jump at the hard contact of the cold surface. The surprise jolting me like a bolt of electricity.

“No, you didn’t ask for this. But I didn’t give you a fucking choice. I told you; I’ve taken that from you! You can push me away, you can run all you like, but I will burn this world to the ground for you, and I will kill whoever gets in my way. I told you. You're mine.” His stare is possessive, commanding, and lustful. I can’t tell if he wants to kill me or fuck me again.

“I’m yours? What the fuck does that even mean!? What does any of this mean!? You say at some first sight bullshit you were drawn to me! What do you expect me to do, hold your hand as we walk down the street? When someone asks how we met, do I get to tell them that you stalked me, cornered me at a bar, and finger fucked me!” He bends down slightly. Moving his face closer to mine.

“I don’t care what you tell people, Ashia. Just be sure not to leave out the part where you came all over my hand.” He snaps back, and I painfully swallow to that realization. I'm just as guilty in this scenario as he is. “I'm all for affection, but I won’t hold your hand. That’s much too innocent. Much too giving. I don’t believe in innocence just as I don’t believe in love. I’m not innocent. I’m not a good man, and as much as you mean to me, I won’t lie and say that I am.”

How much do I mean to him? Enough to kill people, obviously. My mind is swarming with all of these emotions and the events that have taken place in the past twenty-four hours. His words are toned with truth, but I just can’t wrap my brain around why he feels this way. Why would he bethisinterested in someone like me?

If he doesn’t believe in love, then what does he want out of this? What is his end game? He says he won’t hurt me, and he’s not out to use me. So, what does he want?

“Jesus Christ, then what is this? Is your vigilante life not exciting enough anymore? Go find another one to scare! Ruin her! Is it because I'm already broken? Am I another challenge for you? Just so you can see how much you can crush me?” My eyes well up with tears and desperation.

“Stop saying that shit! You are not broken. You are not some beaten down dog! You continue to feel broken because you haven’t been shown anything different! You’re drawn to much more than you realize.” He takes another deep, shaky breath. His body trembling almost as violently as mine. “You’ve heard of the things I’ve done! The moment I killed Cooper, you've known who I was! It’s okay to shoot a man in the face right in front of you, but nnnooooo killing a man from afar is too much for you?” He grabs my chin and pulls me close, our lips only an inch apart.

“You think that’s scary? Next time another man touches you I’ll bathe you in his blood before I fuck you. You like what I do as Devil’s Hands? You haven’t seen anything yet.” He’s right. I’ve always admired Devil’s Hands, and the work they do. I find their actions justifiable. I just don’t find his actions the same way. Why would he do these things for me? I haven’t done anything to deserve being wanted. To be protected and admired like this.

I always felt I was meant to be shoved to the side. One day either jumping from the balcony or being found dead in an alley way. I never meant much else to someone. It’s just a game to him, or a fucked-up obsession it has to be. Which really sucks, because a sick part of me enjoys this, is drawn to it, but I’ve been alone for years now. I can shove the urges down. The urge to explore him. I’ll come back from this…

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