Page 41 of Under the Bed

Shit.

The finger is still there, exactly where it was.

Right. There.

A million emotions fight for dominance inside me. Lust, fear, and rage climb one on top of the other. They’re crowding my chest. Cracking my ribs.

Heat rushes through me. I’m cold down to my bones a second later.

What should I do?

Is he here?

Is this a message? What kind of message?

Deep breath.

This is a threat.

My penance for fucking up royally.

He saved me, and I did nothing for him in return.

I square my shoulders, straightening my spine. I won’t run from him if he wants to kill me. Won’t cower from my fate. My punishment.

My death.

I owe him that much.

Since the finger is here, I imagine he’s out there. Waiting for me. A cleaver in his right hand. His left one is ready to tear my heart out of my chest.

A curse escapes me, at how wet the image gets me. How excited.

This is wrong.

I run my fingers through my hair, smoothing it.

That’s how I know I’m sick beyond repair.

This moment is important to me.

The first impression he’ll have of me after years of being apart.

I don’t want to look like the kid he remembers. The one he’d see first thing in the morning as he’d rise from the floor next to my bed. The girl who had bedridden hair. Puffy eyes.

I want to look like a woman.

Even if he slits my throat a second later.

I want…I want…

I might not survive him, but damn it, I want him to thinkI make a beautiful corpse. I want his living, free heart to skip a beat as he watches the blood soaking the floor beneath me.

Just one heartbeat.

A crazed laugh bubbles up from within me. I slap a hand over my mouth, shutting myself the hell up.

I’m not?—

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