Page 71 of Sadistic

"No," I agree quietly. "It's not."

I think about Njal, about the desperation in his texts, the way he'd looked that last time I saw him.

There's something familiar about it, something that makes my stomach clench with worry.

The wild eyes, the things he’s saying, the absolute certainty that he could fix everything if I just gave him a chance.

"Do you think he's having an episode?" I ask carefully.

Dalla knows immediately what I mean. "Like Bjorn?"

"The family history is there. And the behavior—the drinking, the mood swings, the plans to win me back..."

"Shit." My sister sets down her pizza. "If he's manic and off his meds—if he's even on meds?—"

"He could do something stupid. Something dangerous."

We sit with that for a moment, the weight of it settling over us like a blanket.

I remember Bjorn before his diagnosis, the way he'd swing from depression so deep he couldn't get out of bed to mania so intense he thought he could fight the gods.

The way he'd been so sure Ingrid was the enemy, that pushing her away would save them both.

"It's not your fault," Dalla says firmly. "Whatever he does, it's not on you."

"I know. But I still feel..."

"Guilty? Because you have a heart. Because you cared about him." She refills my glass. "But Rev, he knew this was coming. We all did. And if he is bipolar, that's not something you could have fixed by choosing him. That's brain chemistry, not romance."

She's right, logically.

But logic doesn't stop the twist in my gut when I think about Njal out there somewhere, potentially spiraling.

I remember the good times—lazy Sunday mornings in his apartment, teaching him to play chess, the way he'd laugh at my terrible jokes.

He wasn't always desperate and possessive.

Once upon a time, he was just a guy who made me feel normal.

"I should tell Doran," I realize. "About the possibility of him being bipolar. It might help them find him. Might make them more careful."

"Or it might make Doran more likely to just eliminate the problem permanently."

The casual way she says it—eliminate, like Njal's a bug instead of someone I spent two years with—makes me flinch.

"He wouldn't," I say, but I'm not sure I believe it.

"Wouldn't he? Rev, the man took care of thirteen guys just for asking you out. You think he'd hesitate to take out your actual ex?"

"That's different?—"

"Is it though?"

My phone buzzes before I can answer.

Speak of the devil.

Doran:

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