Page 47 of Jagger's Remorse
Instead, I turn into the spray and start counting.
Counting days until Diego comes.
Counting ways this ends badly.
Counting the number of times I've come on his cock and wondered if this is what Stockholm syndrome feels like from the inside.
After, we stand under the spray in silence.
I wash his hair because it seems like something that would disturb him.
It does.
He goes rigid, then slowly relaxes.
Like a wild animal learning to accept touch.
"My mother used to do this," he says quietly. "When I was young. Before I became..."
"A killer?"
"A disappointment."
I work shampoo through his hair, gentle despite myself. "She loved you. Even at the end. Especially at the end."
He turns, stares at me with those dark eyes. "How do you?—"
"I told you. I was there. Volunteer program."
"You were really spying on my dying mother?"
I roll my eyes. "I was reading to terminal patients. Your mother happened to be one of them."
He doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. "Happenedto be."
"Fine. I specifically requested the cancer ward after learning she was there. Happy?"
Jagger’s eyes grow darker. "Why?"
"Know thy enemy. Basic warfare tactics."
He cocks a single brow, staring into my eyes. "Is that what we are? Enemies?"
I trace the scar through his eyebrow. "What else could we be? You killed my father. I'm going to kill you. Everything else is just... foreplay."
He’s quiet for a moment, then ultimately laughs. "You're not going to kill me."
"No?"
He licks his lips, looking me up and down. "No. You had chances. That first night, when I was watching you sleep. This morning when I was inside you. Just now in the shower. You could have ended this anytime."
"Maybe I'm not done playing."
"Maybe." He catches my hand. "Or maybe you need me alive for the same reason I needed you alive. Because the alternative is admitting we're both already dead."
The water runs cold.
We don't move.
