Page 6 of A Very Killer Christmas
“What?” he barks.
“Are you undressing?” I ask in a harsh whisper. “What for?”
Something clinks. His belt buckle. Hot and cold waves crash down my spine as I wonder if he’s going to hurt me. I should be afraid, but what I feel is mostly unhealthy curiosity. I’ve detached from life for so long, I have trouble remembering this is real.
Because come on. A hot killer, in my house, in my bathroom,undressing?How is thisnota fantasy?
“I need to shower,” he replies after a moment, then heaves a deep sigh of annoyance. “I’m not gonna touch you, so stop hyperventilating. Just be quiet and don’t peep.”
Don’t peep?I squint, begging my eyes to penetrate the darkness. The window is covered, so there’s almost no light from the street. All I see is the dynamic, moving mass of shadows. And then, there are the sounds.
A sigh. Fabric shifting. Something falling onto the floor with a faint clink. I bite my lip, realizing it’s probably his pants, weighed down by the belt. Then, there’s a hit against the oldshower, some rattling, a curse. I imagine he hit his elbow, and the image of that emerges in my mind like goddess Venus from the foam: a naked giant of a man scowling in annoyance as he massages his elbow, his forearms all strong and veiny.
The shower doors slide open, and my face heats as I stare and stare, desperately hoping for a glimpse. It’s so frustrating being threatened by someone whose face is a mystery. I desperately need to know what he looks like.
“Ow!”
Something crashes, the shower wall rattles, and shampoo bottles roll inside.
“Oops,” I mutter. “I should have warned you. It’s a bit cramped.”
“For fuck’s sake, how many bottles of shampoo does one woman need?” he hisses.
My stomach heats with guilt, because I ask myself this question every day. It’s notjustshampoo—I have lots of types of body wash, scrubs and peelings, and other cosmetics stacked all around the shower. It’s way more than I need, and a stupid way to waste my money, yet I can’t help but get more.
Every trip to get groceries is torture, because I hate going outside. That’s why I reward myself every time with something clean that smells nice. The scents comfort me, and washing myself vigorously after every trip outside helps me cope.
But the killer-slash-burglar-slash-kidnapper in my shower doesn’t need to know how fucked up I am.
“As many as she wants,” I grumble defensively, because it’s one thing to judge myself, and quite another for him to do it. He’s way worse than me. “And I haven’t let you use my shower, so it serves you right.”
He huffs out a harsh, exasperated breath.
“God, I swear… Just shut up. Pretend you’re alone.”
I smirk in triumph. “I often talk to myself when I’m alone.”
Something bangs in the dark. “Fuck! What the hell?”
I shake my head with something between pity and amusement. Honestly, this guy must be a really hopeless killer if a simple shower brings him down.
“There is a lot of stuff in there. Step carefully,” I warn him way too late.
“Fuck this.”
He comes out and moves in the dark. Things rustle and shift, and suddenly, a faint light disperses the darkness. His phone. I gasp and stare harder, my eyes tracing his side and the curve of his ass. Oh. Wow. It’s soround.And his legs are so long. He’s like a statue of a god or one of those ancient athletes who competed naked.
“I told you to keep your eyes closed,” he growls. I slam my eyelids shut before I have a chance to see his face. “Or should I blindfold you?”
“Please, don’t. I won’t peek. I promise.”
As soon as the shower doors close, I look up. His phone lies on the lip of the washbasin, the faint blue light skittering down the shower door. I haven’t cleaned it in a while, and the limestone buildup prevents me from seeing the man inside clearly.
Water turns on, and I just catch his hiss of dismay. Oh, right.
“See?” I do my best to sound innocent. “If you hadn’t tied me up, I would be able to turn on the heat now. As it is, you’re doomed to use cold water.”
For a while, there is no answer as he snorts and curses in a steady stream. There are a few minor hits and bangs, and I wince every time. After maybe five minutes of splashing and cursing, he speaks.
