Page 91 of Watch Me Burn
And tonight is different. Tonight, we’re both wounded.
I peel off my blood-soaked clothes and reach for my phone. Cade answers on the first ring.
“He’s ready for disposal.”
“That was quick. I’m on my way.”
I head upstairs, into my office, where I pour a glass of whiskey. My mind drifts back two weeks, when Luna first told me about the miscarriage. The devastation threading through her voice. The way she sought comfort from a man who’s never offered her tenderness in that persona, only possession.
I down half the glass in one swallow. The burn does nothing to quiet my thoughts.
My parents were monsters of a different sort. Cold, vicious, and emotionally barren. I learned early that love was conditional, that affection had to be earned, and that failure meant pain and abandonment. My father’s fists. My mother’s silence. The locked doors and empty rooms. I grew up without love, taught that attachment was weakness and vulnerability was a fatal flaw.
And then Luna walked into my life and shattered every lesson they’d carved into my bones. She accepts her masked lover, a serial killer, and welcomes him into her body and heart without hesitation. No questions. No judgment. Just open arms and unwavering trust.
Sure, Cade has always accepted me. But that’s different. He knows the man behind the mask and understands the trauma that shaped me. He’s my brother in every way that matters. His acceptance is duty mixed with genuine care, forged through years of shared violence.
Luna doesn’t have that luxury. She only knows fragments, the mask, the violence, and the darkness I bring to her bed each night. And still, she opens herself to me. She looks at me like I’m worth something.
I drain the rest of the whiskey and pour another.
The truth sits heavy in my gut. For the first time in my life, I’m terrified. Terrified that when she sees the man beneath the mask, she’ll realize what my parents always knew.
That I’m fundamentally unlovable.
By the time I reach Luna’s property, it’s after midnight. The mountain air is crisp and cold, the snow crunching beneath my feet as I make my way to the house.
I slip through the back door and toe off my boots, leaving them by the mat. I remove them now after Luna scolded me for traipsing dirt and snow on her clean floors. I move through the darkened house, navigating the space with ease now. The third stair creaks, so I skip it before stepping around the loose floorboard in the hallway. Her bedroom door needs oil on the hinges, making a soft squeaking sound every time it opens or closes. She keeps meaning to fix it. I should just do it myself.
Maren stopped staying over when the road to Estes opened yesterday. Enough snow melted to make the drive safe again.
Luna’s left the door open tonight, and I find her curled under the covers, her blonde hair spilling across the purple pillowcase. She looks so small, so vulnerable. My chest aches as I move toward her. Her eyes flutter open as I approach.
“You came.” A sleepy smile touches her lips, her words thick and slow.
I cup her cheek in my palm. She leans into it, her eyes drifting shut once more.
“Go back to sleep, little doe.”
Her eyes open again, traveling across my mask. “Stay with me tonight?”
The usual routine would have me moving to the reading chair in the corner that has become my post. I watch over her through the night, a dark guardian ensuring nothing harms her. Sometimes she knows I’m here. Most nights, she sleeps unaware.
“Please.”
I nod and move toward the chair.
“No.” The word stops me mid-step. “Here.” She touches the space next to her on the bed. “With me.”
Every instinct tells me to keep the emotional distance the mask represents. But tonight, seeing the naked need in her expression, refusal isn’t an option.
I lower myself onto the bed beside her, my back against the headboard. She shifts without hesitation, pressing her cheek against my thigh, her hand searching for mine. I entwine our fingers. Her skin is soft against my rough palm. She sighs, the sound carrying contentment, her eyes drifting closed as sleep pulls her back under.
I stare at our joined hands. The sight punches through my chest, tears open the walls I hide behind, and exposes the raw, vulnerable core I’ve spent a lifetime protecting.
I need to tell her the truth—that the men she’s torn between exist in one body.
Mine.
