about your better half now?”
I wanted to strike Cyril, but my anger was better directed back at me. I had trusted Michael.
“Thought he cared for you? That he went out of his way to make you gifts? When all he did was give you the supernatural equivalent of shit. You have some room on your shelf, Miss Hill. Should I be insulted you haven’t asked me for my bodily fluids to predominantly display? I do have different kinds and I’m sure I could find some creative ways for you to extract them.” He moved in closer to my ear. “Wait. That’s right. You’ve had my bodily fluids. Or at least one of them, but you drank it. Guess I wasn’t worthy of the bookcase.”
The fucking tears were back. I could deal with his condescension. I could easily deflect his anger, but the hurt tone lacing his mocking touched something in me. He was such a bastard.
“Are you done?” It was my turn to growl.
His body moved even closer, forcing my back against the wall. Eye contact with him was intense and somewhat awkward in these ridiculous moments we experienced. He sifted my soul when he looked in my eyes. His eyes could easily strip me of all self-control, so deep and hauntingly blue… Fuck!I was worried he was trying to read my mind again. I needed to change the direction of the conversation.
“Cyril, how many times am I going to have to tell you? I didn’t steal anything from you, or conspire against you, and I certainly had no idea what those figurines were made of. Michael was a paramedic on the scene the night you died. You were the only supernatural person I knew, and you were dead. Michael never gave me any indication he was anything other than human.”
I looked away from him as I said the next words. The words I had never spoken aloud were going to hurt, cut me deep even before I said them. Part of me still needed the fairy tale, but deep down, it was all a lie.
“I was so alone,” I whispered, “and homeless. I woke up from a coma after seven months, my muscles atrophied. After a week, I barely regained the ability to talk and had no one. Not my aunt, not my parents, and not you. The moment I opened my eyes it was as if you had just died. No time to grieve and no life to move on to. The figurines and notes were a life preserver. Michael cared for me. He moved me into his home. Being with him was easy, convenient. My need to feel connected to something overwhelmed me. I clung to him and he needed me, Cyril. He needed to take care of me, or at least that’s what I thought and I…needed to be needed. When he told me I imagined you, he was easy to believe because my memory of you was so unbelievable.”
My tears flowed freely. He didn’t move.
I hiccupped, unable to stop the flow of words. “You have to understand, I never looked at him the way I did you. Hell, I lived with him for months and I didn’t sleep with him until we went to Vegas and he talked me into a quickie wedding.”
“You married him in Vegas?”
“We were married exactly three hours before I woke up and found him dead. When I saw him in the garden that night with you I thought I imagined him. I didn’t know it was him until you pulled your knife out and then I was distraught and possibly crazy.” I hesitated. “I guess he’s not really dead, is he?” I looked up to see him shake his head as he started whispering.
His words were soft, but his eyes were not. “Your story, however touching, does nothing to change the evidence. You continue to lie to me and that’s not counting the numerous lies of omission. You married and fucked the very man who led the mutiny that killed me the night you speak of so often.”
I gasped. “Oh, my God! Michael!” He was the bastard who started it all.
His eyes narrowed. “Stop pretending like you didn’t know. You have betrayed me in ways I didn’t even imagine were possible.”
“To betray you, Cyril, I would have to mean something to you. That’s not possible with how easily you cast me
I wanted to strike Cyril, but my anger was better directed back at me. I had trusted Michael.
“Thought he cared for you? That he went out of his way to make you gifts? When all he did was give you the supernatural equivalent of shit. You have some room on your shelf, Miss Hill. Should I be insulted you haven’t asked me for my bodily fluids to predominantly display? I do have different kinds and I’m sure I could find some creative ways for you to extract them.” He moved in closer to my ear. “Wait. That’s right. You’ve had my bodily fluids. Or at least one of them, but you drank it. Guess I wasn’t worthy of the bookcase.”
The fucking tears were back. I could deal with his condescension. I could easily deflect his anger, but the hurt tone lacing his mocking touched something in me. He was such a bastard.
“Are you done?” It was my turn to growl.
His body moved even closer, forcing my back against the wall. Eye contact with him was intense and somewhat awkward in these ridiculous moments we experienced. He sifted my soul when he looked in my eyes. His eyes could easily strip me of all self-control, so deep and hauntingly blue… Fuck!I was worried he was trying to read my mind again. I needed to change the direction of the conversation.
“Cyril, how many times am I going to have to tell you? I didn’t steal anything from you, or conspire against you, and I certainly had no idea what those figurines were made of. Michael was a paramedic on the scene the night you died. You were the only supernatural person I knew, and you were dead. Michael never gave me any indication he was anything other than human.”
I looked away from him as I said the next words. The words I had never spoken aloud were going to hurt, cut me deep even before I said them. Part of me still needed the fairy tale, but deep down, it was all a lie.
“I was so alone,” I whispered, “and homeless. I woke up from a coma after seven months, my muscles atrophied. After a week, I barely regained the ability to talk and had no one. Not my aunt, not my parents, and not you. The moment I opened my eyes it was as if you had just died. No time to grieve and no life to move on to. The figurines and notes were a life preserver. Michael cared for me. He moved me into his home. Being with him was easy, convenient. My need to feel connected to something overwhelmed me. I clung to him and he needed me, Cyril. He needed to take care of me, or at least that’s what I thought and I…needed to be needed. When he told me I imagined you, he was easy to believe because my memory of you was so unbelievable.”
My tears flowed freely. He didn’t move.
I hiccupped, unable to stop the flow of words. “You have to understand, I never looked at him the way I did you. Hell, I lived with him for months and I didn’t sleep with him until we went to Vegas and he talked me into a quickie wedding.”
“You married him in Vegas?”
“We were married exactly three hours before I woke up and found him dead. When I saw him in the garden that night with you I thought I imagined him. I didn’t know it was him until you pulled your knife out and then I was distraught and possibly crazy.” I hesitated. “I guess he’s not really dead, is he?” I looked up to see him shake his head as he started whispering.
His words were soft, but his eyes were not. “Your story, however touching, does nothing to change the evidence. You continue to lie to me and that’s not counting the numerous lies of omission. You married and fucked the very man who led the mutiny that killed me the night you speak of so often.”
I gasped. “Oh, my God! Michael!” He was the bastard who started it all.
His eyes narrowed. “Stop pretending like you didn’t know. You have betrayed me in ways I didn’t even imagine were possible.”
“To betray you, Cyril, I would have to mean something to you. That’s not possible with how easily you cast me
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