Probably a little bit of both.
I nearly pressed the knife harder when he didn’t speak. I had said my name and told him who I was, but he didn’t acknowledge me. Could he really have forgotten me? Could he have forgotten what he had done to me?
Memories of that night came crashing over me, like when I was a teenager swimming in the ocean and I went too far out. The waves crushed me and dragged me so far under I scraped my skin against the coral. I was saved by a lifeguard.
Before the lifeguard got to me, I remembered thinking how I was going to die. I couldn’t get above the water because the waves kept crashing and crashing. Any time I tried to break through, another would crash on top of me and swirl me in its deathly grip. Then something grabbed my arm and pulled me up.
My eyes stung with saltwater and my throat felt like the membrane had been scraped away. I could barely see through all the sand and salt in my eyes. Now, as I kept my knife to Morris’s throat, that same feeling of hopelessness commingled with bitter relief fell over me.
He had known exactly who I was when he’d pushed me to the ground. He’d told me I was a “good little intern” who was getting her reward. I’d begged and screamed for him to stop, but he’d only laughed. He’d laughed at my tears and laughed as he stuffed one of my socks into my mouth. Thanks to him, I didn’t have any socks in my house. My feet were continually cold.
Though he said nothing to me, I could see it in his eyes now. He had that same laughter he’d had the night he’d raped me. It was a smug, cocksure glint that told me he felt safe even with a knife to his throat. Morris had grown t
o believe himself infallible. No matter how hard I pressed the knife to his throat, he wouldn’t talk to me. That would have been admitting he’d lost some of his power.
“I’m not here to kill you,” I stated, releasing the knife’s hold on his neck just a little bit, hoping that might loosen his tongue. And I wasn’t—there to kill him that is. After the combustion with Law, my sanity and demeanor were edging on precarious, but I wasn’t planning on killing him.
I’d seen him with that girl and had snapped. After watching Morris that night in the manufacturing district, it had been eating me up inside. What was I doing, after all? What was my purpose with all of this surveillance if not to make sure he couldn’t hurt any more?
When I’d left Law for the office, sure I was planning something reckless. Framing someone wasn’t exactly baking cookies, but murder? No. I wasn’t planning that. I looked back at Morris, expecting fear, but what I got was ease and…was he laughing? He was! The fucker was laughing at me.
I slapped him across the face, keeping the knife steady.
I felt my fists curling and my control slipping. I didn’t have my gun with me, for which I was actually grateful. Being so close to Beezelbub, I wasn’t sure of my grasp on control. Just having the knife was making me drunk with power. I could end his life so easily. I could rid the world of a rotten, festering wound that was slowly killing it.
Everyone would sleep better at night, even if they didn’t know why.
“Nami! Nami DeGrace!”
Paparazzi.
I dropped the knife, snapping my head to the paparazzi as the blade hit the ground with a sickening clang. I’d thought I was done with them, or at least that they were done with me. They’d stopped camping outside my apartment a little over four months ago. The only reminder that they’d been there was their empty soda cans and burger wrappers like tumbleweeds on my lawn. I’d changed my email and phone number, so that gave me the illusion that they no longer cared. I had disappeared to a new apartment and I’d thought they’d disappeared with me.
Dammit, I hated being wrong.
“Nami why are you here? Are you trying to win back Senator Morris?”
Bile filled my stomach and tried to exit my throat. I couldn’t see the reporter past the bright white of the flash. I’d been caught, but not as an attempted murderer. They’d “caught” me trying to entice Senator Morris. Honestly, I’d have preferred to be a murderer. It was much better than the alternative. I’d rather be known as the girl who tried to kill the devil than the one who tried to love him.
I turned to leave when something—or someone, rather, stopped me in my tracks. “You used to be such a good little intern. Perhaps you need to be…reminded.” I spun around to see Morris, a smile on his face that might as well have been dripping with my blood. My fists clenched as I contemplated my next move. Bulbs flashed, cautioning me that whatever I chose would be witnessed and recorded forever.
Gritting my teeth, I flew past the paparazzi, knocking Morris and the cameramen to the side. Their indignation was short-lived as I heard more questions hurtled at me. I ran down the street, not looking back. My knife was still nestled at Morris’s feet. Without a doubt, he’d won this round. When I turned another street and the paparazzi were no longer heard, tears filled my eyes.
I barely cried in months, but the realization that Morris might always win was too much. I was climbing Everest without oxygen. I used to think the worst thing that could happen was death. Now I knew better.
I walked through the nearly empty streets of Salt Lake City, feeling completely hopeless, useless, and powerless. I used to like how nighttime in Salt Lake was quiet. Now I just felt lonely. The sky was a starless void; clouds tumbled over one another like tumorous black masses.
I didn’t want to go home. Home meant I’d failed. Home meant Morris got to keep being Morris.
I couldn’t go to Law’s.
So I ambled around during the witching hour. I must have been adrift in my mind because I didn’t notice the sound of danger. By the time I did, it was too late.
“Give me all your money.” Are you fucking kidding me? I spun around to face the joke. Three men dressed in black with ski masks held knives to me. Was this really happening? I looked around to see if anyone would help, but it was just me on the street—not like anyone would offer aid, anyway.
I couldn’t muster any other emotion besides indignation. I had literally just come from the devil’s den, and now this?
“What is this?” I asked, eyeing the men and their knives. Of course I hadn’t brought my gun. Of course this would be happening to me. I was Nami DeGrace, bad luck magnet.