Sonata (Butcher and Violinist 2)

But we are still learning about each other.

I turned away from the mirror, unable to look at myself anymore.

I didn’t even know if we would still be together. Jean-Pierre. . .he fell in love with someone else. I’m not her anymore.

“We need to talk. If I just say something to him. . .” I went to the door and opened it.

Jean-Pierre stood in the room, staring at the empty luggage.

Pain covered his face.

My body tensed.

I remained in the doorway.

He turned his attention to me.

More pain hit his face.

My heart hammered in my chest.

He spoke low, but there was an edge to it. “Where were you going?”

“I’m. . .I’m not going now.”

“I know.”

I widened my eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

Silence filled the air.

“We’re in this forever.”

I swallowed.

He picked up the suitcase and slung it into the closet. It banged against the wall and fell down. He glared back at me.

I swallowed. “I wasn’t leaving you, Jean-Pierre. Not in that way.”

His face cracked a little. It softened on the edges. He turned away. “What were you doing?”

“I need to go somewhere and get myself together.”

He turned back to me. “It’s going to take you time to heal.”

“I don’t have the time now. I’m pregnant.”

“You’ve been pregnant before?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then how do you know that you don’t have the time to heal?”

I let out a long breath. “Something is. . .not right with me.”

“And it won’t be for a long time, but I’m here and anything you need will be here for you too.”

The tension in my shoulders eased. My voice came out shaky. “Okay.”

“You don’t walk away. We talk it over.” His voice rose a little. “You don’t just grab a suitcase and walk out of my life.”

“I know.”

“You don’t want me to chase after you, reine.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I’m not normal.”

“You are.”

“I’m not. Be okay with it.” A scowl replaced his expression. “And no, you are not who you were before, you’re someone else. Life changes us all the time, but our love should never change.”

“That’s easy to say, but it’s not reality.” I walked over to Jean-Pierre, stood a foot away from him, and slowly pulled off the bandage. He took in the scars and lines. I dropped the bandage on the floor. “You fell in love with a woman that played a violin. I can’t play—”

“You don’t know that. It’s fear and anxiety taking.”

“My face is—”

“Mine.” He closed the distance between us. “It’s all mine. Along with your body, and voice and scent, and especially your pussy. All mine. And I don’t do refunds or exchanges. And you’re not an object, but you’re still mine.”

My heart warmed.

He brushed his mouth against my forehead and then landed a kiss near the scars. “You are still beautiful. You are still just as captivating. Do you believe me?”

“I…do.”

“But will you doubt again and again in the future?”

“Wouldn’t it be normal too?”

I feel so insecure. He’s right. It’s all different forms of fear messing with my head. But how do you get rid of it?

He let out a long breath and walked off to his leather case. “I’ve got an idea to fix this.”

“What?” I watched him pull out a small curved knife with a white tortoise shell handle. “How are you going to fix this? Wait. Why did you get that?”

He put the leather case down and headed to the bathroom.

“Jean-Pierre?” I reached for his arm as he passed, he moved it out the way. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing this.” He went into the bathroom, shut the door, and locked it.

“No. No.” I rushed to the door. “What are you doing? Put the knife away!”

I slammed and banged at the door. “Jean-Pierre!? No! Please, don’t.”

Tears left my eyes. I ran from the door and grabbed the guards outside. “Stop him. Open the bathroom door. He’s going to hurt himself.”

They barreled in, pushing me to the side, and hurrying to the door. Dr. Martin had still been in the living room, he hurried to the room too.

When we got to the door, Jean-Pierre opened it. “I’m fine.”

No.

Everyone froze as we took Jean-Pierre’s new face.

He had sliced long lines, on the right side of his face, similar to mine in almost every way. It was a perfect copy. Jean-Pierre knew pain. He knew injuries and what caused them. And he’d guessed the Devil’s angle and had done it to his own face.

Shock hung in the air. Dr. Martin and the guards said nothing.

Jean-Pierre stared at me with blood dripping down the side of his face.

Rage and pain swirled through me.

I looked at the others. “Please, leave. We need a minute.”

Dr. Martin stepped past me. “I can take care of his stiches before I leave.”

“Thank you.” I shook with anger. “I would like that.”

“Okay. Take time to talk.” Dr. Martin walked out of the bedroom. “I’ll be in the living room.”