Born, Darkly (Darkly, Madly 1)

I know he’s a killer. I know he’s a psychopath. I know that when his delusion is proven wrong, he’ll become even more unhinged, and I’ll most likely become his next victim.

And yet for one solitary moment, all warnings swept aside, and I wanted the clarity he’s mastered. The power to be free without shame. In retrospect, that clarity is a probable detachment side effect of his inability to process emotions…and he no longer has anything to hold him back.

And I’m going to hell for envying him.

It’s not out of a sworn doctor’s oath that I’m here with my patient; I’m not here to save him. I didn’t completely fabricate the truth on the witness stand when I condemned any likelihood that he could be rehabilitated. He’s dysfunctional on the most dangerous level.

I’m here for one simple reason: me. I’m selfish.

The draw I felt to Grayson during our first session has coaxed every choice I’ve made since. He’s not wrong about that. I’m tethered so tightly to him, I can feel him in my veins. He’s poison in my blood. I’m drunk on him.

I’m trapped within my own illusion of believing that I can resurrect my past and find some answer to free me of my father’s legacy…and I’ve officially lost my mind.

“I can’t do this,” I say, my feet dragging. My heels long gone. “I can’t keep going.”

I’m not sure if I’m talking about my emotional state or the fiery hell of pain consuming my body. Both hold equal weight at the moment, and I drop to my knees.

Grayson kneels beside me and pulls my shoulder bag over my head. “You have meds in here?”

I nod. “But they won’t help. I’m too far gone.” The only thing to help the pain at this point would be to knock me unconscious. It would be a nice detachment from this reality, too.

I notice the blood staining his soaked shirt as he rummages through my purse until he finds painkillers. He thumbs out two and feeds them to me, forcing my mouth open. “Chew them,” he orders.

I’m not cognizant enough to argue. I break each pill in half with my teeth and swallow the bitter chunks until the pills are dissolved. “You’re hurt.”

He doesn’t acknowledge the wound on his shoulder. Instead, Grayson scoops me into his arms, carrying me against his chest like some hero.

A mock laugh tumbles out. “Most women end up with men like their fathers. I used to judge them pretty harshly. I guess I’m no different.”

He doesn’t remark as he wades through the shallow stream.

“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” I demand.

“Yes,” he finally says. “There.”

I angle my neck to see a shopping complex abutting the creek. The shops are remodeled, multicolored townhomes. “I don’t think we’ll get the best customer service. I’m sure our faces are plastered all over the news by now.”

“We’re not shopping.” He treads up the bank and sets me down. “Stay here.”

As if I have a choice. Liquid fire threads every muscle. Nausea setting in.

Run. The thought assaults my head, and I’m seconds away from talking myself into it when I hear a car engine turn over. He’s stealing a car. Of course he is. It’s the only way we’re getting out of the state in his estimated timeframe.

I close my eyes and count to ten.

I block out the pain and my desire for Grayson, and try only to think of the aftermath. When we’re no longer running, what then? If I can’t walk away from him on a rooftop with the world poised to destroy us, how will I be strong enough to deny him…anything?

In every dysfunctional relationship, there is typically one codependent partner. I have to decide right now who is in control: me or him.

“Let’s go.”

Grayson’s strong arms surround me, then I’m again swept up and carried in a direction only he knows. The car door of an outdated Ford Taurus is ajar, the engine running. He places me in the passenger-seat and buckles me in.

The chilly night air blankets us in enough darkness to shroud our getaway, and I give in to the sparse comfort of it. We’re alone. I’m tired of fighting the inevitable.

I close my eyes.

An intense spike of pain rouses me awake.