The Imperfections

The girl is startled, but she doesn’t question her good fortune. Quickly, she tugs her nightgown back down over her naked body. Then she just sits there for a second and looks at me. “You’re… you’re not gonna hurt me?”

I don’t like the way her words prod my conscience. I haven’t had much use for a conscience for most of my life. I still don’t, but there’s just something about the way everything is going down that doesn’t settle right in my gut.

“Not right this second,” I tell her, glancing around the small but tidy room. “You got a suitcase?”

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head.

I cock an eyebrow. “You don’t? Who doesn’t have a suitcase?”

Her tone is guileless, but her words do more to drive home how fucking inexperienced she is than anything she could say to try to make me feel bad. “I’ve never been anywhere.”

I stare at her for a long moment, her in her pale blue nightie, looking like something out of a more adult version of Peter Pan. I get the feeling low in my gut, in a place that never lies to me, that this girl’s gonna be a whole heap of trouble if I let her be.

If I’m smart, I’ll walk straight over to that nightstand beside her bed, grab my gun, and blow her brains out like I’m supposed to do. I won’t give her a chance to change my mind, and I won’t have to hear another innocent thing out of that pretty little mouth, clawing at a conscience that shouldn’t have a hand on the wheel anymore.

If I let her live, she’ll be trouble, plain and simple.

So, I shouldn’t.

I walk over to the nightstand and grab my gun. I look back at her on the bed, waiting for fear to grab her again, for her to gasp or crawl away in terror, but she just sits there and looks at me like she wonders what I’ll do next.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me anymore?” I demand.

Her eyes widen at the bite in my voice. She shifts and fidgets with her nightie, looking away from me. “Well, I am, but you said you’re not going to hurt me right now.”

Because I fucking said it—that’s her reason? Because she believes what I say, after I broke into her house and damn near raped her, after telling her I came here to kill her?

That’s a shitty fucking reason, but I like it.

I like it a lot.

Heaving a sigh, I tuck my gun in the back of my waist-band and look around her room for something that could serve the same purpose as a suitcase. I spot a big pink handbag hanging off the closet door, so I point to it.

“Go grab that,” I tell her.

Quiet as a mouse, she climbs off the bed and scurries over to retrieve the bag, then she turns back to me expectantly. “What do I need it for?”

“Put some clothes in it.”

“Why?” she asks, staring at me.

Offering her a crooked smile, I tell her, “I’m about to take you on your first weekend getaway. If you don’t want clothes, we can just leave, but I thought you might not want to be naked the whole time.”

The veiled threat of making her stay naked all the time does the job of extinguishing her curiosity. Instead of questioning me further, she stops wasting time and starts filling the bag.

3

Brant

When I turn onto the long, dark path up my driveway, the girl hugs her bag close to her chest and casts a worried look my way.

My house is set back off the road because I value my privacy. It’s the dead of night and there aren’t any lights on this stretch of road, so beyond the shadow of trees, she can’t tell there’s a house at the end of all this dirt and gravel. It must look like a dark path to nowhere, and she probably has some idea of what that could mean for her.

Swallowing, she says, “Where are you taking me?”

This must feel like something right out of a horror movie to her, poor little thing. Without sparing a glance in her direction, I tell her, “I told you, I’m taking you to my place.”

“Your house?” she questions, looking at the path ahead of us, illuminated by my headlights and not much else.

“My house,” I verify. I could expand on that and explain it’s set back a ways on the property, but she’ll see for herself soon enough.

A couple seconds pass, then I feel her staring at me again. “What do you think of the name Mackenzie?”

I look over at her. “It’s a nice name.”

She nods, holding my gaze, looking real nervous. “I was thinking about maybe calling her that if the baby’s a girl. She could go by Kenzie for short. I haven’t thought of any good boy names yet.”