I shrug. “Men deserve it more.”
Mara sits forward, elbows on her knees, hands covering her face. I give her time to process, knowing that she suspected some of this, but could never have guessed the full truth.
After a moment, her shoulders stiffen and her head snaps up. She sits up, regarding me with sudden animation.
“You killed Sonia’s ex-husband,” she blurts out.
I frown at her.
“How do you know that?”
“Sonia told me how he died. I thought it was very … convenient.”
“It was very inconvenient when he was dragging her to court for months on end. It affected her work.”
Mara squints at me. “You could have just fired her.”
“Hiring someone new is even worse.”
“You wanted to help her.”
“I helped myself. It just happened to benefit Sonia as well.”
Mara shakes her head at me, already recovering her amusement. “You have a soft spot for women.”
“The fuck I do. Don’t forget how we met.”
“I remember.”
The office is growing dark. I never switched on the lights, because I shattered the overhead fixture along with everything else in the room. We’ve been sitting in the little light that could filter through the wisteria and the dusty windows. Now it’s all fading away.
“You know, that wasn’t the first time I actually saw you.”
Mara blinks, her lips forming a small circle of confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw you at the Oasis show. Shaw did, too. He saw me watching you. Jack Brisk spilled wine on your dress. I thought you’d leave the party—instead you used more wine to dye the dress. It surprised me that you were so innovative. Surprised me more how beautifully you did it. I was impressed. Shaw couldn’t understand that, of course. He thought I wanted to fuck you.”
Mara stares at me, mouth open.
She says, “Is that why he took me?”
“Yes,” I admit. “I insulted him. I said he was undisciplined, out of control. He wanted to prove I was the same … under the right temptation.”
Mara blinks slowly, finally understanding.
“You chose me.”
“I didn’t know it then, but I already had. I tried to leave you on that mountain … you survived anyway. From that moment, I was obsessed. I had to know how you did it. I had to understand.”
Mara’s eyes are dark and liquid in failing light.
“And do you? Do you understand now?”
I rest my palm against the edge of her jaw, stroking my thumb across her lips.
“I know you can’t be broken. I’m still testing if you can be tamed …”
Mara catches my thumb in her teeth, biting down.
“You’re not tame yourself.”
I like how hard she bites, the little savage.
It makes me want to bite her back.
“No, I’m not,” I agree. “And I never will be.”
“Neither will I,” Mara hisses, equally fierce.
She’s not afraid of me. She never has been.
I remember how she confronted me in my own studio, eyes blazing, fists clenched at her side. Demanding to know how I dared leave her to die. Scoffing in the face of my lies.
I seize her by the throat and kiss her, pinning her back against the slashed sofa.
She’s out of her fucking mind, and so am I.
Our madness aligns in all the right ways.
When we’ve pulled on our clothes again, I remind Mara, “A question for a question. I haven’t forgotten.”
Mara sighs. “You kept your word. I’ll keep mine.”
I take her hand, pulling her up from the sofa. Mara doesn’t flinch away from me—she loves when I touch her, even knowing of all the blood on these hands.
Her normal-meter is broken. She’s been around too many horrible people. She doesn’t know how brutal I truly am, how unredeemable.
Lucky for me, I suppose.
“Come up to the kitchen,” I say. “I can’t get you a unicorn, but I can damn sure make you an ice cream sundae.”
Mara follows me up to the main level. Despite me telling her exactly what I was going to do, she’s still delighted when I put down a giant bowl of vanilla ice cream in front of her, covered in chocolate syrup and mounds of whipped cream.
She’s always more surprised by kindness than by cruelty.
Mara takes a massive bite, eyes closed, letting the ice cream melt on her tongue before she swallows.
“I needed that,” she sighs. Then, setting down her spoon, “Alright. I’m ready. What do you want to know?”
I sit next to her at the counter, our knees almost touching.
Leaning forward, I say, “Tell me about Randall.”
Mara
Twelve Years Ago
Mad World – Gary Jules
Spotify → geni.us/no-devil-spotify
Apple Music → geni.us/no-devil-apple
I’m walking home from school, slowly so that I won’t catch up to the group of girls in front of me, but not so slowly that Randall will be angry that I’m late.
Mandy Patterson is at the center of the pack like usual, impossible to miss with her long flow of ash-blonde hair, perfectly curled and tied with the kind of oversized cheerleader bow that has become such a trend at school.
I don’t have any bows.
I asked for one for my birthday. Randall and my mother got me a used violin instead. I have to take lessons with Mrs. Belchick every Tuesday and Thursday. Her house smells like rancid cooking oil, and I’m allergic to her budgies. My eyes swell up every time, and my fingers are so itchy that I can barely grip the bow. I’ve begged my mother not to make me go anymore, but this is my punishment for not practicing piano enough.
I fucked up bad at the recital.
I hate performing in public, hate everyone staring at me.
I had never played on that particular piano, and when I sat down on the bench in the awful silence of the auditorium, the glaring overhead lights reflecting off the glossy black Steinway, I was hit with the horrible realization that I wasn’t sure which key was middle C.
It sounds ridiculous after all the years I’ve played, but I always orient my hands relative to the chipped golden script on our own piano, which reads B?sendorfer across the fallboard, only missing the second “o.”