Karin Slaughter - Fallen

She had said this so many times before that the words no longer had meaning. “Is there a point to this?”

“I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt. That’s the point.”

He looked down at the floor. “Don’t do this, Angie. Just this one time—don’t do it.”

“Do what? Tell you the truth? Because you’ve obviously got your head so far up your ass that you can’t see what’s going on here.” She put her face inches from his. “Don’t you know that every time she kisses you, every time she touches you or fucks you, or holds you, she’s thinking about him?” She paused as if she expected an answer. “You’re just a replacement, Will. You’re just there until somebody better comes along. Another doctor. A lawyer. Someone who can read a newspaper without his lips getting tired.”

Will felt his throat tighten. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know people. I know women. I know them a hell of a lot better than you.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Damn right I do. And I know you best of all.” She paused to survey the damage. Obviously, it wasn’t enough. “You’re forgetting I was there, baby. Every visiting day, every adoption rally, there you were standing in front of that mirror combing your hair, checking your clothes, primping yourself up so that some mommy and daddy might see you and take you home with them.” She started shaking her head. “But they never did, did they? No one ever took you home. No one ever wanted you. And you know why?”

He couldn’t breathe in. His lungs started to ache.

“Because there’s something about you, Will. Something wrong. Something off. It makes people’s skin crawl. It makes them want to get as far away from you as they can.”

“Just stop. All right? Stop it.”

“Stop what? Pointing out the obvious? What do you see happening with her? You’re gonna get married and have babies and live some kind of normal life?” She laughed as if this was the most ludicrous thing she’d ever heard. “You ever consider the fact that you like what we have?”

He tasted blood on the tip of his tongue. He imagined a wall between them. A thick concrete wall.

“There’s a reason you wait for me. There’s a reason you don’t go on dates and you don’t go to bars or pay for pussy like every other man in the world.”

The wall got higher, stronger.

“You like what we have. You know you can’t be with somebody else. Not really be with them. You can’t walk out on that ledge. You can’t open yourself up to someone like that, because you know at the end of the day they will always leave you. And that’s what your precious Sara is going to do, baby. She’s an adult. She’s been married before. She had a real life with somebody else. Someone who was worthy of being loved and knew how to love her back. And she’s gonna see real fast that you’re not capable of that. And then she’s gonna drop you on your ass and be gone.”

The taste of blood got stronger in his mouth.

“You’re just so fucking desperate for somebody to give you a little attention. You’ve always been that way. Clingy. Pathetic. Needy.”

He couldn’t stand her being this close to him. He walked over to the sink and filled a glass with water. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Have you told her what happened to you? She’s a doctor. She knows what a cigarette burn looks like. She knows what happens when somebody holds two live wires to your skin.” Will drank the water in one gulp. “Look at me.” He didn’t look up, but she kept talking anyway. “You’re a project for her. She feels sorry for you. Poor little orphan Will. You’re Helen Keller and she’s whoever the fuck that bitch is who taught her how to read.” She grabbed his chin and made him face her. Will still looked away. “She just wants to cure you. And when she gets tired of trying to fix you, when she realizes that there’s no magic pill that’ll take away the stupid, she’s going to drop you back into the trash where she found you.”

Something broke inside of him. His resolve. His strength. His flimsy walls. “And then what?” he yelled. “I’ll come crawling back to you?”

“You always do.”

“I’d rather be alone. I’d rather rot alone in a hole than be stuck with you.”

She turned her back to him. Will put the glass in the sink, used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. Angie didn’t cry much, at least not for real. Every kid Will grew up with had a different survival tactic. Boys used their fists. Girls turned bulimic. Some, like Angie, used sex, and when sex didn’t work, they used tears, and then when tears didn’t work, they found something else to cut into your heart.

When Angie turned around, she had Will’s gun in her mouth.

“No—”

She pulled the trigger. He closed his eyes, held up his hands to block his face from the pieces of brain and skull.

But nothing happened.

Slowly, Will dropped his arms, opened his eyes.

The gun was still in her mouth. Dry fire. The echo of the hammer clicking was like a needle piercing his eardrum. He saw the magazine on the table. The bullet he kept in the chamber was beside it.

Will’s voice trembled. “Don’t you ever—”

“Does she know about your father, Will? Have you told her what happened?”

His whole body was shaking. “Don’t ever do that again.”

She dropped the gun back on the table. Her hands cupped his face. “You love me, Will. You know you love me. You felt it when I pulled that trigger. You know you can’t live without me.”

Tears came into his eyes.

“We’re not whole people unless we’re together.” She stroked his cheek, his eyebrow. “Don’t you know that? Don’t you remember what you did for me, baby? You were willing to give up your life for me. You’d never do that for her. You’d never cut yourself for anybody but me.”

He pulled away from her grasp. The gun was still on the table. The magazine felt cold in his hand. He shoved it home. He pulled back the slide to chamber a round. He held out the gun to her, muzzle pointing to his chest. “Go ahead and shoot me.” She didn’t move. He tried to take her hand. “Shoot me.”

“Stop.” She held up her hands. “Stop it.”

“Shoot me,” he repeated. “Either shoot me or let me go.”

She took the gun and dismantled it, throwing the pieces onto the counter. When her hands were free, she slapped him hard across the face. Then again. Then her fists started to fly. Will grabbed her arms. She twisted around, turning her back to him. Angie hated being held down. He pressed his body into hers, forcing her against the sink. She fought furiously, screaming, scratching with her fingernails.

“Let me go!” She kicked back at him, grinding her heel into his foot. “Stop it!”

Will tightened his grip. She leaned into him. All the anger and frustration of the last two days pooled into one place. He could feel his body responding to her, yearning to release. She managed to turn back around. Her hand went behind his neck, pulling him closer. She put her lips to his. Her mouth opened.

Will stepped back. She moved to put her arms around him again but he took another step away. He was breathing too hard to speak. This was their dance. Anger. Fear. Violence. Never compassion. Never kindness.

He took Betty’s leash off the hook. The dog pranced at his feet. Will’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely clip the leash to her collar. He took his keys off the hook and tucked his wallet into his back pocket. “I don’t want you here when I get back.”

“You can’t leave me.”

He reassembled the gun and clipped the paddle holster to his jeans.

“I need you.”

He turned around to face Angie. Her hair was wild. She looked desperate, ready to do anything. He was so tired of this. So tired. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to be needed. I want to be wanted.”