Page 49 of Redeem

He looked back at me, that awareness, that patience, reminding me of how easily I’d been sucked in.

“Talk or leave,” I said.

This time my voice was firm, and I meant what I’d said. I wanted to hear what he had to say, needed to, but I couldn’t take this silence, couldn’t sit here with him watching me, couldn’t give my mind a chance to betray me like my heart had.

He looked at me, something like heartbreak on his face. Then he walked closer and kneeled in front of the chair.

Almost instantly, I thought back to the first time we’d been together, the similarity to that time making the pain of this moment that much more acute. I tried to ignore the ache, scowled at him, though my ill will was directed almost entirely at myself.

I said nothing else.

The ball was in his court, and when he looked at me, I could see he knew that. I also saw something like tension on his face. The sight took me aback, despite the circumstances. Ciprian’s steadiness, the way he seemed completely unfazed by almost everything, made it hard to reconcile what I saw with what I knew of the man.

I couldn’t reconcile the idea of him as a killer either.

I’d known he wasn’t an angel, but all he’d ever shown me was gentleness. Or at least that was how I interpreted. But there was no way I could trust my reaction, not when I’d been so wrong.

“I…” He started and then trailed off. Lifted his eyes to me and started again. “This is very difficult for me,” he said.

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

He had the good sense to look embarrassed.

“I’m not sure how to do this.”

Despite myself, I felt some moment of kinship, understanding. I too struggled to open up. Hadn’t ever, to anyone.

Except him.

That realization, the sick irony of it, made me laugh, the sound bubbling out of my throat, twisted, crazed, only the barest reflection of what was happening in my mind.

“This is so fucking ironic.” I laughed again, my eyes drifting shut. I opened them, looked at him again, and saw in his quiet expression that he wanted me to continue.

I found myself speaking, despite how ridiculous doing so was.

“I struggled with the same thing,” I said, my voice brimming with sarcasm. “Do you remember it? When you held me, so patient, so warm as I told you all my troubles? My lifetime of pain and heartache?”

He looked down, and though he quickly met my eyes again I saw that I had made a point. A point I felt compelled to press.

“Yeah, you remember. Why couldn’t you leave it alone?”

I felt another rush of tears gather at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Instead, I ignored them, continued on. “Why couldn’t you just lie?”

It was the question that had plagued me for hours. I wouldn’t have questioned it. I would have accepted what he said at face value, wouldn’t have allowed myself to do otherwise.

“Maybe I should have. But you deserve the truth,” he said.

I thought I might explode from the rage that coursed through me. “Deserve the truth? That’s bullshit! You don’t care about me, what I deserve. This is all about you. You needed to make your confession, tell me all your sins so I can give you absolution. Didn’t matter what I needed, what I wanted. You wanted to confess. So confess, and then get the fuck out.”

I looked down then, unable to keep my eyes on him.

It hurt too much.

What I had said was true. I would have believed him, would have forgotten that moment and gone on, would have held onto the feeling that only he was able to bring. But he had taken it from me. That hurt worst of all.

“Dana,” he said.

I looked up, met his eyes before I realized I shouldn’t have done that. Looking at him still had the power to make me want to believe, still dashed away all reason.