"I can wait," I said. “Until we’re both ready.”
She pulled back from me, leaving a chill in her wake and I didn't like how it felt.
I reached my arms out and dragged her back to me, placing her on my lap. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I have a lot of issues, Malik. They aren't even necessarily about sex. Those hang-ups got fixed a while ago with talk therapy and I’ve processed and grieved everything I went through. But I still have a strong sense of rejection and a mountain of rage, due to all the years of abuse, according to my therapist.”
“I understand. It’s a lot of baggage to carry. That’s why I don’t do relationships, being alone is easier.”
“The traffickers would reward me for good behavior. They would make me crave their sick touch and then take it away, making me believe I was worthless. So just now, when you said it wasn't going to be tonight and you could wait, it took me back there. I know it's stupid, I know it doesn't make sense, but my brain got rewired. As much as I want to say, twelve years of freedom has fixed me, it hasn't, not completely. I'm not sure you want to deal with issues like mine. I am not sure anyone does."
I pulled her tightly to me, her head resting on my chest as my fingers combed through her silky soft hair. I liked her there like that, close to my heart. It felt right, like she’d always belonged there, as if she was a piece that I was missing. I didn't say anything, we just sat there in our embrace, and I felt more at peace than I had in my entire life.
"What are you thinking about," she finally asked, raising her head and a sweet smile playing on her pretty lips. God, I loved those lips. I would be a happy man if I could just hold her and kiss them forever.
"I was just thinking about how perfect you are." I bent my head down and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose, making her giggle.
"Did you not listen to a word I said? They brainwashed me and I still have issues—issues that I’m not sure will ever go away. It makes me far from perfect."
“Trudy, you are perfect for me. We couldn’t be better matched with our similar pasts and what we’ve been through. It’s almost like destiny brought us together for a reason. You are the only woman who can understand how I’m broken and it’s because we’ve broken in the same way.”
“I’ve never had anyone think that my flaws were something to be coveted.”
“Because you never met me before. Welcome to the fucked-up side, Trudy. We have fun here sometimes.”
She smiled incredulously and I kissed the smile right off her sensual lips. My mission now consisted of two hits. Kill the motherfucker on my list and capture Trudy’s heart.
Chapter 8
Trudy
As a social worker and grief counselor, I knew that Malik teetered on the edge of stage one: denial, and had been there for what seemed like his whole lifetime. It wasn’t sustainable and neither was it healthy—the man was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to go off. It’s likely why he was attracted to violence. His high from killing people likely rewarded him with the same hormone release a child normally gets from love. He was seeking his endorphins the wrong way and had made it his life’s work.
And I knew clinically that in my own co-dependent pathology, I was extremely attracted to Malik and his volatility. Due to my own conditioning, violence also turned me on. Malik and I were a disaster in the making, and on the daily I warned young girls not to fall for men like the one in front of me.
I caressed his cheek and felt the rough stubble under my palm.
“Perfection is highly subjective,” I said to him.
"You think my story is any better? My childhood fucked me up so badly that I don't see killing as wrong. How biblical is that? I actually think killing these mother fuckers is the right thing to do. Thou shall not kill left my commandments when I was fifteen years old. I’ve never looked back.”
“Was it your mother who abused you?” I asked him. My heart was heavy for Malik and his pain, but I was equally as turned on as I was sad, and the combination was overwhelming to me. I curled into him more and kissed the hard line of his jaw and the spot below his ear.
“More like who didn’t abuse us? Mom used and was neglectful to put it nicely. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for a quick buck—including selling her sons out for the night and let whatever loser pedophile take advantage of us.”