Page 49 of Lovesick

Not at all.

Her first swing at his naked body isn’t his cock like I thought it’d be.

Penelope cleaves the axe over her head, both hands spaced perfectly, tight grip on the handle, grunting as it makes perfect contact with his mouth. Her swing so hard, his body almost frozen, that the contact cuts straight through the bottom half of his face, severing his lower jaw. And with a second swing it completely separates his face, top from bottom.

“I didn’t like the shit he spewed,” she tells me softly, her voice almost lyrical as she kicks the top part of his head away, eyes and nose going face down in the puddle of water we’re standing in.

And then she keeps going.

And I, I just watch on in awe.

She works like creation itself owes her an apology. Precise, relentless, consumed by the need to make something pay. Every movement is deliberate, almost holy, as if she’s performing a ritual no one else is pure enough to understand. I watch her hands, steady, strong, certain, and the air bends to her will. There’s devotion in her craft, the kind that borders on madness; a kind I’ve only ever seen in those who serve higher things. She doesn’t just build, she resurrects. And though I know better than to worship, after everything she’s done, I find myself doing it anyway.

If I were a stronger man, a better man, I’d drop to my knees right here and now.

But I’m not.

And she still fucked up.

“Are you just gunna stand there,Billy?” she shoots my name at me like it’s the world’s biggest insult, and memories of having no name as a child, being nothing but a number, meaning nothing to anyone, having to earn my food, earn my place, earn my name, all of it comes crashing back to me like I’m still right there.

“What is this?” I’m shaking her before I even realise I’ve moved, standing on body parts, my booted feet sinking into the muddy sludge.

She’s blinking up at me, shock and something like guilt on her face.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” I scoff, squeezing her arms. “You thought I’d never find out, neverfeelit? Never work out why, years and years down the line, we couldn’t conceive? I know I have a fertility challenge, Penelope, but there is a chance, it’s not an impossibility. How long were you going to carry on with this charade?” I’m shouting in her face, to be heard over the rain, to make me feel like I’m releasing at least a tiny portion of the rage I feel building and building and building.

“Billy, I-”

“Billy, Billy, Billy!” I scream back, “Always using my name to manipulate!” She frowns hard, not trying to get me off, make me let go, just limp and pliable in my brutal hands. “Why would you do this to me? After everything I’ve done for you!”

“Done forme?” she screams back, water rolling over her cupid’s bow, down her mouth, over her chin, her hands coming up now, nails gouging divots into the backs of my hands. “Youmanipulatedme! If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t even be here right now! I’d be somewhere else, with someo-”

“Don’t fucking say it, Little Lamb.” I’m smiling at her, grinning wide, all teeth and spread lips.

My nostrils flare, thinking of her being anywhere else.

With anyone else.

Someone that isn’t me.

And for a second, I wish she were.

All of this trouble, all of the lies, all of the pain.

I could have spared her from it all.

Except, I couldn’t really, could I?

Because all of the time I wanted her here, I didn’t. That’s why I dragged it out so long, my behaviour.

I was trying to keep you safe.

Far, far from here.

“I’malwaystrying to fucking protect you, and the entire fucking time, you were protecting your fucking self,” I swallow back the bile, momentarily squeezing my eyes closed, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw cracks. “From me!” I’m screaming in her face, my eyes popping wide, shaking her so hard she rattles in my hand like a box full of shattered glass, all of her broken shards dancing around themselves, cutting deeper and deeper and deeper. “If I hadn’t come for you when I did,” I start, her eyes wide and wet, from the rain, from tears, from both, I don’t know, but I don’t believe it, her sadness. “You’d be dead now.” I say it so solemnly, so truthfully, so naturally, that I want to bite my own tongue out.

I want to take it back.