Page 50 of My Girl

Chills crawl down my spine. My mother calls me every day and tries to make it right. And yet, there was an unmistakable expression on her face when I was fired. Fear that I was like my father. Regret that she hadn’t done anything to stop me. And guilt for giving me life.

Is Crave mocking me, or is he trying to help me find my truth?

“What if your father is alive?” he asks.

Did Crave kill Michael Hall? Does he know who my father was?

That would be crazy,I reason.Crave doesn’t care about my father.

“What if your father never wanted you?” he asks.

My blood cools, tiny pieces of ice floating in my heart. Crave’s grip tightens in my hair.

“Tell me, Rae. What do you truly want? More than anything.”

My senses pinpoint with adrenaline: our heavy breathing, the tick of each heartbeat in my blood vessels, the light sweat on Crave’s upper lip, his motor oil scent lingering in the air, the brush of his breath on my face.

Maybe I want revenge. Maybe I want to show my mother that I’m not that bad.

Maybe I want to prove that I’m worth something, even if it’s only to a dead man.

Maybe what I want is something less noble than that.

Admit you want to kill people,Crave had said.Admit that you’re a killer, just like me.

Maybe Crave is right. Maybe I want to feel like I’m capable of overpowering another person like that.

Maybe I want to feel alive for once.

“I want to kill my father’s murderer,” I say. My words are full of air, my brain testing it out. My chest coils up. It’s there in those words, that honesty. I’m outside of my body, looking down at myself. A young woman standing in front of a masked killer, and I’m not sure who I am anymore.

A penetrating sigh escapes Crave’s lips.

“It’s progress,” he says. “But it’s not enough. Your words imply that you want justice.” He licks his bottom lip, and my core surges with need. “Is that the lie you need to tell yourself right now?”

“I—” I stutter, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know.”

“Justice like that comes with a price.” He bends to me, our lips almost touching. “Are you ready to pay for it?”

My eyelids flutter; I’m desperate for his lips to touch mine. If there’s nothing else in this world—if I’m the daughter of a mother who reluctantly claims me and a father who murdered his own wife—then maybe, just maybe, I want to experience that violence. That blood.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He shoves me back and strides toward the back of the room.

Emptiness envelops me. I wrap my arms around myself. What the fuck did I just admit to?

The lights flicker on.

A man lies on the ground with duct tape over his mouth. His skin is mottled red, as if he’s been exercising. His face is so plain that it melds with all the other faces of the world. And yet, I recognize him somehow.

His moan hangs in the air, muffled by the adhesive gag. My heart pounds, drowning everything out. The realization surfaces.

The guy from the other night. The one who didn’t want to spank me unless it was my ass. My recent hookup from the dating app. What was his name?

What’s he doing here?

What is this?