Page 91 of Shattered

I stared in front of me. It was hard to look at her.

“What have you been doing all of this time?” I asked.

“Waiting for you.”

I don’t know what I expected, but I shook my head, closing my eyes in strain.

“What do you want, Melissa?”

I leaned back on the headrest, trying to give myself the will to fight her, to not let her in like I had before. But when I opened my eyes and turned towards her, she held my stare, studying me with a transparent gaze. We held each other like that for a few minutes, both of us daring each other to speak. Her brown eyes seemed lighter then, the sunlight filtering through the tinted windows and making them shimmer.

“What does love mean to you?” she finally asked.

Was she serious? “Love?”

“Yes. What does love mean to you?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. I’m told that I’m medically not capable of it.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said, wagging a finger at me as if this was amusing to her. “I think that’s an excuse to stay away from it.”

Was she implying that I was afraid? I narrowed my eyes, but she smiled in return. What was she getting at?

“I’ve had a long time to think about this,” she said. “You know what it means to me?”

I couldn’t possibly imagine. “What?”

“Seeing someone for who they really are. Mask on, or off. All of it. Supporting them, despite their flaws. Maybe even because of it. Not putting yourself above or below them because of your differences. And knowing that they see you in the exact same way.” She put her hand on top of mine. “Wanting to make their lives better, even when you know it might make yours worse.”

This was beginning to irritate me. I didn’t like being accused of something so precious.

“What are you getting at?” I asked in a low voice.

Her whole body was pointed towards me, and her damn cheeks glowed as if she had been in the sun. There was a sense of yearning in her posture.

“You’ve always seen me for who I am. Accepted me for it.”

“And?”

“And I want to do the same for you.”

I squeezed her hand, trying to urge her to consider what this truly meant. “Why?”

“Because I love you, Rourke,” she said. She put a hand on my face, and I let her hold me like that, warmth swelling at her touch. “You’ve got problems, but who doesn’t?”

“Most people’s problems aren’t felonies.”

She shrugged. “One of my problems is.”

I shook my head. That had been to defend her friend. That wasn’t like me. She was out of her damn mind.

“I’ll never stop killing,” I said.

“I know.”

“Do you, though?” I scratched my jaw, moving her hand off of my face. “Was seeing a man’s life drain right before your eyes not traumatic enough for you? It didn’t scare you into a respectable life?”

She gave a hesitant smile, almost a smirk. “I admit that it freaked me out for a while.” She tilted her head. “But it’s a little more traumatic when you’re the one killing the man.”