I shave her bald, every fucking bit of that hair cut off and tossed on the grimy bathroom floor.
I hold the last lock up in front of her eyes.
“You say one word to Cat, you so much as fucking look at her, and I’ll be back for your finger. You saw the whipping I took for her—I would gladly lose a pinky to see you lose one of yours.”
Lola stares at me in horror, her big blue eyes rather disturbing without the accompanying mane of hair. She looks like a baby doll shorn by a callous toddler.
“Your hair will grow back,” I say softly. “But your finger won’t.”
With that, I drop the last few strands on the floor and leave the bathroom, Lola’s whimpers trailing after me.
For once, Cat beats me up to the Bell Tower.
She’s waiting for me, a dozen candles lit all around, the pillows neatly stacked. She’s dressed simply in a t-shirt, sneakers, and skirt, her hair pulled up in a loose ponytail, the spattered freckles on her cheeks already darkening from the spring sunshine.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
She seems strangely nervous, maybe because the last time we were up here, she tried to do something kind for me and I shouted at her.
“It’s good to be back,” I say.
“I’m not . . . expecting anything,” she tells me awkwardly. “If your back isn’t healed yet—”
“Don’t worry about my back,” I growl. “It would take a lot more than that to get me to keep my hands off you.”
She flushes, that mischievous smile tugging at her lips.
Still, there’s an invisible barrier between us, something we both have to navigate. I’m not in control of her and she’s not in control of me—we both stand here free and unencumbered, wondering what that looks like for both of us.
“I never thanked you,” Cat says. “For what you did for me.”
“I did what had to be done,” I tell her. “Just like you would.”
“I shouldn’t have made those sketches . . .”
“Cat, those drawings are what put the heart in me for everything that came after. The ones you drew of me . . . I saw them and I thought you must love me. Then I knew I could endure anything.”
Cat stares at me, eyes wide.
“Didn’t you already know that I loved you?”
I swallow hard, embarrassed.
“I just . . . I fucked up so bad . . .”
“Dean. You really don’t know how I feel?” she says, tears gathering in her eyes.
I clench my fists, not knowing how to tell her this thing that I can hardly admit even to myself.
“I don’t think . . . anyone could really love me.”
Cat stares at me, part tearful and part angry.
Then she runs at me, beating on my chest with both hands.
“Why can’t you see that I love you? I fucking love you! I don’t care what you do to me, I don’t care what you say to me. I don’t care if you lie or scream or try to run away. I don’t care if you’re filthy or soaked in bleach or set on fucking fire! Why can’t you understand I love you! Without limit or reason.”
I look at her furious face, those brilliant dark eyes, and finally after all this time, the key turns in my heart.
I believe her.
I fucking believe her.
She loves me.
She loves me the way I love her.
I seize her and kiss her, her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist. I taste the sweetness of her mouth and the salt of the tears running down her face. I bite her lips, I breathe in her breath.
“Cat,” I say. “You don’t know what a monster I can be, but I’ll be your monster. Everything I do will be for you. To protect you. To help you. To love you every day of my life. I’ll burn this whole fucking world down for you if that’s what you want.”
She presses her forehead against mine.
“I know exactly who you are, Dean. And I fucking love you.”
31
Cat
Hypnotic — Zella Day
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Dean kisses me like my lips are the only thing keeping him alive.
He slams me against the crumbling tower wall and gropes my body with both hands. Bits of mortar and stone rain down on our heads, covering us in soot and dust, but we don’t give a fuck, we barely even notice it.
I had planned to be careful of his injuries—now I can’t think of