I’m not about to let him bleed out.
I kneel and start tending to the wound. “You got this in that fight?” I ask. “Where you killed those men?”
“Forget I said that,” he says. “I was just trying to scare you.”
“Did they deserve it?”
“It never happened.”
“Carlo—”
He sighs. “Let’s just say that if I did kill four men, they had it coming. They made the first move. It was self-defense. But this is all academic. I was just trying to—”
“Scare me, I know.” We meet eyes. A lifetime’s worth of communication passes between us. How is it possible to feel like I know this shadow of a man so well? “Haven’t you figured it out yet? I don’t scare so easy.”
He shakes his head slowly, in disbelief at something, though I’m not sure what. “This is dangerous.”
“What, your cut?”
“No—this.” He nods at me, waving a hand at the room in general. “Me, you. One of us is going to get hurt. We need to stop this.”
“What is this?” I ask. “What are we talking about?”
He doesn’t answer, just looks away as I finish up dabbing away the dried blood. A clock ticks in the corner, chiming out the quarter-hour.
“Where did you learn to do this?” He nods at his injury.
“You’re changing the subject.”
He nods. “I am.”
“Why do you care?” Maybe I can start an argument and throw him off topic. Maybe I don’t have to lie to him. “I thought we had to end this anyway, so who gives a damn, right?”
“Hazel.” He sits up. “I’m just making conversation.” His hands toy with my hair, wrapping strands of it around his finger, his knuckles tracing tingling patterns over my cheeks. “I want to know. Why don’t you want to tell me?”
I tell myself this is his fault. I remind myself that, despite everything, I’m his prisoner and lying isn’t as bad as kidnapping. I assure myself that a half truth is better than nothing.
“I grew up in the Midwest.” I tell him the story I’ve rehearsed many times. “My house wasn’t … it was rough, I’d guess you’d say. My dad was always so controlling. He wanted to orchestrate every part of my life. He treated me like a puppet: wear this, eat like this, do this at this time, over and over and fucking over. He blamed me for—well, he blamed me for everything.” He blamed me for Mom, I was going to say. But then I might start crying. “He would hit me, sometimes, and … and call me names and—”
I shake my head. Truth mixes too easily with fiction. I blink back tears and will myself to stay strong.
“So I ran,” I tell him. “I built a new life here, in the city, where I could cook and paint and teach and not have to dance to a man’s tune all the time.” I scoff. “But now I guess that’s changed, right?”
Carlo flinches. “Are you saying I’m like—”
“No!” I cry honestly. “No, you’re nothing like him. You’re completely different. I was—I don’t know why I said that. No, Carlo, he’s a monster. You might pretend to be, but you’re not, not deep down.”
He smiles savagely. “Maybe you just don’t know me that well.”
“Have you ever hit a woman?” I snap.
“No.”
“A child?”
“Of course not.”
“Have you ever raped anyone? Tortured an animal just for fun? Would you ever dream of telling Emily she couldn’t write anymore?”
“No, Hazel. Jesus, no.”
“There you go, then.” I laugh, but it has a strangled quality. “You’re polar fucking opposites.”
“If this man—your father—is still alive …” Carlo’s face darkens. “I can handle it for you.”
I stand up and go over to the bookshelf, my back to him. I don’t want him to look into my eyes and read the hot desire there. I imagine Dad tied to a chair like he once did to me. I imagine my shadow, my Carlo, standing over him. Did you really think you could hurt her and get away with it? he’d growl.
I shake my head.
“Violence can’t fix everything,” I say, trying to convince myself as much as him.
“No.” There’s a smile in his voice. “But it can fix many, many things.”
“Do we have to keep talking about this?”
“No.” I feel his presence behind me, but we don’t touch. “Hazel, why are you getting so close to Emily and Mother if you want to leave?”
“Why should I answer that if you won’t even explain why you’re keeping me here?”
“For your own—”
“Safety, yeah.” I spin on him. “But why do you care