I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My skin was darker on my arms and face from the summer sun than it was on the rest of my body, but at least I'd never be pasty pale. Aside from the cut on my chin that Samuel had put two stitches in and a nice bruise on my shoulder that I didn't remember getting, there was nothing wrong with my body. Karate and mechanicking kept me in good shape.
My face wasn't pretty, but my hair was thick and brushed my shoulders.
Adam wouldn't force me. Wouldn't do anything I didn't want him to do--and had wanted him to do for a long time.
I could ask him to leave. To give me more time. I stared at the woman in the mirror, but all she did was stare back.
Was I going to let Tim have the last victory?
"Mercy."
"Careful," I told him, pulling on clean underwear and an old T- shirt. "I have an ancient walking stick and I know how to use it."
"The walking stick is lying across your bed," he said.
When I came out of the bathroom, Adam was lying across my bed, too.
"When Samuel makes it back from the hospital, he's going to spend the rest of the night at my house," Adam said. "We have time to talk."
His eyes were closed and he had dark circles under them. He hadn't been getting much sleep.
"You look horrible. Don't they have beds in D.C.?"
He looked at me, his eyes so dark they were almost black in this light, but I knew they were a shade lighter than mine.
"So have you made up your mind?" he asked.
I thought of his rage when he'd broken down the door to my garage, of his despair when he persuaded me to drink out of the goblet again, of the way he'd pulled me out from under the bed and bitten my nose--then held me all night long.
Tim was dead. And he'd always been a loser.
"Mercy?"
In answer, I pulled the T-shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor.
THE END