A Man of His Word

Chapter Eight: Assuming Makes an Ass Out of You and Me

"Was that really the point of that whole conversation, from the psychotic explanation about anxiety to the shpill about the boiling hot water in the pot?" Doc asked.

"Boss had a way of making his point," I said, "without actually coming out and saying it. And it wasn't as psychotic as you make it out be. Boss didn't hurt me during that whole conversation, not so much as a slap. Other women in different hostage situations get it way worse."

"Costlee, he threatened to shove your hand into the pot."

"He did. But he didn't, did he?"

"Because you did what he asked."

"Yes."

"You hesitated, though; wasn't he angry about that?"

I could tell that she was a bit frustrated, despite her being fully invested in my story. Doc wanted me to see her diagnosis, that I was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome; but 'suffering' was a very delicate word to be throwing around with what I just explained thus far about my interaction with Boss. While her nostrils flared with silent discontent, I couldn't help but feel frustrated as well.

At what point in the story so far did it look like Boss hadn't been protecting me? Okay, so he held me against my will; but Boss had made a fair point:

"Even if I had escaped the cabin, Doc," I explained, "what exactly would I have ran back to? A job as a lowly archivist, an accountant who holds money for the mob with a sign over my head that says 'if you get caught, it was me who ratted you out'?"

Doc's attention was on me, as I described to her exactly what kind of life I had led before Boss had found me.

"I lived in the Narrows," I said. "I lived in the worst part of town—poverty and violence was a daily thing. I was lucky every time to get into my shabby apartment with little to no problems. Gunshots and police car sirens became white noise. Even to this day, no family have reached out to see me."

"So, even though you're here, in a psychiatric hospital, you still believe that he freed you?"

"He helped me see that it was best to let things go."

"Things...Like a life of your own?"

"I was anxious all the time before I met him," I shrugged.

"So how did he help you let go, then?" Doc sighed. "Forget the diagnosis, Costlee. Let's get to the real root of the problem—"

"—What problem—?"

"He's a criminal, a very dangerous man who committed violent acts to, what, prove to you that you didn't have to be afraid anymore?"

"Every villain," I said, "is a hero in their own mind. He made sense. He read me like a book. He knew how to fix..."

"Fix what? Fix you?"

I wanted to shut down the interview right then and there. I just didn't understand why she couldn't see what I'd seen.

"He...helped...me." I strenuously claimed, just trying to get her to see past Boss's exemplary homicidal tendencies. "There was—is—a method to the madness."

"All right, Costlee. Let's hear more."

After Gruff's termination, I felt more at ease to sit where I pleased in the cabin; although I felt that I had more freedom to do as I pleased, I felt as if I were going to go mad. You know, the familiar "The walls are closing in" feeling. I longed to step outside for just a few minutes, to feel the sun on my face or to smell air that wasn't punctured by the familiar musk of firewood or old wood. But I didn't ask for such natural luxuries, in fear that if I did, Boss would react negatively.

Blue was the only bodyguard in the house; and since he had buried his alleged best friend, I just thought that it was in my best interest to ignore him. He didn't pose a threat. He merely observed me from the corners of the living room and dining room; good enough to keep an eye on me, but less to actually care what I was doing. He seemed sad sometimes; and while I did not regret Gruff's murder, I did feel a bit responsible for the constant solemn gaze on his face. Perhaps Gruff had not just been a co-worker after all; perhaps they had joined Boss in his crusade (whatever his crusade was—it wasn't exactly clear to me just yet), and it had been Gruff's insecure, controlling nature that had separated them in their work.

I didn't want backlash after Boss would leave for the few hours he was gone (What was he doing the entire time that he was gone?), so I decided that it would probably be a good idea if Blue at least wanted to protect me.

I had seen horror movies like Wrong Turn to think that strangers wouldn't accidentally walk up on the property in search of shelter during a rainstorm and suddenly the mood would change. Perhaps those were the thoughts that Boss had referred to earlier last night, the catastrophizing that sometimes left me afraid to leave the apartment when I lived in the Narrows.

My father used to say "Costlee, the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach." So when Blue decided that it was an all right time to get some much needed shut eye (He hadn't looked so well the last twenty-four hours), he disappeared into the guest bedroom where Boss slept at night; so I strode into the kitchen. I gathered ingredients to make a chocolate cake.

When Blue had finally awoke, I had just finished pulling the cake out of the oven.

He said nothing to me as he strode into the kitchen behind me. He plopped himself into a chair, pushing his brown hair with a tired hand. His blue eyes sparkled for a second when I noticed that he glanced at the cake.

"Do...Do you want a piece?" I offered quietly. I didn't realize just how nervous I sounded until I asked him.

"What time is it?" he asked. His voice was hoarse and throaty.

"Almost eight o'clock." I answered.

"Night?"

"Yes."

"Slept too long. Has he came back?" he asked, suddenly straightening in his chair as if to spring from it at any moment.

I waved a hand at him, "No, Boss hasn't been by. He's been gone the whole time you've been asleep."

"Oh...okay." Blue gave a great sigh of relief. He tried to hide his relief and covered it with an attempt at being a macho man, "Because...Because I have to report to him when he comes back. He checks up on you."

"I know," I said. And then, I shrugged, "Honestly, if I noticed that he was coming back, I'd have gotten you up."

Blue sneered, "You ain't saving nobody from him."

"I don't intend to," I said gently. "But I'd hate to you get in trouble for sleeping."

"I can take care of myself, lady."

I didn't engage.

"So do you want a piece of cake, or no?" I slid a piece onto a small plate to offer it to him.

"You make that for yourself?"

"I made it for you." I admitted.

Blue stared at me.

"You trying to make up for Marcus?" His reaction was a mix of grief, confusion, and anger. I didn't know exactly which emotion to play off, so I shrugged and still placed the plate in front of him, sliding a fork across the table. "You don't get to apologize for killing my friend."

"I didn't see you jumping in to save him," I muttered.

"Say that again."

So much for not engaging.

He grabbed the fork in his hand. I frowned. I was afraid that he'd hurt me; but the consequences of his actions would get him killed, like his dear friend Marcus. I'm not sure what part of me changed after Boss killed Gruff, but I knew that something was different. I'd quiver usually, and appease the guard. But when Blue made his voice deepen and he grabbed that fork like a shank in prison, I only stared at him.

"We both know," I said slowly, "that if you use that to hurt me, we'll both pay for it. Something tells me you'll pay a heavy price for whatever is going on in your head."

"Yeah. And you'll order your lover to kill me too?" Blue hissed.

"I didn't order him to do it."

"Oh my god," Blue exclaimed derisively. "The way he leaned in to you, the way he talks to you. You can't tell me you ain't fuckin' him."

"I'm not."

"So, what, you and him be in the bedroom doing what, exactly? It can't be just talking. A man like that. He's got some dark shit to be doing."

"Just eat your cake, Blue."

Blue stared at me. It just dawned at me that I had never learned his name, nor did I ever learn about Gruff's name until the bitter end. I realized it was the first time that I ever addressed him so personally. His expression switched from shock to amusement. It was as if his anger diminished. I wondered how a person could be so angry and then immediately cool like that; I'd never been able to do that.

"That's what you call me?" Blue said.

"Yeah." I said. I pointed at him, "Because of your eyes."

"What'd you call Marcus?"

"Gruff."

"Well, I guess Blue is better." He made a small smile as he took up his fork in his hand as God intended, and he slid the tongs into the piece of cake in front of him.

He tasted it. Then he nodded approvingly.

"You know," he gulped down his bite, "Boss only learns our names when he's about to"—He mimed a knife sliding across the throat, as if to say the word itself would write off his own death certificate. "Ain't no one ever gave me a nickname before."

So the only name that Boss ever bothered to remember...was mine. No wonder why Gruff and Blue were frustrated. Perhaps they wanted to be Boss's favorite person or something. I just knew that I didn't ask to be so, but I had few complaints about it. Blue probably felt a bit neglected or less than.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I considered his appearance. He really didn't look so well. His face, hair, and eyes looked gray, tired. Boss didn't put too much pressure on me; but I wondered how harshly he treated his workers. Blue ate his piece of cake with due diligence.

"Do you..." I suggested tenderly, "Do you want to have a drink with me?"

He stopped mid-bite, taken aback by my proposal.

"I..." Blue didn't know what to say.

"You just look tired, is all." I shrugged. "I mean, I know that you're technically on the clock, working and all, because Boss told you to keep an eye on me. But I figure..."

"Look, Miss," he quietly objected, "I appreciate the cake. But you did have my best friend executed."

"Your friend," I said, "tried to rape me."

"He had his flaws," Blue responded without looking at me.

"Flaws." I repeated, and I tried to hide my disgust. "Boss has a lot of flaws, but he seemed to have a very strong objection to—"

"I know what Boss thought of him," said Blue. "I mean, Marcus was a pig; but he was my friend. I know that you're just trying to be nice to me because you don't want any bad blood between us; but I ain't trying to be your friend, girlie." He pushed the plate across the table and rose to his feet.

"I don't want you to be my friend," I said, meeting his gaze. "But I know what overworked and depression looks like when I see it; and you look like you're about to cripple under the pressure. Whatever Boss has asked you to do—"

"He doesn't ask."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?" Blue remarked.

The conversation took a dive.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Blue rounded the table and approached me within a foot of distance; and I had a wary sense that something bad was about to happen. I bit the inside of my cheek subtely, trying to push down the thought that he would hurt me as Marcus had tried to do.

Blue was the good one...right? The one who knew the boundaries. Every story had the 'good' body guard, who wouldn't cross the line. Even when I first met him and Gruff, I had known that it was Gruff who would try something. But as I stood in the kitchen with Blue...I thought that we had found some common ground, but the way Blue acted, I wondered if I had asked Boss to kill the wrong man.

"You and him," he said thoughtfully, his finger wagging to me and to the invisible man in the kitchen. "How do you think this will end, Costlee? What, you think that he gonna marry you, and you'll be together like a happy ending? Everybody who comes in contact with him ends up paying the price. Marcus paid with his life because all he did was touch you," he poked a finger into my shoulder. "You aren't his girlfriend. You're his property. Do you think that makes you any better than the rest of us?"

"I'm not," I shook my head.

Blue scoffed, "Really? Pretend that if you didn't ask Joker to kill me next, he wouldn't do it."

"It was the choice that he gave me," I hissed back. I felt angry, despite the fact that Blue was intimidating. "Your friend wasn't a saint."

"Yeah? So he does one bad thing," Blue remarked heatedly, "and that means he should die?"

"Between him and me, yes!" I snapped angrily.

Blue's nostrils flared.

Whatever nicities might have kindled between the two of us, they were extinguished. No amount of cake would help this.

Blue grit his teeth. He wanted to do something to me. I tried to remind myself that he was mourning his dear, dear friend; but I didn't feel empathy about that corpse in the ground. His bright eyes searched mine, as if to seek out something that he couldn't see. He wouldn't find it.

"What," I said slowly, "do you want from me? An apology? I'm not sorry." I admitted truthfully.

"You are one cold bitch, you know that?" Blue whispered, his head nodding up and down. "You almost as crazy as he is. Yeah, yeah, you portray yourself as this scared, anxious little girl; but deep down, maybe not even that deep, there's a fucking killer in you."

He grabbed the fork from the kitchen table and offered to me.

"Well, if you want me dead so bad; how about you do it your damn self?"

Blue, in a sudden change of mind, threw the fork into the kitchen sink. It clanged loudly against the bin; then he grabbed the knife from the counter top behind me. Cake crumbs still clung to it.

"Here," he flipped the knife in his hand to where the handle pointed to me. "Unless you want your boyfriend to do it for you. But you ain't got the nerve, do you? Or do I have to push you there myself?"

For a long while, or perhaps it wasn't that long, it felt like we stood there just like that for minutes. But both Blue and I fell short when we heard his voice.

"Oh my."

I wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, but I looked over Blue's shoulder to see Boss standing at the front door, watching the two of us. Blue whirled around quickly, dropping the knife to the table.

"Come on, kids," Boss remarked, almost approvingly, stepping full-bodily inside the living room. "Why can't we all just...get along?"

His tongue flicked across his lips with curiosity. Boss adorned his clown-makeup, and even through the dark patches of shadow around his eyes, I could see that he was not...concerned...really, about walking in on his guard holding a knife to me. It was something else. I side-glanced at Blue to see his reaction; he looked scared.

"Soo," Boss held his arms out expectantly, "is one of you gonna fill me in on this little sibling rivalry we've got going on? Oh. It's about the dead guy, isn't it?"

"Marcus." Blue remarked.

"Right, right." Boss waved his hand at him dismissively, "Still a little angry about that, huh? Well, what's the problem? He clearly broke one of the rules."

"You don't have rules." Blue said. "He wasn't a bad guy."

"But he didn't mind his manners, did he?" Boss said coolly, as if Marcus had been given a detention rather an execution. "Now, what's really going on? Come on"—he turned to me instead—"You can tell papa all about it."

Blue's lips pursed maliciously.

Boss stepped into the kitchen.

Although I sort of knew that Boss would take my side, I felt a pang of guilt that he didn't show his own men that same attention that he showed me. Boss glanced behind me at the full chocolate cake, the small piece missing out of it.

"Tried to make a peace offering?" Boss asked me sweetly. "Well, it does smell good."

He turned to Blue.

"So kitten, here, tries to make it all better; and instead, you hope she kills you? Kind of a weird appreciation, but I like it."

"If you're going to kill me, have her do it." Blue blurted.

I was stunned. Well, go for the throat, Blue.

Boss looked impressed.

"Wow, you've got balls. I'll give you that much!" he said through a cackle of laughter.

I stared. Honestly, when he would laugh like that (a hand around his stomach as if the laugh alone was hurting him), it made me uncomfortable and yet at the same time, it was amusing. He found everything violent and dark so funny. Blue must have felt the same way, for his eyes widened like sand dollars. Seriously, this guy was off his fucking rocker. We both were thinking it.

Boss, alone, knew what he really thought of the situation; his laughter trailed off. He picked up the kitchen knife from the table.

Before I could react, but for I could say much of anything, Boss looked at Blue for a very long time—then he whirled around quickly, grabbed me by the shoulder with one hand, and pulled me in—

I felt it before I realized what happened.

Blue's jaw dropped open, and he flailed backwards, hitting the kitchen table, stumbling around it to put distance between him and Boss, who leaned in to me; his mouth brushed against my ear, "That ought to teach him to stop teasing you, huh," and I didn't know what to say that.

I couldn't say anything. I immediately felt sweaty and cold, as if it had started raining indoors. I suddenly felt a if the world was spinning; I lost my balance, clinging to Boss's arm which held the knife that was dug so far inside me. I suddenly felt as if I were going to vomit, but I wasn't sure if that's what I was going to do.

Boss chuckled darkly into my ear, as he slowly lowered me to the floor. "Shh, shh, shh, oh, it's going to be okay, Kitten," he consoled me as I felt the cold kitchen tile underneath me. "I'm actually sorry that I didn't give you a choice, but no worries. I'll get you all fixed up soon enough. Just got this thing to deal with first."

I gasped a response, my eyes feeling like they were going to pop out of my skull.

"Why...?" I gasped.

"Oh, you shouldn't talk. Gotta conserve your energy, baby doll," Boss urged me with a smile. "Just lay there, help's coming."

"But..." I tried gulping for air. I couldn't get oxygen in.

"Boss, you killed her?!" Blue cried out hysterically.

"You all will learn sooner or later to never assume anything," Boss remarked, seemingly irritated.

I heard movement beyond that. But then things started to get a little fuzzy. My vision blurred. And then everything went black.