Roderick let out his breath he hadn't know he'd been holding. He didn't meet Lauren's eyes.
He swallowed carefully. He wouldn't challenge her claim… he wouldn't lie. But he was still angry at her for springing this on him, holding back that she knew.
"How long have you known?" he asked carefully, staring straight ahead, his jaw hardening.
"Since he escaped from prison," Lauren said in an even tone. She wasn't surprised by his response but she did give him credit for taking it so well.
"Who else knows?" Roderick asked carefully, a lot smoother than 'Who do I need to kill now?'
Lauren shook her head. "No one. Just like no one else knows who you are. You know that you can trust me."
Roderick felt his anger quiet. He did trust her.
"How did you know?" he asked in a clipped tone, hoping her answer wasn't one that could lead others to her same conclusion.
"When he escaped from prison, what he'd done ten years ago was all over the news. He taught at Winslow the same time you were there… you minored in literature and he was your advisor… if Joe Carroll hadn't turned you into what you are now, he sure as hell had a big influence in it," Lauren stated, raising her beer as if praising Joe for Roderick's development.
Roderick swallowed. His collegiate records could easily be traced. He could easily be connected. His fists began to ball.
Lauren saw it and stretched out her hand, placing it on his arm. "Carroll advised hundreds of other students… he didn't do to them what he did to you… Tim Nelson went on to be a successful Sheriff, that's what everyone knows… they don't know about Roderick like I do."
He calmed. She did have that. She was right.
Finally, he turned his head to look at her. She was still calm, still composed but he could see her pulse dancing on her wrist.
"Are you scared of me now?" he asked in a low voice, "Knowing what I'm involved in?"
Lauren swallowed. "A little…. but more mad."
Roderick smirked, his eyes dark, expressionless. "Why mad?"
"You're not the type of man who'd follow someone like Joe Carroll," she said quietly, gripping her beer.
Roderick's smirk faded to a calculating gaze. "What type of man am I exactly?"
He'd whispered it like he'd whispered other things to her, those in the dark and into her ear. The sound of his whisper now, even in the light, gave her chills.
Lauren sipped her beer before responding, letting her pulse calm. She swallowed, but she could feel her heartbeat in the throat; she could feel him watching it.
"A strong man… independent… one who has power and control; Sheriff even… I'm sure more than that in Joe Carroll's circle…" she started, "Which is why I don't understand why you would give all that up for him… You're a man who could create and build so much, which I'm sure you did for him… but to give that up to follow someone? To let them lead? You're not a follower, Roderick… so you must have trusted him…"
Roderick stiffened. She was hitting the nail on the head.
She knew it and continued.
"But he's not doing what he said he would, isn't he? That's why you're so angry… When you're in charge, you can do anything you want and that's how you like it. But now, everything you've done has been given up to him and you can't control it anymore… I don't understand why you would let that happen…" she said quietly, already seeing in the tension in his forehead that she was right.
"I owe him," Roderick said hoarsely, not looking at her, "I didn't go to prison ten years ago because of him…"
Lauren shrugged, knowing she'd never win. "But that shouldn't mean you give up everything for him," she argued anyways.
"I didn't give him you," he said defiantly, raising his eyes to meet hers, "I could have… I could have brought you in to everything, he would have loved you, but I didn't… I kept you to myself… I didn't give up everything. I chose to follow him."
Lauren set down her beer and scooted closer to him on the couch. "You're not that type of man."
Roderick turned his head and stared at her angrily. "How do you know what type of man I am?"
Carefully, she reached down and took his hand, guiding it up towards her scar. "A follower would not have given me this… a leader did."
He blinked, breathing heavily, meeting her gaze.
"You're not a follower, Roderick, you never have been… Carroll taught you, I know he did, but… in prison, you were the leader, you were free. You can't bow out because he's back… you can't demote your brain from leader to follower… like I said, you're not that type of man…"
Roderick's eyes darkened. How dare she say he wasn't a follower? If anyone followed Joe it was him… he was the one who followed Joe's every order, his every command and he did so graciously.
Lauren could see the anger in him growing. She could see it rising and churning.
"That's why you were out on Route 5… you were looking for something…or someone to relieve your stress… you wanted to kill someone," she finished, feeling like she'd run a marathon.
Roderick stared at her, his tension coiled in his arms and in his chest. Each breath threatened to unravel him.
Any other woman would have sacrificed herself to him, shyly suggesting that he could take out his frustration on her, that she understood his stress. As Sheriff, he'd do it, but still restraining.
Louise would have provoked him. She would have thrown insults at him, jabbed at his chest, or threatened him until he burst with rage, directing it at her. She would have relished it, fed off it, and struck back. She loved the power struggle. She loved being hit by him and making him do it again.
Lauren waited. She waited in a way that a deer waited to see if a mountain lion would pounce or stalk off to find another meal.
She waited.
Roderick's head scrambled. He was furious at her. How dare she say that he wasn't a follower? How dare she say that he wasn't that type of man? But still, he was furious even more because she was right. He was enraged that he'd give up his power to Joe just to have him betray him.
Just as he'd thought earlier, Lauren got it. He wasn't that type of man and she knew it.
He didn't want to apologize for snapping at her. He wasn't that type of man, either. Instead, he looked at her, studied her, and found his eyes wandering to her scar.
"Did it hurt?" he asked, trying to level his voice to take the edge off his anger.
Lauren swallowed, understanding Roderick was avoiding the topic of Joe and she was grateful for it, the tension was getting to be too much.
She nodded. "At first. It was quick enough but it hurt like hell."
Roderick studied each millimeter of flesh, leaning closer to take it in. He remembered the night he'd done it and the terror he'd felt in her pulse.
"Say no and I won't," he coerced, the blade already in his hand, his other pressing into her back as she faced away from him.
They'd decided to do it on the porch, where the blood wouldn't stain as many things as it ran into the grass.
Lauren steadied herself against the railing, not speaking.
He moved her hair to the side of her neck, kissing the nape, his warm breath encouraging her.
"Tell me to stop and I will," he coerced again, reminding her of his trust but still wanting to do it.
He moved his arm around her and set the blade on the railing in front of her, making her see it. After he placed it, his hands rested on her waist, letting her know that he still had full control of his actions. He had gauze in his pocket in the chance she'd say yes.
She turned to face him when he hadn't expected it. "Why do you want to do this so bad?"
He took in a deep breath, thinking of an answer. He looked to the ground almost embarrassed, swallowing hard, and then looking back up at her, his hair falling into his eyes.
"I've never let anyone live before… I mean… I've never let them live after I started to…" he looked away embarrassed, "I think I can with you… I can stop myself."
Lauren didn't look as convinced, her brow furrowed with worry. "How do you know? I won't do it if you're guessing…"
She didn't say it, but she knew he'd stop… As much as he argued that he had no humanity left, no emotion, she knew he did. She could see it in the way he looked at her before they fell asleep and the way he kissed her forehead first thing in the morning.
She knew he'd stop, that he had some feeling left, but she knew she'd have to make him prove it. He wouldn't believe her before when she'd argue that he still had soul but if she let him scar her, let her live, then he'd have to believe it.
She would have to do this to show him. She couldn't say this, not if it was going to work. She would have a scar, but he would have proof that he wasn't completely gone.
"I'll stop… I promise," he whispered, kissing her forehead gently.
She knew it and she counted on it.
She reached behind her and handed him the blade, her eyes giving him the answer.
He felt his pulse quicken and his heart throb. This was it.
She moved her hair and turned her head slightly, still focusing on his eyes. She wanted to see it coming if he really couldn't control himself and he really did kill her.
One of his hands steadied on her shoulder as he raised the blade with the other. He gave her one last look to be sure of her decision. She didn't falter.
He took a deep breath and let it out as the blade bit into her skin neatly. She winced and held her breath, her eyes watering, looking away, not wanting to see anymore.
He started carving down, the blood flowing fast and heavy, a river onto her shoulders and chest. The wetness made her gasp, her tears falling. She wouldn't cry out.
He carved deeper, knowing that an inch away, he could slit her throat and she'd be over. His adrenaline pushed him farther, his hand loving the feeling of the blade slicing her skin, relishing the feel of her warm blood on his skin.
He looked at her face to gauge her reaction. She was trying to control her breathing, trying not to pass out, trying to stay grounded, hoping that he'd keep his word.
He sliced farther, going faster, the sight of her blood causing his to pump harder, his adrenaline thundering in his ears.
She felt everything start to tingle. She wasn't sure if it was the shock or the blood loss. She steadied her hand on the porch railing only to see blood dripping down her arm. She felt herself swaying in weakness.
He was almost done, one last little piece to finish. He felt her waver but he was almost finished.
She felt her heart beat in confusion, as if it knew it was pumping out blood never to be seen again. Her vision started to go white as she felt the blade slice farther.
He slid the blade the last centimeter, so close, there, almost, done. He dropped the dripping knife to the floor, already smeared and slick with her blood. But she was still alive.
He thrust his hand into his jeans, not caring that her blood was all over him. He pulled out he gauze and put it over her wound, carefully cradling her and bringing her down onto the floor.
He sat with her in his lap, bleeding and in shock. He pressed the gauze to her neck and her head to his chest.
He'd felt fulfilled, accomplished, proud. She trusted him enough to let him scar her and enough not to kill her, though he still felt the itch. He had marked her and she'd live… she'd carry his work until the day she died. He felt victory in it. It was like a craving he'd finally satisfied.
He looked down to check that she was still conscious. Her eyes were closed but he felt her steady breathing.
"You stopped," she whispered, still not strong enough for her breath.
He nodded. "I did… but it felt so good it was almost hard to…"
"Was it enough?" she asked quietly, "Would that be enough for you?"
He shook his head coldly. He knew the answer. "No. It was not enough for me."
She said the most logical thing she could think of: "Well, we're all fucked up."
He hadn't expected that… he'd expected her to scream at him, to tell him she never wanted him to touch her again, to be outraged, to be scared.
But she wasn't.
He'd left hours later, after he was sure she didn't have significant blood loss and after he'd washed her blood off of her.
When she woke and he was gone, she wasn't surprised. She'd felt enlightened, proud. She'd done it. Roderick wasn't a complete monster. He still killed people but he was capable of stopping, of showing control and feeling. And she'd proved it. To him, it would remain a scar if he were to see her out in town later, but she'd know the truth. She had complete satisfaction in that.
"It looks good on you," Roderick admitted, admiring his work, still remembering the feel of her blood on his hands and the feel of the blade slicing her skin.
He liked being able to look at it. Once he killed, he didn't get to relive it, didn't get to remember it the way he liked.
But he could see her scar. He could see what he was capable of, what he'd done to her, that she was still alive and wearing his scar. That she knew who he was, what he was, and that she'd still trusted him. Just like her cooking dinner, she'd done this for him.
"Like I said," he shrugged, "You made me a very satisfied man."
Lauren smiled. She was happy to have given him something he needed and found satisfaction in her own way.
Roderick leaned closer. "I ought to return the favor, though, I don't think giving me a scar in return would satisfy you."
He stared at her with his eyes growing darker, his breath becoming shallow, and the tension between them building.
Roderick touched her hand and she looked down, her breath quickening and her pulse beating in her throat. His hands were rough and warm. As she looked at them, she could almost feel them touching the rest of her body like they'd done months ago. Her skin began to ache.
"It may have been months, but I still remember how to please you," he whispered. It sounded like a promise.
When she looked up, his dark eyes were closer than they were a second ago. Her breath hitched in her throat.
He eyed her lips and wondered how long it would take to make her beg him to kiss her.
His hands found their way to the top of her thighs, where her hands were resting. She closed her eyes and felt his breath on her ear, his lips on her neck, tracing her scar.
Roderick smirked. "Tell me to stop and I will…"
As she opened her eyes, her hands were behind his head, fingers tangled into his hair, pulling him to kiss her. He grinned as he leaned in, victorious.
She kissed him with urgency, letting her tension melt away. His arms slid around her, pulling her closer, his hard body colliding with hers, fingers gripping hard, the way she liked.
In an instant, he was standing with her in his arms, lips still locked and her hands behind his neck.
He carried her to her bedroom, a place he'd yearned for since he stepped foot into her house this morning.
Roderick tossed her onto the bed roughly, his eyes dark and his chest hard. As she caught herself, he was on her, pushing her body down, dominating over her. She closed her eyes in memory of the feeling.
He'd declared her his with his scar but now he'd claim her again. She was his.
She urged him to kiss her harder, pulling his already forceful body closer. She relished it. He needed it.
He didn't want a woman who would bay underneath him, who would let him do whatever he wanted but just lay there, pathetic.
He didn't want Louise, who would hit him back, bite him, scratch him, and beat him, urging him to do the same to her.
He wanted Lauren. Who pushed for him to kiss her harder, for him to overpower her as she trusted him, as she pushed back against him and encouraged him to be rough.
He wanted her fingers pulling at his hair, her nails against his chest, her lips on his neck.
Roderick felt the scar on her neck and shivered. She was all his.