MARRY YOUR KILLER
Chapter Thirteen: The Knife
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The afternoon was quiet after the chaos of the morning.
The garden was destroyed. The boys had cleaned themselves up, mostly, but mud was still everywhere—on the steps, on the floor of the back hall, on Percy's face, which he had somehow missed completely.
Jay was on the sofa, fresh clothes, fresh bandages, fresh cup of coffee. Keifer was beside her, his hair still damp, his face still relaxed in a way she had never seen before.
Percy was in the kitchen, making something that smelled like it might be edible. Aries was helping, which meant the food might actually survive. Yuri was in his usual corner, watching, saying nothing. But his eyes were softer than before. Something had shifted.
Ci N and Felix had returned from wherever they had disappeared to. They were in the living room, arguing about something that didn't matter, their voices rising and falling like music.
Rakki was betting on the outcome. Mica was pretending to work. Calix was pretending to help.
Care was reorganizing the medical supplies again. Cole was watching her again.
And in the corner by the window, Alex was sitting in his chair, coffee in hand, watching Lyra.
She was standing as always, her back to the room, her face to the street. She hadn't moved in an hour. She hadn't spoken in two.
Alex had been trying to get her to talk for most of that time.
"Kulkarni," he said. "Lyra Kulkarni. It's a beautiful name. I said that yesterday. I'm saying it again today. I might say it every day for the rest of my life."
Lyra didn't respond.
"The meaning. I looked it up. In Sanskrit. You want to know what it means?"
Nothing.
"I'll tell you anyway. It means—"
"Alex."
He stopped. She had turned. Just her head. Just her eyes.
"Yes?" he said.
"Stop talking."
"I'm not talking. I'm conversing. There's a difference."
"No. There isn't."
"There is. Talking is noise. Conversing is connection. I'm trying to connect with you."
Lyra turned back to the window. "I don't connect."
"Everyone connects."
"I don't."
Alex stood up. He walked toward her. Slowly. Carefully. Like he was approaching something that might run.
"You connected with your friends," he said. "You connected with Jay. You connected with the girls."
"That's different."
"Why?"
She didn't answer.
He stopped behind her. Close enough to see the line of her shoulders, the fall of her hair, the way her hands were still at her sides.
"You connected with me," he said. "Last night. When you put the blanket on me. You connected."
Lyra turned. Her face was blank. Her eyes were not.
"You were cold," she said.
"You were watching me sleep."
"You were snoring."
"I don't snore."
"You snore. Loudly. Like a dying animal."
Alex's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"I don't snore," he said again. But he sounded less sure.
Lyra almost smiled. Almost.
---
The moment broke when Alex stepped closer.
He was in her space now. In her corner. The corner that was hers.
"You let me stay," he said. "Last night. You let me stay in your corner."
"It's not my corner."
"It's your corner. Everyone knows it's your corner. You claimed it the first day you walked in. You marked it with your presence. Your energy. Your—"
"It's a corner."
"It's your corner." He stepped closer. "And you let me stay."
Lyra looked at him. His face was close. Too close. His eyes were bright. His smile was easy. He looked like a man who had never been afraid of anything in his life.
"You talk too much," she said.
"I've been told."
"By everyone. Constantly."
He smiled. "You get used to it."
She looked at him for a long moment. Her face was blank. Her hands were still. But something was shifting behind her eyes. Something she had been holding back for a very long time.
"You found my name," she said.
"I did."
"You said it. Out loud. In front of everyone."
"I did."
"You shouldn't have done that."
Alex's smile flickered. "Why?"
She stepped closer. Her face was inches from his. Her voice was low.
"Because now I have to make sure you never say it again."
She moved.
Fast. Too fast. Her hand went to her waist. Her fingers closed around something small and metal. A knife. A small knife, thin and sharp, the kind that could disappear in a sleeve, a pocket, the palm of a hand.
She held it up. The blade caught the light. She brought it to his neck.
Not pressing. Not cutting. Just there. The flat of the blade against his skin. A warning. A promise.
"If you say it again," she said, her voice cold, "I will put this through your neck. Do you understand?"
The room went very quiet.
Alex didn't move. His hands stayed at his sides. His breathing stayed steady. His eyes stayed on hers.
"You're not going to do it," he said.
"You don't know that."
"I know." His voice was calm. "If you were going to do it, you would have done it already. The first day. When I walked into your corner. When I said your name. When I sat in your chair."
Lyra's jaw tightened. The blade didn't move.
"You didn't do it then," he said. "You're not going to do it now."
"You don't know me."
"I know you." He stepped closer. The blade touched his skin. Cold metal against warm flesh. He didn't flinch. "I know you're not a killer. I know you're someone who disappeared because something happened. Something you didn't choose. Something you couldn't control."
"Stop."
"I know you've been alone for a long time. I know you think you don't need anyone. I know you think you're better off in your corner, in the dark, where no one can see you."
"Stop."
"But I see you." His voice was soft. "I see you, Lyra Kulkarni. And I'm not going anywhere."
Her hand was shaking. Just a little. Just enough for him to see.
"You should be scared," she said.
"I'm not scared."
"You should be. I have a knife to your throat."
"No. You have a knife near my throat. There's a difference." He smiled. "You're not going to hurt me, Lyra."
"You don't know what I'll do."
"I know." He reached up. Slowly. Carefully. His fingers touched her wrist. Her skin was cold. Her pulse was fast. "You're not going to hurt me. Because you're not that person. And because you don't want to."
She stared at him. Her hand was shaking. Her breath was fast. Her face was not blank anymore. Something was breaking through. Something she had been holding back for years.
"Why?" she asked. Her voice cracked. "Why do you keep pushing?"
"Because someone should." He took the knife from her hand. Slowly. Carefully. She let him. "Because you shouldn't disappear. Because someone should see you."
She stood there. Her hands were empty. Her face was open. Her eyes were wet.
"You're bleeding," she said.
He touched his neck. There was no blood. The blade had never cut.
"I'm not bleeding," he said.
"You should be."
"But I'm not."
She stared at him. Her fingers twitched at her sides. She wanted to reach for the knife again. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to disappear back into her corner, back into the dark, back into the person she had been before he walked into her life.
She didn't do any of those things.
"You're an idiot," she said.
"I know."
"You almost died."
"I didn't almost die. You held a knife to my neck. There's a difference."
"There's not."
He smiled. "You didn't cut me."
"I could have."
"But you didn't."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she stepped back. She went to her corner. She stood there, her back to the room, her face to the window.
But her hands were empty. And she didn't tell him to leave.
---
Alex walked to the kitchen. Care was waiting. Her face was calm. Her hands were steady.
"You have a knife," Care said.
"I have a knife."
"She held it to your neck."
"She held it near my neck. There's a difference."
Care looked at his neck. There was no mark. No cut. No blood.
"She didn't hurt you," Care said.
"No."
"She wasn't going to hurt you."
Alex touched his neck. The skin was cold where the blade had been.
"No," he said. "She wasn't."
Care looked at him for a long moment. Then she looked at Lyra in the corner. Lyra was standing still, her face to the window, her hands at her sides. But her shoulders were shaking. Just a little.
"She's scared," Care said.
"I know."
"Not of you. Of herself."
Alex looked at Lyra. He saw the shaking shoulders. The empty hands. The way she was holding herself together, brick by brick, like a wall that was about to fall.
"I know," he said.
Care touched his arm. "Be careful with her."
"I will."
He walked back to the corner. He sat in his chair. He didn't say anything. He just sat there, close enough to be there, far enough to give her space.
The minutes passed. The room was quiet.
Then Lyra spoke.
"You should be scared," she said. Her voice was quiet. Almost a whisper.
"I'm not scared."
"You should be."
"Why?"
She turned. Her face was still blank, but her eyes—her eyes were something else. Something raw. Something broken.
"Because I could have hurt you," she said. "Because I wanted to hurt you. Because when you said my name, when you said it in front of everyone, I wanted to make you stop. I wanted to make you—" Her voice cracked. She stopped.
Alex stood up. He walked toward her. Slowly. Carefully.
"Lyra," he said.
"Don't say my name."
"Lyra."
"I told you not to say it."
He stopped in front of her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to see the tears she was trying to hide.
"You wanted to make me stop," he said. "But you didn't. You could have hurt me. But you didn't. You could have cut me. But you didn't. You could have pushed me away a hundred times. But you didn't."
She looked at him. Her face was wet now. The tears were falling. She wasn't hiding anymore.
"Why?" she asked. "Why do you keep coming back?"
He reached up. Slowly. Carefully. His fingers touched her face. He wiped the tears from her cheek.
"Because you're worth coming back to," he said. "Because you're worth waiting for. Because you're worth—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Because I see you, Lyra. And you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
She stared at him. Her face was open. Her eyes were raw. Her walls were gone.
"You're an idiot," she whispered.
"I know."
"You should run."
"I'm not running."
"You should."
"I'm not." He took her hand. His fingers laced with hers. Her skin was cold. Her hand was shaking. "I'm staying."
She looked at their hands. She looked at his face. She looked at the corner that was hers, the corner where she had been hiding for so long.
"Kulkarni," she said. Quiet. Like a secret.
"Kulkarni," he said back.
She almost smiled. Almost.
"Don't say it again," she said.
"I'm going to say it every day."
"You're going to get hurt."
"Probably."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she squeezed his hand. Just once. Just enough for him to feel it.
And in the corner that was hers, for the first time in years, Lyra Kulkarni let someone stay.
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END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN