The Other Man

I had a thought.  “You’re military, aren’t you?”

He pretended not to hear that one, finishing his food before I’d even salted my eggs.

“The not touching me thing.  Is that going to be a deal breaker for you?” he finally asked, shooting his eyes at me.

His face was set in stone.  So much so, that if he smiled right then, I thought it might crack.

“I would like to touch you,” I said carefully.  “Is that going to be permanently off-limits?”

He took a deep breath.  “It was a long time ago, but you see this scar?”  He pulled his shirt up, baring his mutilated torso.  He dragged his thumb along the worst of his marks, the long jagged one that went up his side that had to have come from something awful.

I set down my fork and reached out, tried to touch it, but he grabbed my hand, holding it firmly in his.

“I see it,” I finally answered, because he seemed to be waiting for that.

“A woman did that to me.”

I blinked at him.  That I had not expected.

“We were fucking at the time,” he added.

Holy shit.  “Why—why would she do that?”

He grimaced.  “She was hired to kill me.  I guess she figured her best shot was to catch me when I was distracted, and it almost worked.”

Holy shit.

“Why would someone be hired to kill you?  Tell me what you’re involved in, Heath.  I have a right to know.”

His mouth twisted.  “For your own protection, I can’t tell you much.  But . . . I used to be a spy for the government.”

That did add up.  “Are you still?”

“It’s complicated.”

“What happened to that woman that tried to kill you?”

“I snapped her neck.”

He saw my face, took a deep breath, and added, “It fucked me up, but I was still inside of her when I did it.”

He was watching me closely, like he needed to see my reaction.

I was shaking, and it was an effort, but I kept my eyes on his.

“I had to,” he continued.  “I knew I’d bleed out if I didn’t get help soon, and if I’d passed out with her still alive, she’d have finished me.”

I nodded, still trembling.  I got it.  It sounded like a clear case of self-defense, but it was completely awful and like nothing I’d ever been exposed to.

This was heavy shit.  Even heavier than I’d suspected.

“And she wasn’t the only one,” he added quietly.  “I’ve killed a lot of people.”

I was outright shaking now.  I didn’t know how to react to this.  It was beyond my realm of experience.  So beyond it, I’m ashamed to admit that some small, pathetic noise escaped my throat.  It was quiet and involuntary, but Heath still heard it.

And addressed it.  Quite perfectly, I thought.

“Shh shh,” he uttered quietly, one hand reaching up to stroke my hair away from my face.  “Here’s why you shouldn’t be scared of me.  Yes, I am a killer.  I will never be a normal guy.  I do not blend in.  There are men out there like me, and God willing, you will never run into one, that blend in, that play normal, that would not trigger your instincts, or make you think they have the least thing wrong with them.  Those are the ones that you need to worry about.  I’m a killer, but I’m not a sociopath.”

Either I was completely naive, or he was completely masterful at manipulating me, but his alarming speech helped.

Still, it felt like something huge was stuck in my throat.  I swallowed with effort.  “But you’re only a killer because of your job?  You killed, like, bad guys, right?”

Jesus, I sounded like a kid that needed reassurance, I realized.

But I did.  I wanted badly to hear that he was one of the good guys.

“I followed orders, and when you’ve killed as many people as I have, it’s impossible to assume that they were all justified.”

This actually did make me feel better.  At least what he did had been controlled and had been done at someone else’s orders, not some compulsion of his own.

“I’m trying to be upfront with you,” he told me earnestly.  “But, and I know I’ve said this before, you do not need to be afraid of me.  I swear I’ll never hurt you.”

My heart did a slow turn in my chest.  The more vulnerable I realized he was, the harder I fell.  I knew it was naive of me, but I believed him.  Completely.

“I know you won’t,” I returned.

He took a very deep breath, sitting back, and as I watched him I witnessed some of the tension leaving him.

“Thank you for that,” he told me solemnly.  “Even my own sister is afraid of me, and while I understand it, it messes me up.”

A sister.  I tucked that bit of information away.

I was content to learn about him slowly, if that was what he needed, just so long as we were making some kind of progress.

“I’ll tell you what,” he began in a gruff tone.  “I’ll let you touch me when we aren’t having sex.  You let me tie you up when we are.”

Oh God.

With just a few words, he had me turned-on and alarmed in equal measures.

But then . . . as much as I knew I was jumping in head first, I did trust him, at least with something like this.