Don't tell anyone but i think uri has a crush on virtus 

also i feel like i should remind all those reading that this book takes place in the 1970's so gay relationships were still very very looked down upon and 'taboo' therefore the horror of the moment is that much more dramatic and i enjoyed writing every second of it

Chapter Fifteen

Virtus has barely said a word to me for the past three days. I, in return, haven't spoken a word at all since the night his hand made contact to my face.

I'm not used to such a heavy silent treatment.  The audacity of him being angry at me is beyond my own comprehension, the nerve that he believes he has any reason to find me at fault for him leaving me in the dust.

If he had only put my name on the guest list, none of what happened, would have happened. It isn't rocket science.

I find myself ridiculously angry at his refusal to even acknowledge me half the time. It's not fair I always get blamed for things that I can't control. He uses me as his outlet, and I'm sick of being his emotional punching bag, whether he kills for a living or not.

I sit on the couch and watch him choose a new book from his pile of packed books. He pulls out a torn up, yellow copy of Wuthering Heights, to only drop the novel back down with a clear act of impatience. He's read every book he had packed, I only know that because I've watched him read each one. I've been forced to stay up due to the light he refuses to turn of well into the night.

I can not stand him. I wish he would say something. Why won't he even look at me?

I pull my knees up to my chest, and watch him. He doesn't turn to look at me once, and I'm only waiting for him to leave the room so I inevitably have to follow.

One thing I was told, though, was that we will be leaving New York this week, which is exciting, and terrifying all at once. I'm excited to leave, but terrified to face my family again. I'm not confident they'd even believe me, and I'd have no proof either.

I'm also not any closer to finding out about Cindy. Everything is messed up. This whole month has been essentially for nothing. I don't feel too good about that either.

Virtus finally picks a book, and leaves to the living room. Heaving a long sigh, definitely loud enough for him to hear, I stand up and follow him.  

He pours himself a glass of wine, sits on the couch, and opens the book that I can't read the cover of.

I stare at Virtus, then to the counter where the wine sat. I know it's a bad idea. I know I'd regret it. 

I want to drink. I'm so fucking bored.

I really shouldn't.

I move to the counter anyway, and I feel Virtus's eyes on my back as I pour myself a glass as well. I remember very clearly how stupid I acted last time I drank, and being a lightweight, there is no beneficial consequences to drinking the glass I hold in my hand.

I lift the cup up and drink anyway, wanting to forget the last month, and the weird feeling I've been getting lately whenever Virtus is inches away from me.

I think, that, above all things, is what I want to forget about the most.

One drink leads to two, and two leads to downing the whole glass. I think I've already lost control. 

I pour myself another glass, and sit on the other end of the couch, the farthest I could get from Virtus.  

I dare a glance at him, and to my surprise, and horror, he's staring straight at me. 

I feel the buzz of the alcohol in my head, but I ignore it, at least I try to. I cowardly drop my gaze back to my glass. I feel him still stare at me, and I wish I didn't. I wish he would look anywhere else. I also wish I didn't drink at all, because now I'm finding it hard to stop.

The sweet wine coats my tongue, and I don't think I've ever tasted something so fine, or maybe that's just because it's really expensive wine, and if I knew the cost of a simple drink of it, I'd spit it right out. I don't want to spit it out. I pretend it is an affordable cost, and I consume more.

I look again at the man beside me, and he still has not opened the book in his hand. He drinks and I drink, and I can't help but laugh to myself. 

We are a pathetic duo.

I lean my head back, feeling the swirling sensation in my veins due to the alcohol, or maybe I'm imagining it. I don't care much for the feeling. It doesn't stop me from getting up and pouring a third glass.

Half the night seems to pass by in a blur. I eventually lose count, or rather I stop counting all the drinks I have, and my hand begins to have trouble keeping the drink upright without spilling it.

Virtus seems to finally acknowledge my incredibly intoxicated state, by saying, "If you're trying to prove something it's not working."

I'm too tired to even turn my head and look at him. The wine has long since lost its taste, and feels bland in my mouth. I have another drink anyway because at this point I've lost all control of my own hand. "I'm not trying to prove anything." I pray I don't sound too completely wasted.

I don't know if it is just because I want to see it, but I have convinced myself that he was partially drunk too. It definitely makes me feel better about my loss of self-respect. 

He leans back, "You're childish, Uri. I'm so fucking sick of you."

His words bounce off me like rubber. Nothing can phase me right now. "And I have been sick of you since the day I met you." I fear nothing. The Bone Cutter, and his profession is nobody and nothing to me. I am on a whole new planet than him. I am entirely new.

I'm also really really drunk.

It seems he is also on a whole new planet because my words do not bother him in the slightest. But, of course, I am not a Bone Cutter, I am just a girl with a shaved head, wearing a tie. "Then we will both be glad when we return to D.C." He takes another drink, and I think he's mad, but I'm not sure.

"You will never have to see me again." The words don't feel as liberating as I expected them to.

Virtus doesn't respond either, and I'm beginning to wonder if I slurred the statement, or I'm even more drunk than I thought. Surely he'd have some sort of witty remark for that one.

I turn to look at him this time, only to find him staring directly at me. I'm so surprised to see him looking at me, that I slightly jump back, spilling wine all over my white shirt. I curse, but can't seem to stand up. Instead our eyes lock, and I feel the red liquid bleed into my binder and I really hope he doesn't notice my binder. 

Virtus surprises me even further by asking, "Why did you stay here?"

What am I supposed to say? The truth can't be the right answer this time. I just stare at him wide-eyed like an idiot. I am an idiot who should not have drank so much. I'm also uncomfortably stained with wine. 

He seems bored that I have no response, and inches closer, "I've been trying to figure you out all month, intern." He's so close I feel his breath on my face, and also he smells like wine, or maybe that's me. "You have a reason, and it's not because I told you to stay."

A shaky laugh escapes my lips and I lift the glass of wine back to my mouth, drinking an ungodly amount before he takes the glass away from me.

My heart is pounding; I am entirely scared of this man, and it is not because he kills people for a living. Forget being on a new planet, I am stuck on one lonely plate of land, and he is the god of it. A wasteland of a place, with nobody to help me. I want to leave. I don't know how to swim, though.

"I really don't know what you're talking about." I admit to him, "I'm an intern. What intern doesn't do as she is told?"

He stares at me, "She?"

Did I say she? "She, he, you know what I mean." 

He blinks at me for several seconds, and I attempt to get up off the couch, but I am dizzy because I am insufferably drunk.

He reaches out and grabs my arm, forcing me to stay where I'm sitting, refusing to let me get up at all. I swat him away, but it only makes his grip on me tighter and I hate him for it. "Let go." I say, trying to push his hand off.

"You're wasted." He speaks the obvious and I roll my eyes, because it's annoying to be told you're drunk when the wall in front of you is swirling and you suddenly want to shout out the lyrics to an Elvis song.

"And you're suffocating me." I try again to push him away, and this time he not only tightens his grip around me more, he uses his other hand to clamp around my shoulder. I was trapped.

"Enough, Uri."

I struggle to get him away, and the fruitless attempt angers me so much that I can't stop myself from saying, "You have imprisoned me for an entire month for God knows what, and now I can't even get drunk without you holding me down like some sort of animal? Have you forgotten I'm not your dog?" With one massive shove, I grip his shirt in my fists, and push him with all my strength away, only for him to continue holding on to me, and we both go flying off the couch. 

He lands on his back on the solid wood floor, and I'm on top of him, our faces only inches away from each other, and my heartbeat races, and I suddenly don't feel so drunk.

I can hear his breathing, his eyes focuses only on mine. I can feel his erratic heartbeat against my wine-stained chest, and it posses me.

I could listen to it forever. Each beat, each movement, like a hypnotic trance, it encourages me to lean down, closer to him. Closer to his lips. I'm definitely still drunk, and I think he might be drunk too.

I press my lips on his, and he freezes. I feel his body tense under me, all I can think about is the soft touch of his lips against mine. His warm breath, his body, his hand still clinging onto my arm.

I don't register the consequences of kissing him -until I do. 

I'm supposed to be a boy. To him, I am a boy. I'm a boy kissing another boy.

Oh my god.

Just as I'm about to push myself off him, he frantically pushes me away. I roll over onto the floor, and he sits up so fast, we just stare at each other, both equally as horrified but for very different reasons. 

I just kissed the Bone Cutter. The lips of an engaged man were on my lips. The lips of my cousin's murderer, and I fucking liked it.