“Be very careful, Samantha,” I warn steadily, my knuckles aching from holding the steering wheel so tightly.
“Why? What are you gonna do? Tie me to the bed and spank me? No, you’d like that too much. You’re no better than—”
“Would you like to know why I am the way I am? Why I warn girls like you to stay away from me? Because I’m dangerous, that’s why.” Gripped by rage, but also tired of always hiding and burying the thing that haunts me most, I pull off the highway and slam the Range Rover into park. I turn my furious gaze on Samantha. “You wanna know what happened to the last girl that I let go with? The last person who saw me when I wasn’t in control? Well, I would give you her phone number, but she wouldn’t answer. She’s dead. She’s fuc—”
Samantha’s gasp cuts into my mad tirade. Her eyes are wide with fear and pain. I look down and realize my fingers are wound around her upper arms, biting into her flesh. Like I’ve grabbed something hot, I let her go and push her back into her seat. My chest is heaving, my breath coming faster in my anger and emotion. It’s still rolling through me like an uncontrollable wave, a wave that I’m always fighting. Always.
I force myself to relax into my seat, letting my head fall back and my eyes drift shut. I concentrate on taking deep, slow breaths. We sit this way for several minutes before Samantha dares to speak.
“What happened to her?” Her voice is small, afraid. As it should be.
“I killed her, Samantha,” I grind between my gritted teeth. I lift my head and pin her with my disgusted gaze. “For just a few minutes, I wasn’t in control and I killed my girlfriend. I didn’t mean to, but do you think that makes me feel any better about it? Huh?” Samantha is shrinking back in her seat, against the door, her expression a mixture of emotion. And I hate every one of them. “What’s the matter? Not the answer you thought you’d get? You wanted me to tell you all about me. Well, there it is. So what now? Huh? What now? Where do we go from here? How do you suggest we proceed, Dr. Drake? In all of your infinite wisdom from writing tall tales about twisted vampires and helpless maids, what would you suggest I do to rid myself of this curse?”
Her troubled gray eyes are glistening with tears as she shakes her head. Her chin trembles, making me even more furious.
“How are you a…a doctor? Why aren’t you in prison?” she whispers.
I laugh. It’s a gush of the bitterness that’s eating at my soul. “Oh, I should be. In prison that is. But what happens when you’re the seventeen-year-old son of one of the most influential surgeons in all of Seattle is that you can afford the best lawyers money can buy. And those lawyers can convince people to take it easy on such an outstanding student with such a bright future. Even though it was an accident, by all rights, my life should’ve been ruined. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was all sealed up in a file when I turned eighteen and I went on with my plans like it never happened. But Alyssa didn’t. She couldn’t. Her life was over that night and she couldn’t go on. All the king’s men couldn’t put her back together again.”
I pound the steering wheel and slam my head back against the head rest, willing myself to calm down. My heart is jackhammering against my ribs and my skull is throbbing like something is trying to bust out of it.
“But it was an accident?” she asks quietly after several minutes, needing reassurance.
“Does it really matter, Samantha? She’s dead. To her, the circumstances don’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
Why those four words should penetrate the turmoil roiling in my gut is beyond me. But they do. I lift my head and look over at Samantha—this woman who I thought might give me some insight; this woman who I thought, in the deepest, darkest, most secret parts of my soul, might be able to help me—and I see someone desperate to believe the best in me. Even after all I just told her, she’s ready to believe something positive. All I have to do is throw it her way.
“Yes, it was an accident.”
“What happened?”
I feel drained all of a sudden. Tired of fighting. Tired of hiding. Tired of lying and pretending that I’m something I’m not. I’m a monster. Plain and simple. There’s something wrong with me. I’m messed up. Profoundly messed up. Maybe hiding it was never the answer.
“Alyssa and I started dating when I was a junior and she was a senior. She was from a well-to-do family, much like mine. Her father was in politics. And, just like most families, hers had its fair share of secrets. One was a dirty uncle that had a fondness for blondes.
“It didn’t take me long to learn what she liked. At first, I found it kind of strange and off-putting. It never scared me; I guess I just wasn’t into that kind of thing. At first. But then, the more she wanted me to do to her, the more I started to like it. That feeling of power, of domination.
“Even after she went off to college, we kept seeing each other. By then, we had a…special bond. We shared things that other people wouldn’t understand.
“One weekend, before I graduated, I went to stay with her at college. I was thinking about going to medical school there with her. We went to a couple of parties, had too much to drink and then went back to her apartment to have sex. On this particular night, she asked me to choke her. Said she wanted to feel it when I came, wanted to feel my fingers tighten then relax. So I did. I did what she wanted. Only I’d had so much to drink, it took me a little longer. I don’t know if I held on too tight. Or too long. Or maybe both. But when it was over, I couldn’t wake her up. I tried for a few minutes then I started CPR. But I just couldn’t get her back.”
I rub my aching forehead. I rush through the rest, tired of reliving the pain. “I called my father after that. And he worked his magic. Of course, it wasn’t too hard when Alyssa’s family didn’t want the truth known any more than my family did. It would’ve ruined them. Her fetishes, an abusive relative. Nasty stuff. So the bad guy got off and lived to fight another day. The end.”
The silence is deafening. I don’t bother to look over at Samantha. I don’t want to see the horror, the judgment, the revulsion on her face. Resigned to the damage that my confession has done, I put the Rover in drive and I pull back onto the highway.
Neither of us speaks the rest of the way to Samantha’s. I’m lost in the past and Samantha is…well, I have no idea what she’s thinking. And at the moment, I can’t manage to care. I’m consumed with remembered guilt. And fear. And pain. And regret.