The Risks

July: Chapter 61

How long?

How long had I had to prepare for this moment? How many hours had I lie awake at night rehearsing this conversation in my head? Why was it that now that the moment was finally here –after months of doubt, months of hopelessness, months of thinking I'd never get to ask the questions that swarmed my mind- I had no idea where to start?

I worried that as soon as I opened my mouth, I'd lose it, that I'd become unhinged, that the words would come bubbling up like word vomit and nothing would make sense.

I had to stay cool and collected. I'd finally got George to fear me, and I couldn't do anything that might lose me my leverage.

I paced to the chair and lowered myself slowly, watching the way George sagged in his own seat, the way his face pinched in pain every time he moved.

Good.

"I have some questions, and you're going to answer them."

His gaze floated to mine, distant and fuzzy.

"Give me the vaccine," he said between grit teeth. "Please. Please."

My eyebrows rose slightly, surprised. I couldn't think of a single time I'd ever heard him say that word to me –or at all for that matter. And now here he was, completely at my mercy, asking me to be his savior.

A smile crept onto my face, slow and pleased, and I thought fleetingly that maybe I was in too dark of a place. It shouldn't feel this good to see the desperation in his eyes.

Maybe I had become exactly what I feared. Maybe I had become too much like him.

No. I couldn't believe that.

I had been an innocent child that he had taken his frustrations out on. He had manipulated me, abused me, tortured me, and tried to kill me. And most unacceptably, he'd tried to kill my baby.

But this was more than just a personal vendetta. He'd worked so hard to destroy everything while I was trying to rebuild it.

And not once did I ever ask for his mercy. Not once did I ever beg.

I'd always been stronger than him. It just took until now to realize it.

"I could just let you turn," I told him absently, turning the syringe around in my fingers. "It might even be... poetic."

"Fine," he spat, then winced as he straightened in his chair. "Ask you questions."

"I want honest answers. No more lies."

He nodded once.

Where to start?

We had time –hours at least- before the effects of the infection where too much to come back from. So what better place to start than the beginning?

"How did you meet my mom?"

What I really wanted to know was what had she seen in him. My mom had always been so soft spoken, so kind, and George was the complete opposite. How could she have ever loved a man like him?

He scoffed. "Really?"

I looked at him pointedly, tucking the syringe into my pocket.

"By happenstance," he answered. "I wasn't looking for someone to share my life with, but there was something about her. I was drawn to her immediately."

I grimaced, my stomach turning in disgust. George wasn't the kind of man to be drawn to someone's kind heart or gentle demeanor. So now the question was, what did he see in her? The fact that he saw something he liked had heart-sinking implications.