Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

I say, “Okay. Let’s say I accept what you’re telling me.
Let’s say we move forward with the assumption that I know
you’re on Santa’s naughty list.”
He sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s so much fucking worse
than that.”
“Please stop cursing at me. I’m trying to say something.”
He opens his eyes and looks at me, his eyes blazing. A
muscle twitches like crazy in his clenched jaw.
Fascinated by that rebellious muscle, I trace it with the tip
of my finger.
He stills under my touch, so much so that it seems as if
he’s stopped breathing.
I say softly, “My whole life, I’ve been good. I made all the
right decisions. I didn’t do anything foolish or wild. Even
when I was a kid, I followed all the rules. None of that
protected me from the worst of what life had to offer. Being
good didn’t keep me from being hurt, or being depressed, or
wishing more days than not that I had the guts to kill myself to
escape the pain.
“That you’re honest enough to tell me what you just did…I
suppose it should make me afraid, but instead, it makes me
feel safer. It makes me want to trust you. Because the truth is
always so much harder than making up something pretty. I’d
rather have the ugly truth than a beautiful lie.
“So let’s just go on our date like two normal people. Let’s
enjoy ourselves. After that, we’ll take it one day at a time. An
hour at a time if we have to. There’s no need to settle
everything tonight. Okay?”
He gazes at me in tense silence for a long moment. I see
the wheels turning behind his eyes. Then he nods, grudgingly,
as if agreeing to keep seeing me is against his better judgment.
That makes me feel safer with him, too.
Nobody truly bad would put another person’s well-being
before their own.
Narcissists and psychopaths don’t operate that way.