𝕊𝕥𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 ℂ𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 ➶

𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪-𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖: ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

Any normal boyfriend would have started to sweat when his girlfriend --or, rather, one of his girlfriends-- said those four simple words. Hell, they certainly made Valentina sweat. Two out of her three break-ups started out like that. First, "We need to talk," then, "It's not working out," and she couldn't remember the rest. Must have blocked it out.

Gomez wasn't most boyfriends, though. He was built different. "Ominous..." He noted before cheerfully continuing, "I like it! What would you like to talk about, querida?"

Again, with the pet names! They called her by them so often that sometimes she wondered if they'd flat-out forgotten her real name. Then again, "valentine" was close enough.

God, she really didn't want to have this conversation here and now, not with Vincent listening in from underneath the bed. But he wanted evidence... And what better evidence was there than a confession?

"That night in the greenhouse--"

"The night I fell in love?" Here, he leaned in to kiss her again... But she turned her head at the last second and his kiss landed on her ear rather than her cheek.

"Before that," she stressed. "You attacked me. I thought you were going to kill me... Is that true? Are you capable of murder, Gomez?"

"Everyone is capable of murder. Even you, mio angelo."

Valentina didn't know how to phrase it, so she just came out and said it. "A little psychic told me that they had a vision of you killing Deuce." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

If Gomez was surprised by the accusation, he didn't show it. Instead, he just hummed. "Was this a certified psychic or a novice?"

She wasn't about to name her source, lest it paint a target on his back. "What difference does it make?"

"All the difference in the world! An untrained psychic is a monster courting madness. Often they have a hard time differentiating fact from fiction, visions from living nightmares." Vincent hadn't said anything like that, just that his visions weren't always true. Still...

"You're talking in circles. Answer the question, Gomez."

"What question?"

"Are you a killer?"

He didn't deny it right away, which was something that put her on edge. "I'm a ladykiller, I'm a maneater... Honestly, I'm kind of a trollop." "Trollop," he said. A nicer word for a hussy, a minx, a slut.

But the possibility of Gomez being bisexual was a conversation for another day.

"Did you kill Deuce Petropolus?" Valentina outright demanded.

He shrugged. "Why would I?"

"I don't know... I don't know!" She answered. "He's your friend. Maybe... Maybe, because..." But she wasn't about to give him a reason.

Maybe he already had one, though.

Another hum. "Let me rephrase the question... What happened the night of the Rave'N, cariño?" When she didn't reply --refused to speak-- for a long spell, he continued, "You disappeared not thirty minutes into the dance, only to reappear in the wee hours of the morning."

"It sounds like you already know." Her words came out as barely a whisper.

Gomez's hands tightened around her waist until he was almost pinching her. He was still smiling, but his smile was closer to what it had been the night he attacked her: more like that of a vicious animal baring its teeth. "Jealousy can drive any man mad." That's what Vincent had said, almost right down to the letter.

Valentina pushed him further away. "It wasn't like that! Not between me and Deuce!"

"Is that so?" He asked with a curious tilt of his head before shrugging again. "Then I had no reason to kill him."

"Did you, though?" She asked, nearly begged. She had to know she wasn't dating a killer, didn't --directly or indirectly-- cause the murder of one of her classmates.

"Who's asking? You or your little psychic?" He was teasing her now, like this was just another game.

"Me."

"I'll tell you what. You tell me, honestly and truthfully, what happened the night of the Rave'N... And I'll tell you, honestly and truthfully, whether or not I killed Deuce. What do you say?"

It was a fair deal: she'd give him a motive and he'd give her a confession. She still didn't want to agree to it... But what other choice did she have?

"Deuce stumbled upon me crying--"

"Why were you crying, querida?"

"No questions! Deuce stumbled upon me crying and offered to distract me. He took me to Jericho. We talked over a cup of coffee. Then he suggested dancing. I accepted. We danced until it got late. Really late. My feet hurt, so Deuce left to get the car. But he must have forgotten about me or something, because he abandoned me on the curb. I hitched a ride back to Nevermore."

"That's all?" He asked in a low tone, eyes flashing like lightning across a midnight sky. The look he gave her made her shiver.

Not exactly. Valentina left out the part where Deuce kissed her. Gomez already looked murderous, like he might actually kill the boy if he ever showed his face at Nevermore again. She didn't want to light an even bigger fire under the gorgon's funeral pyre. So... "Yes."

He gazed into her eyes for the longest time, as if he were weighing her heart against a feather, before eventually saying, "Well, since you've been so open with me, I'll return the favor. I didn't kill Deuce."

She inhaled so suddenly that she almost choked on her own spit. "That's it?"

"Of course! Deuce was my friend."

"Was?"

"He stopped being my friend the second he hurt mia bambina." Another kiss, this one pressed to the tip of her nose. It tickled a little, made her feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside, like her skin was lined with teddy-bear fur.

Guilt crashed over her like a wave. "I-- I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to accuse you of anything! I just-- I needed to know."

"Nonsense!" Gomez laughed. "If you killed someone for me, I'd want to be the first one to know, too! But we really should be heading back to your room. Tish is probably done with fencing by now and waiting on us."