POV: Joe
This is our night.
I hadn't had many expectations lately; in fact, I didn't think you'd say yes. Not after seeing you have so much fun with your friends… and with Ayanokoji.
Since when did you two get so close?
Tonight, I couldn't just be Benji's caretaker. I left a couple of things for him to eat in the cage while he slept. I'd never heard anyone snore that loud; the echo bounced through the basement like a growl.
How could you sleep with someone so noisy?
While waiting for our moment, I went over part of the inventory. Ethan knows he's not allowed in the basement without my permission. The same applied to Ayanokoji, though he started showing curiosity, asking me directly why. He even mentioned that if it was a badly damaged book, he could handle it himself—he'd taken restoration courses before working at the bookstore.
I had to take the train to New Haven to use Benji's card. Step one: empty his money. He probably won't need it later. I planned everything carefully to leave no traces that could raise suspicion later. Benji comes from a wealthy family; it wouldn't be strange if someone started wondering why he suddenly stopped answering messages or missing family gatherings.
I'll use his own phone to build a new story. A public narrative. Thanks to the thousands of people following him on Twitter—you included—I can plant Benji Ashby's descent into drugs and decadence without any problem. The latter was already part of him, and you know it.
I withdrew two thousand dollars from his account and immediately began shaping the plan. I posted something light, trivial, on his profile: a reference to a Yale bulldog, that stupid dog of an acquaintance of his.
"The #originalbulldog is back. #QuetalHeaven #emeyyo"
This way, everyone will think—you will think—that Benji went back to his alma mater to party hard. And since Ivy League alumni love reunions with old friends, no one will question the alibi.
Before returning, I had to make an adjustment. I had left the machete too visible in the basement. Even though Benji doesn't know where I hide the key, I don't want to risk discovering just how curious he can be.
Benji + Machete = I don't want to know the outcome.
When I got back, I found him awake. He was sitting, back against the glass of the cage, staring at his shoes. He noticed the lights turn on and then looked at me.
"Hey, I woke up early. What are we doing tonight?" Right then, I got a notification on my phone. A message from you. A smile appeared naturally, inevitable. But of course, Benji wasted no time speaking.
"Is that Beck? Joe, if that's what you want… she's all yours." He said, then looked back at his shoes, fiddling with the laces.
This idiot recognized me from that time he saw me with you in a taxi. Now he knows who I am. And that means he'll never get out of here.
He thinks I'm keeping him locked up because of you, that this is all simple obsession. And while there's some truth in that, it's more complicated. Spoiled kids, raised with money, never understand that if they're in a dungeon, the best thing is to keep their mouth shut.
He talks about you as if you were his, like a BMW that can be gifted or sold to the highest bidder. But you're not a luxury car in pieces.
"Joe, this really isn't necessary. I'll step out of your way and move on with my life. This never happened." He repeated, clinging to hope.
I stayed calm. I feigned serenity while replying to your message.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. I hope you had sweet dreams. See you at 8:30 PM at the Union Square steps. When it gets dark, we'll go somewhere else."
Sending the message loosened the knot in my chest. Anxiety mixed with an urgent need: I need to see you. I need to see you.
I took a handwritten list. I had bothered asking Benji about his favorite books, intending to interrogate him later. But it was pointless. Too pretentious, too idiotic. Not worth the effort.
Before even knowing who I was, he'd offered me a ride in one of his family's jets. I'd learned a few things about him in this short time: he's allergic to gluten, to dairy… according to him, consuming them could kill him. He got offended by the breakfast I left him, like a spoiled child.
Can you believe it, Beck? Someone like that can't be for you.
That's why I have to keep him away, even if it means risking prison.
If it's for you, I can do anything.I swear it.