He looked her dead in the face.
"Just stop this bullshit. Master. Slave. All that shit. Cut it. And get out of my life."
Milady stared at him. Tears still coming. Then she nodded, small and ugly.
"Fine," she whispered. "I can't take this anymore anyway."
Ray frowned. "That's it? You're just done?"
"I have to be like this." She pressed her palms against her eyes. "Being negative is the only way I can hold that rotten identity down."
"Rotten identity." Ray turned toward her. "The hell does that even mean. What's she do."
Milady dropped her hands. She didn't decorate it.
"She's a killer."
Ray went still.
"I'm not," Milady said. "I mess with people. I have fun. I make a scene. That's it. Her? She does accidents. School bus. A car hitting a pregnant woman. Things that look like bad luck until you count the bodies."
Ray's jaw tightened. "And you keep her in by being an asshole."
"Yes. If I start being good, my head gets weak. She takes over."
"For how long."
"Twenty minutes."
