hard, telling me there is no going back. Once you hear a thing, you know it forever.
Is it better to be ignorant? I’ve been in this situation before with Pippa, where I could have said Please, don’t tell me, and maybe then she’d still be alive. Instead, I let her talk about her eating disorder, plans for treatment, how she’d tell her parents, and she didn’t notice the car coming too fast. It only takes an instant for brain death to occur.
Seeking truth can be dangerous. But a deal is a deal and if Z wants to scare me, let’s see him do his worst.
“I’m listening,” I say, my voice steel.
His shoulders drop as he lifts haunted eyes to mine. If I have rooms locked away within me, he has whole countries. “When I said my parents were dead, I omitted an important piece of the story. I killed my father.”
Beth
Y ou…killed your father. But…wait…how?” It’s as if the thick fog outside has entered my brain. Z—a murderer? Something is off. I’m not sure what but I need more information.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” I don’t know why but it does. My gut says this isn’t a guy who goes around ice picking others in the back. Although, then again, how many people do I know that I’d be like, Oh, yes, him? Yeah, I totally expected that guy to be a murderer.
Not many. Not anyone.
“There are ways to kill a man without giving him a bullet.”
“So you didn’t physically do it?” I swallow hard, my shoulders dropping a little. Calm down. Remember Z is a little bit—okay¸ a lot bit—dramatic. It serves him well when unveiling new products and capturing national attention during Zavtra Tech’s annual sales meeting conferences. There is speculation that part of his reclusive Howard Hughes act is also to foster that image of mysteriousness. But right now he doesn’t appear to have a big act to play. He looks almost boyish. At last that wave of hair flops over his forehead and he doesn’t move a muscle to shove it back into place.
“You are an interesting woman,” he says.
“It’s funny to be called that,” I whisper. “A woman.”
“Why?”
“I am not quite sure when I ceased to be a girl.” But as I say the words, I see it’s a lie. I know when my girlhood ended. It was before my parents’ betrayal. It was the day when I sat, strapped in a crushed car, smelling my best friend’s blood, feeling the wetness leach into my favorite shirt.
“You are tough and not altogether innocent. The sort of woman who scares most men.”
I think to my roommate, Courtland, and the cocky way he grinned at me, as if he could smell the desperation wafting from my body like a pathetic pheromone. “You’re wrong. Besides, I don’t like talking in circles. You told me you killed your father, but then alluded that it wasn’t through physical violence. What did you do?”
His eyes harden and at last the correct color of his irises comes to mind.
Granite.
“I took away the one thing in his life that he lived for,” he says.
“If you’re trying to frighten me, I promise that it’s not working.”
His lips twist in the corner. “You have stared into the darkness too. It was one of the first things I saw about you.”
“When did you see me?”
“I always watch you,” he says simply.
“The camera. The one over my desk.”
He inclines his head.
I knew it. “I have to say, that doesn’t feel like a romantic gesture. I’d actually argue it’s questionable behavior.”
“You do not know how much of my day I’ve spent, staring at you, at your desk, your hands on the keyboards, your brows furrowed in concentration. I’d wonder, ‘What is she thinking? What is happening in her day that gives her that strange little smile or frown?’ Yes. I wondered about you. And that is most unusual seeing as I don’t wonder about anyone.”
“Kiss me,” I challenge him. He twists around words and dances from truths. But he can’t evade body language.
He gazes at me as if I’m
Is it better to be ignorant? I’ve been in this situation before with Pippa, where I could have said Please, don’t tell me, and maybe then she’d still be alive. Instead, I let her talk about her eating disorder, plans for treatment, how she’d tell her parents, and she didn’t notice the car coming too fast. It only takes an instant for brain death to occur.
Seeking truth can be dangerous. But a deal is a deal and if Z wants to scare me, let’s see him do his worst.
“I’m listening,” I say, my voice steel.
His shoulders drop as he lifts haunted eyes to mine. If I have rooms locked away within me, he has whole countries. “When I said my parents were dead, I omitted an important piece of the story. I killed my father.”
Beth
Y ou…killed your father. But…wait…how?” It’s as if the thick fog outside has entered my brain. Z—a murderer? Something is off. I’m not sure what but I need more information.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” I don’t know why but it does. My gut says this isn’t a guy who goes around ice picking others in the back. Although, then again, how many people do I know that I’d be like, Oh, yes, him? Yeah, I totally expected that guy to be a murderer.
Not many. Not anyone.
“There are ways to kill a man without giving him a bullet.”
“So you didn’t physically do it?” I swallow hard, my shoulders dropping a little. Calm down. Remember Z is a little bit—okay¸ a lot bit—dramatic. It serves him well when unveiling new products and capturing national attention during Zavtra Tech’s annual sales meeting conferences. There is speculation that part of his reclusive Howard Hughes act is also to foster that image of mysteriousness. But right now he doesn’t appear to have a big act to play. He looks almost boyish. At last that wave of hair flops over his forehead and he doesn’t move a muscle to shove it back into place.
“You are an interesting woman,” he says.
“It’s funny to be called that,” I whisper. “A woman.”
“Why?”
“I am not quite sure when I ceased to be a girl.” But as I say the words, I see it’s a lie. I know when my girlhood ended. It was before my parents’ betrayal. It was the day when I sat, strapped in a crushed car, smelling my best friend’s blood, feeling the wetness leach into my favorite shirt.
“You are tough and not altogether innocent. The sort of woman who scares most men.”
I think to my roommate, Courtland, and the cocky way he grinned at me, as if he could smell the desperation wafting from my body like a pathetic pheromone. “You’re wrong. Besides, I don’t like talking in circles. You told me you killed your father, but then alluded that it wasn’t through physical violence. What did you do?”
His eyes harden and at last the correct color of his irises comes to mind.
Granite.
“I took away the one thing in his life that he lived for,” he says.
“If you’re trying to frighten me, I promise that it’s not working.”
His lips twist in the corner. “You have stared into the darkness too. It was one of the first things I saw about you.”
“When did you see me?”
“I always watch you,” he says simply.
“The camera. The one over my desk.”
He inclines his head.
I knew it. “I have to say, that doesn’t feel like a romantic gesture. I’d actually argue it’s questionable behavior.”
“You do not know how much of my day I’ve spent, staring at you, at your desk, your hands on the keyboards, your brows furrowed in concentration. I’d wonder, ‘What is she thinking? What is happening in her day that gives her that strange little smile or frown?’ Yes. I wondered about you. And that is most unusual seeing as I don’t wonder about anyone.”
“Kiss me,” I challenge him. He twists around words and dances from truths. But he can’t evade body language.
He gazes at me as if I’m
Similar Books
