He has a point. I need to watch where I put my damned feet. “I can’t even hide without screwing up.” I aim for humour with a little self-deprecation sprinkled on top, but Ben’s response is serious.
“Hiding is fine. Sometimes you’ve got to hide. Just try not to blindly react.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your life is a series of blind reactions, Jules. Each time you fail to take control—move with intention—you let everyone else take charge of your actions, leaving you with no choice but to react. It’s like you forgot you are your own person. Make choices. Move with purpose. Be conscious of yourself.”
“I intended to get the hell away from what I heard. Therewasintention.”
“No. You stumbled back in reaction to what you heard. Same as you did on the stairs and the same as you did in the Tower. You moved without thinking and it got you caught. If you had intended to leave, you would have turned around, snuck out the door and back to the apartment without making a sound.”
“How is that different?”
“Intention, Jules. Ask yourself if you control your every move or if you find yourself exhausted because you are constantly reacting to what others do first? When you are hungry, do you seek food, or do you wait for someone to present you with a sandwich? When you are bored, do you seek a pastime, or do you wander around until someone tells you what to do? When you are backed into a corner, do you wait for them to withdraw, or do you force them out of your space? Who is the master of your life, Jules? Because the answershould beyou.”
Fuck. I’m embarrassed. It hurts getting schooled by someone who barely knows me but has already seen me so damn clearly. Way too fucking clearly; the sandwich with Dax, my listlessness yesterday, his appearance in the laundry room and my closet…Ben and I need to talk about his obvious stalking issue. Sadly, he is also fucking right. I’m not the master of my life. What he’s saying resonates with Sylvie’s advice, too. Like I’ve been a chess piece in someone else’s hands instead of a player moving her own pieces. It hits home and reminds me of the resolve I felt this morning and of the plan I still need to enact.
“Actually Ben, you’re right. I need to go back. I’m meeting with Dax. It’ll look strange if I don’t show…plus he has me tagged.” I lift my phone out of my pocket and hit the button to light up the screen. The light blinds me for a second, but then I catch the soft expression on Ben’s face as he stares into my eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asks, flicking his glance away, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Yeah. Frank was right about one thing; I need something from Dax. Something I’m determined to get.” But not because I’m a gold digger, because it’s already mine.
“You know I’ll probably listen in, right?” he admits brazenly.
“Do what you have to.” I shrug. I don’t plan on sharing anything intimate with either of them. It doesn’t hurt me if Ben knows I want to continue my course and clearly, he’s stalking everything I say or do, regardless of consent. I suspect he’s the kind of guy who holds onto secrets like they’re currency. “We’ll be having a serious talk about your voyeurism kink soon, though. I’ll even introduce you to my favourite book: the dictionary. We’ll start with the letter P for PRIVACY.”
Ben snorts. “Okay. Whatever you say, Honey Bee. I’m going to take your hand now. Keep the phone light off in case someone notices it in a doorway crack.”
I tap the screen light off and hold out my hand. Despite myblindness, Ben has no such difficulty and wraps his fingers around mine and squeezes. I wonder how much time he spends alone wandering in the dark.
“I think I get it now,” he mumbles.
“Get what?”
A small huff of a chuckle buffets the air. “Nothing, Jules. Just stuff.” His cagy response is suspicious considering he’s been more than honest with me so far. Like everyone else in this house, Ben omits facts, but he’s not once lied to my face, not even that first night in the hospital. He was careful not to say certain things, but he never openly lied, either. The thought is oddly reassuring.
It’s a realisation I take full advantage of with my next question.
“Were you selling the information in that envelope?” I ask bluntly.
“No. I wasn’t.” His response is fast and assured. His returning question catches me off guard. “Did you read what was inside it?”
I give him the same definitive response, “No. I didn’t,” then tack on another question. “Are you working for Franz or any of those fucks?”
“I’m loyal to only myself, Tom, and Dax.”
“Not Frank?”
I sense more than see him shake his head. “It took me a long time to realise that Frank used me. He saved me, but he used me too. So no, not Frank.”
I notice he didn’t mention Sylvie either, but I don’t ask about that. From the sounds of it, she’s a newer fixture in all their lives—if you can call ten years new.
We arrive back at the office door, and I risk one last question, a more personal curiosity than anything else. “Why do you call me Honey Bee?”
“Because from the second you appeared on the stairs of Olive Tower, you’ve been a constant buzzing in my head,” he admits.
I have to admit I’m a little offended. “Sorry that I’m such a persistent irritation.”
