I raise my hand to jab him in the throat, and he blocks my motion like swatting away a fly—but I knew he would. This gives me full access to jump onto him like a monkey, arms wrapped around his neck and legs tied to his hips.
His eyes widen, and he stumbles.Finally,I make a move that catches him by surprise.
“Another move, and you’re dead—you—you man pig!” I shake him with a deeper registered tone that is supposed to sound authoritative.
He laughs, exasperated and airy. “Man pig?” he says, placing his hands on my hips to hold me up. “Your hidden vault of insults is most impressive.”
“Did I catch you off guard?” I pant with a raised eyebrow.
“Mhm.” He’s smiling, watching me with a bewildering look as if I’m the crazy one. “An attractive woman leaping into one’s arms and wrapping her legs around their hips might give them the wrong idea though…” He sets me down, straightens his white shirt.“And then you ruined it with your very intimidating catchphrase.” He begins laughing to himself again.
“Attractive,huh?” I cross my arms. I’ve never compared myself to other women to know what is deemed as attractive. I have the narrow waist and long legs that most women dream of, but my skin is slightly golden instead of paper white, and my bum isn’t skin and bone. It’s round and cushioned when I sit. How would one know if they are attractive with these outrageous beauty standards?
“Semi-attractive.” He looks around the trees to see if anyone is near. “Ish.” He tilts his head.
For the next hour, we continue different tactics and approaches. He shows me step by step how he deflects and how to use his body weight against him. Finally, I let my body fumble to the grass in exhaustion. I’m not used to being this active for such a long period of time. Actually, not any time at all.
“I believe I understand something about you. About why you are dragging out telling me what happened to you.” I breathe in deeply, catching the scent of a warm cabin and roasted chestnuts. “I suppose it’s a theory. But if it is true, it makes us more alike than we thought.”
He half smirks. “What have you come up with?”
“I can’t talk about Scarlett… About what happened to her, because I can’t face what I have done. Speaking about the day she died would be like holding up a mirror and seeing myself for the villain I truly am. I cannot forgive myself, and that guilt is burning me from the inside out.” I pause, looking into his eyes as he lies next to me. “I know I recognize that feeling in you. The guilt of something you’ve done or someone you’ve hurt. I can see it when I look into your eyes, just as you can see it when you look into mine.”
After briefly looking away, his eyes connect with mine, the way fire catches to wood. “There is much irony in your words.” Sigh. “One day, you’ll understand.”
“You don’t have to confirm that I’ve uncovered something about you. I know I have.”
He ignores me. Gazing back up at the clear sky.
“What scares you most in this world?”
“Why would you want to know that?” he finally responds.
“Humor me.”
He looks down and then back up with an idea. “If you can figure that out by the ninetieth day, then I will tell you his name, and step away from the front.”
“You mean you have a choice if he is brought back to the surface or not?”
He nods once and blinks twice, as if that was an obvious observation.
“I accept the challenge.” I don’t know why I always let him suck me into his games, but I can’t bring myself to walk away from them. I feel the best way to get to him is not to resist but to let him consume me, as dangerous as that might be.
47. “Let Me In.”
A rare moment, like agift being placed into my hands.
The morning of the grand ball that Aurick is taking me tonight, and all I want is to sit right here. Because we had a good day yesterday, Dessin is granting me any rapid-fire questions I can think of, with only three questions that have veto power.
I mock Dessin’s cross-armed posture. We sit face-to-face on his white sheet covering the floor. A bowl of fruit is in front of us. Sliced apples, grapes, strawberries, and raspberries.
“Complete honesty,” I restate the terms.
He tosses a raspberry in his mouth.
“How old are you, really?”
“Twenty-two.” He smirks, a little thrown off that that is my first question.
