“He says that’s not your name,” he finally says.
My breath hitches.
“Who says?”
“You’d think I’m crazy if I told you.”
That makes me sad to hear. “No, I wouldn’t.”
Kane considers this, and sighs. “I have dissociative identity disorder. There’s another alter in my head who just told me you’re lying about your name.”
And I bet I know which alter that is.
But I can’t think of a rebuttal fast enough.
“That’s okay,” Kane says, stretching his legs. “Your secrets are your own.”
“Thank you.”I wish I could tell you my last name is Valdawell too.
My stomach twists and dips as the drugs leave me spinning again. I close my eyes, holding onto the arm of the chair in hopes it will subside by grounding myself.
The table in front of me creaks as Kane moves, hopping off of it.
“Hold still,” he instructs, tugging and readjusting my IV bag.
I peek through my lashes as he swaps the medication with something else.
“This should flush the drugs out of your system.”
The nausea is soothed slowly, lessening its violent hold on my gut. I observe Kane hiding my former IV bag in a spot among some loose books. Leaning against the shelf, he crosses his arms and watches my reaction thoughtfully.
“You can try and escape…” he offers with a shrug. “But they’ve gotten good at hunting women down who try to leave.”
Somehow, being in his presence does not scare me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
“No?”
“I am exactly where I need to be.”
“Hmm.” Kane tilts his head and loses focus again, eyelids looking heavy and tired. After a moment of looking confused, he rubs a hand over his face.
“What?” I ask.
“You have a familiar face. But I know we’ve never seen you before.”
I agree with a nod. “No, we’ve never met.”
He looks down in thought again. “You remind me of someone.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes.” With a quick once-over, he scans my face. “Your green eye. Wavy hair. Your cheekbones.”
The inside of my chest runs warm, turning gooey and soft.
“And who do I remind you of?”
