“You tell me.”
My lips ache to press a line of kisses along the curve of her neck, but I resist. Anything physical will dilute my next words, turn them into another play in our sexual games, and it’s not that.
The urge comes from somewhere deeper.
“I don’t want to give you up after the dance. I want you to stay.”
The ocean’s roar, the rustling trees, they’re nothing against her silence. My head pounds at the lengthening pause, afraid even a breath would dissolve our fragile connection.
Then her fingers tangle into my hair, yanking my head back with surprising strength. “Prove it.”
“Is that permission? Because all I need is one word.”
Ophelia moves until the cold plastic of her glass frames nudge my face, lips a hair’s breadth from mine. “Not by doing something you want to do. Prove it by doing something that scares you.”
It’s nearly impossible to read her eyes behind those dark lenses. “Like what?”
Her gaze calmly rests on my face.
You know what.
“The Chelsea thing’s nearly done. I can finance you. A flat, better clothes. Whatever you need. Just a few—”
“And when you’re out fucking someone for your dad’s next big deal, what do I do? Just lie there and wait?”
She gives a harsh laugh, her knee knocking against mine as she stands.
“No, I don’t think so. Why would I commit my life to you when you won’t do the same for me?” Her arms fold tight, likearmour. “I’ll see you after the dance, and you can watch. Just like you made me agree.”
I grab her ankle, holding her in place. “Please… just tell me why. Give me a chance to fix it.”
“Just.” She snorts, leaving such a long pause I’ve half given up by the time she resumes speaking. “Do you know what happened after my first attempt?”
I don’t know this script, haven’t any idea how someone normal would react. “You woke up with a hangover?”
“That too.” Her lips thin. “The last thought I remember from that night is worrying my mother would blame herself, and d’you know what she said when I survived?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Something haunted rests in the twist of her mouth, then it’s gone. “She didn’t fly back. She didn’t even call. I went to school the following Monday like usual, and no one followed up when I skipped my session with the school counsellor.”
She’s slipping away. I reach for her and she’s water. “You know I like you—”
“No.” Her ankle jerks free, the wind whipping her hair across her face. “I don’t know anything. All I have is your word for it, and from where I’m sitting, that’s not worth much.”
“When have I lied to you?”
“I don’t know.” The angrier she gets, the more clipped her voice. She folds her arms and turns away, voice muffling in the wind. “I know you say outrageous shit all the time to make it seem that way, but you could’ve been fooling me from day one and I don’t have enough experience of you to judge.”
“That’s not fair.”
“And I’m just meant to trust you?” She spins back, eyes narrowed, vicious. “A boy who got me stoned, so I’d answer his questions more freely?”
I spent my life being opaque; now I’m glass.
And it baffles me that Ophelia knows me well enough to anticipate every move yet still doubts me.
“Trust is meant to be hard.”
