“What is it?”
I straighten my spine. “I have to pick a disorder and write about it. I need to interview you.”
His eyes narrow, and he folds his arms across his chest. “So you chose mine?”
I ease my MacBook onto the marble dining room table, sitting in the chair next to his.
“Yeah. I figured this would be the perfect time for me to get to know you since I’m stuck with you and all.”
So I can study you like a lab rat and learn your weaknesses and hurt you.I keep those thoughts to myself, though. Can’t let the enemy know what I’m up to.
He crinkles his nose and smirks. He places his arm on the back of my chair. “Interesting.”
That’s the thing I don’t like about Irvin. He’s not going to let me know if he knows I’m onto him. He’s a true predator, and I’m his prey. He’s watching me, sizing me up, seeing what my angle is. I have to be really careful with my words. If I come on too fast, he’s going to pull a fast one on me.
He gives me a slow look, staring at me intensely. Of course.
I fake a smile and fire up my laptop. “Do you have any other plans this evening?”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t.”
I inhale deeply and exhale, tapping my feet against the dark marble floor.
“Okay. You told me you were diagnosed with ASPD. How did you feel about it?”
I bring up a Microsoft Word doc on my laptop and pull up my list of questions.
He strokes the side of my cheek. “I didn’t feel anything about it at first, but I thought Jameson’s mother was full of shit.”
Heat blooms beneath my skin. My posture relaxes.Get it together, Lilac. Don’t let his touch affect you.I cock an eyebrow and type on the keyboard.
“Why?”
He leans forward, eyes lingering on my lips.
A blush creeps across my face. I want to draw into his touch, but I pull away. I shouldn’t want him touching me.
He is my enemy. I should hate him.
“She fucked me during our therapy sessions.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
Coldness wraps around my chest. Tears wet my eyes, and I wipe them away quickly. He was a child. A fucking child. How can someone take advantage of a kid? It explains why Irvin doesn’t respect boundaries. But I ask myself that about Emerson. We were kids when he took advantage of me.
He strokes his lips and the back of his head. “I’ve never told anyone she molested me.”
Why is he sharing this with me? Usually, Irvin doesn’t share much personal information with people. When I used to ask Lyrical about him, she would tell me he’s a very private man, which explains why he’s not close to any of the American Gods.
“Why didn’t you?”
His eyebrows draw together. “Because no one would believe me. She spread nasty rumors about me after I rejected her. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away from her.”
Numbness spreads through my limbs, and my stomach churns. “Why would no one believe you, Irvin?”
He traces his fingers on my palm. “Why would anyone believe me?”
