This nearly takes me out; I nearly lower the gun.
“Everything I’ve ever done,” she says, her voice fading to a whisper, “has been for her. I realize that’s not an excuse. I know I have no moral ground here. But doing my job meant I’d get the rations I needed to feed my sister.” She hesitates. Breathes. “They used her to control me, and I knew it and I didn’t care, even as their cruelty grew more apparent. They wouldn’t give me medicine for her, not even when she started throwing up blood, and even when they did toss me scraps, the returns were diminishing. They’d give me less and less each time, always expecting more.”
I shake my head. I feel like I’m at a breaking point. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”
“I just—” She hesitates. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
I look away, swallowing. I don’t know what to do with this girl. I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to these words.
“Sorry for what?” I say, and I sound wrecked. “For which part?For messing with my head? For coming into my life hoping to murder everyone I love? What’s your end game, Rosabelle? What were you going to do with that vial? Are you still planning on trying to use it? Are you plotting another escape right now?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Now I’m fucking losing it. I laugh like an idiot, the sound echoing off the walls. “You’re unbelievable. This is unbelievable. You haven’t decided yet? And yet you expect me to just preemptively forgive you for whatever you’re about to do—for anything you choose to do next—”
“Will you turn me around so I can see your face?”
“No,” I nearly shout.
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t look at you. If I look at you I’m going to do something stupid.”
“James—”
“Don’t say my name.”
I feel her tense. Then her shoulders drop, her head falls. She seems so small and vulnerable and I hate it. I hate this. I hate that I’m pressing this gun to her neck. I hate that her hands are tied behind her back.
I hate that she’s everything I hoped she wouldn’t be.
Rosabelle
Chapter 39
James swears softly under his breath.
We’ve come to a dead end.
After a series of circuitous turns through the labyrinthine tunnels, we’ve reached an inflection point. I look up at the towering ladder affixed to the wall, the exit door awaiting at the top. The tension in James’s body is coming off him in waves.
“I forgot about this part,” he says, shifting behind me.
It’s the first time he’s spoken to me in at least half an hour. His hands have been on my body for even longer, the heat and scent of him dimming my head, filling me with dizzying awareness. It doesn’t seem to matter that he hates me; there’s nothing I hate about him. He takes a breath, and I feel his unsteady exhale against my skin and I want to sink back against him. Feel the weight of his body around me, on top of me. Every time he touches me I wish he’d touch me again.
“I have to cut off your ties here so you can climb the ladder. Once we’re at the top, I’ll put on a fresh set. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Try to run,” he says, leaning into my ear, “and I will kill you.”
Somehow,I manage to breathe.
I hear him putting away his gun, then the slice of a knife unfolding, and then, moments later, the sharp tug of the ties before they come apart. He holds my wrists in one hand as he puts away his knife, and then he walks me to the base of the ladder like that, releasing me for only a second before grabbing a fistful of my coat, yanking me back against him.
I gasp.
Without my hands behind my back I can feel the press of his body against mine, hard and soft. So warm.
