“Why wouldn’t it matter?” I ask, my tongue tight.
He stares, and for some odd reason, the cloudiness of his eyes sticks shards through my heart. “Because you’ve moved on.”
My brows dip, my lashes sticking together with the tears still draining down my face. “I don’t know who you are.”
“If I was important, you wouldn’t have forgotten, Roslyn.”
“I’m not Roslyn,” I shake my head, slowly straightening my back.
His tense face softens, and the first actual movement happens in his hand, his fingers twitching humanly. “What did they do to you?”
“Who?”
“The people you think are your friends.”
The subtle dig at myfamilycuts my eyes to slivers, the last of my explosive emotions trickling to my chin. “Theydidn’t do anything to me. Who areyouto even assume that?”
He grins dully. “I’m everywhere all at once, acrobat. I hear the things they say when you’re not around.” Standing a little taller, as if he suddenly has confidence, he ties his hands behind his back and takes a single step closer. “If you don’t believe me, why not go through the files locked in the bottom left-hand drawer of the desk?”
He’s still not answering me. I’ve asked who he is several times and he’s deflecting.
Manipulation 101, welcome to class. Our first lesson is: DON’T FALL FOR IT. If only I remember that the next time Razor breathes near me.
“I don’t believe you. And I’m not gonna do that.” I shrug, feeling proud of myself for not falling small and caving in.
I guess I just, uh, needed practice with an apparition… or whatever he is.
“Hmm.” His bottom lip slightly folds in, his eyes finally slipping away from me as he walks toward the bookcase with his hands still clasped. “Then why are you the only one without memories?”
The only one without memories? … The only one without-
He’s screwing with me. He’s some manifestation of my insecurities or, like, a… I don’t know.
Now I’m looking back to the tank and wondering who did this and when. And the curiosity for the files this guy just brought up is tapping into my mind like it’d actually be a good idea to look.
“Ros? … Oh, that’s right…Bunny. How demeaning,” he finishes somberly, as if my name genuinely wounds him.
My eyes cut across the room, landing on him relaxed back against the large bookshelf, his arms folded loosely over his chest. “And what’s your name? You must have a good one.”
He grins upside down, the joy carving out small smile lines in his grayish skin. “Try and remember it for me… Youdidused to yell it.”
Disbelief drops my jaw, a sardonic laugh puffing off my tongue. “Yeah. I bet.”
Done with him, done with this, done with the permeating stench he seems to make worse, I move toward the door and sprinkle my fingers goodbye.
“Leaving me so soon?” he asks softly.
“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” Raising my brows at him, I get the door open and don’t spare another glance his way.
I leave. And my chest immediately breaks into little pieces. Because the possibility of him being the only that’s been honest with me hurts worse than the lies.
How… pathetic of me to be feeling this deeply over some words from a strange ghost, apparition, monster thing, but barely mustering a squeak while watching Razor…
I’m not bringing it up again. It seems like I’m exerting entirely too much effort intoconvincingmyself to be gutted over it, rather than actually being torn apart.
Scrubbing my teeth, the day rewinds and starts, intentionally skipping around to my least favorite parts.
No one’s back yet.
