“You can’t.”
This isn’t news to me. Not since a fourteen-year-old boy was trapped in a room where the door only opened from the outside. But I don’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it.
“Still so quiet.” Her voice shifts into that register I know too well, the one that gives you just enough warning to think you can brace for impact, right before she breaks you anyway. “She used to worry about that, you know. All that silence. She never knew what to do with it.”
There it is. The thing she always returns to. The thread she keeps because she knows exactly what it’s attached to.
I hold my breath because she reads rhythm the way other people read words, and if she hears how long I take to exhale she’ll know exactly how deep she’s already scratched.
“She’s well, by the way. In case you were wondering.”
The line crackles with everything I refuse to feed her.
“I know how you worry about her. It’s your most predictable quality. And your most useful one.”
The monitor shows the hallway outside Sophia’s bedroom, and I watch the door open. Usually, there’s an uptick in my heartbeat when I see her, but I keep it steady, keep it still. Keep it mine. There’s an irony to it, how the two most dangerous people in my life are occupying the same space right now, one of them in the dark without knowing it, and one of them on the phone making sure I don’t forget it.
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
The words land the way they always do—somewhere in the specific register of a predator who wants you to know you’ve been on their mind.
Sophia heads in the direction of the stairs, then I turn the monitor off, deciding the image of her isn’t something I want in front of me when I’m dealing with the devil. “I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t fondly.” A breath. “You know…I always feel it when you’re up to something.”
“Your intuition is impressive.”
“Don’t be clever with me. It’s unbecoming.” Her voice drops. “What are you doing?”
“What I always do.”
“And what is that?”
“Calculating.”
“Calculating? How very clinical. How very…you.” I hear her swallow her champagne. It’s always champagne because she treats everything like a celebration. “And what have your calculations told you?”
I look at my split knuckles. “That I’m ahead.”
“Are you.” Not a question. “That’s interesting. Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve developed a… variable.”
I don’t say a word.
“Variables are dangerous. You know that better than anyone…Nazareth.”
The inevitable knife twist. My name in her mouth. She saves it for moments like this when she wants me to remember exactly who named me and exactly who owns that name now.
I’ve stopped reacting to it a long time ago. “Variables can be contained.”
“You’ve always been so sure of yourself. I used to find it charming.” A pause. “I find it less charming now.”
“I’m going to hang up in ten seconds. If you have something to say, say it.”
“I didn’t raise you to be cocky.”
Anger moves through me, old and ugly, but I keep it chained. I’ve been keeping it locked up since the day I first understood what she was capable of, and I’m not about to stop now. “You didn’t raise me.”
“Perhaps. But I taught you one of life’s most valuable lessons. Surely you can give me credit for that.”
