Page 120 of Sinister

“And you’re in no place to make such demands⁠—”

“Fine,” Sin cuts me off in a brisk tone that chills me to the bone. “If you’re not going to tell me who the father is, then I need a list. A list of everyone you’ve slept with.”

“Wh-what?” I stammer out after a few seconds. “Sin, that’s insane!”

“Well maybe that’s because I am mad, Petra,” Sin says back in a smooth enough tone, but the look in his eyes is fervent and bright. “I’m mad for you, Petra. And I need to know.”

His words sound somewhat skewed, as if I am hearing them through a shaky tube. I try stepping around him, and my back slides across the wall.

“Sin, you’re scaring me,” I repeat as I move very, very slowly. “This doesn’t sound like you. Please . . . you need to calm down.”

And you need to get the fuck away from this guy! my inner voice yells in my head as Sin takes a step closer.

“Don’t you understand, Petra?” His voice is much watered with emotion and tears, but his face is . . . frankly terrifying. “Ever since the fall ball, the video . . . I can’t think straight. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. All I can think about is you and this . . . this baby. I need to know everything, Petra. I need you.”

“Sin, please,” I murmur back as he lightly tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “This isn’t the way. You’re not thinking clearly.”

His face contorts with desperation and anger as his palms cup my face. The way they are shaking makes me wonder if he is struggling against a mad, savage impulse to tighten his grip.

“Then make me understand!” he whispers harshly, pressing his forehead against mine. “Give me something to go on. How many others were there? Who else do I need to worry about?”

The last words are uttered in a singsong inflection that will haunt my future dreams.

All this time, my mind has been trying to figure a way out of this nightmare.

Once again, the surrealness of the situation strikes me. Much like the ill-fated Dr. Jekyll, the Sin I know—charming, funny, laid-back—seems to be completely taken over by Mr. Hyde, the obsessive Sin who sees no issue with invading my privacy and asking me uncomfortable questions.

And also proclaiming that he’s mad about you! My annoying inner voice chimes in again. Are we seriously going to move past that part?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sin. This is—this is unbelievable.” My voice quivers a bit, but I manage to get the words out. “And even if there was anyone else, I wouldn’t give you a list. This . . . this isn’t normal.”

“Normal left the building a while back, Petra.” A hollow humor laces his poisoned words. “Look, it’s not that complicated. I just need the truth. I need to know who’s in your life, who I have to compete with.”

“You’re scaring me more than anyone right now, Sin. This isn’t about competition. What am I saying, you need to leave, Sin. Now!”

But he just stands there, drenched and desperate, his face and limbs twitching slightly under some duress.

“I’ve done everything right,” he starts with a snarl. “I’ve kept all the guys away from you. I’ve acted like a gentleman. And still, you managed to find someone to sleep with. How in hell did you manage that, Petra? How many guys? How many times?”

There is so much heated hate in his words that I physically recoil from them. Who in the world talks like this? No, who the hell does he think he is to talk to me like this?

“NO!” My voice cracks over him like a whip, and with some satisfaction, I watch him stumble back. “You don’t get to control this. You don’t get to fucking demand these answers from me. And what the hell was that about . . . about keeping guys away from me⁠—”

“I did it because I care about you, Petra,” Sin cries out just as I shout, “You think you have the right to decide who I date?”

We are both breathing harder now.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Sin spits out. “But now . . . now this? How many, Petra? How many times did they touch you?”

“There’s no ‘they,’ Sin!” I shout back. “I’m not some fuckboy like you. Stop making this into something it’s not.”

“I’m not a fuckboy!” Sin retorts in a louder, more sonorous tone than he has ever used with me. “I tried. So. Hard. I waited for you, I cared for you! And still it wasn’t enough. So tell me, Petra. I need to know.”

And though I try hard to appear aloof, the distorted conversation has me spinning around in circles, mentally, as I struggle to reconcile the person standing before me with the same guy who had shared secrets and laughter with me in the dark bowels of St. Anselm Hall.

Are you really surprised? The guy used to take you to a crypt for your “study dates.” The sarcasm of my inner voice is hard to ignore, but I keep the rancor out of my voice.

“Sin, clearly, you’re not yourself at the moment. This macho alpha personality is impressing nobody. Seriously, whatever you think you’re protecting, you’re destroying it instead.” The last words are delivered with a wince as he lunges at me midway through the utterance.