Page 125 of Sinister

I know he has something to do with that . . . entity. And that makes him dangerous—far too dangerous.

Now it’s not just my body that is in danger with him, but my immortal soul, too.

So I lie. “I think after what happened between us,” I say quickly, “I realized I’m not in love with you.”

It hurts, even as I speak the words. But it’s the only way to protect myself. To end this.

“What happened between us . . .” I continue. “It was new. I was curious, but⁠—”

“But?” he presses.

“But I see now that it was just physical.”

He repeats my words, slowly. “Something new,” he echoes. “So it was just curiosity that made you let me touch you like that?”

“Please, Sin . . . don’t make this harder than it has to be,” I plead. “You shouldn’t be here. If they catch you⁠—”

“No, Petra. You’re going to tell me exactly what you mean.”

“I told you. It wasn’t love.”

He stares at me like he’s trying to see through the lie.

“Not love, huh?” he says, skeptical. “So . . . you’d let just anyone touch you the way I did?”

“I—well, you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met,” I stammer. “And I haven’t met that many, so I-I don’t know . . .”

“So you’d let another man lift your skirt and fuck you with his fingers?”

I gasp, stunned.

I inch toward the door, preparing to run if I have to.

“That’s disgusting,” I add, my voice shaking. “How can you say that? Please, go.”

“No.” He steps closer. “Not until you tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth. What more do you want?”

“Liar,” he hisses, tilting his head. “But you’re such a pretty liar, Petra.” He tuts at me, lips curling in something between anger and desire. “I would be furious,” he says, “if I didn’t want you so badly.”

He’s a storm of contradictions. I don’t know what he wants, and I don’t care anymore. I just want him gone.

“Please,” I repeat. “Let’s not make this worse. Maybe I led you on, and I’m sorry about that, all right? But I’ve had time to think, and I’ve come to realize I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

“You don’t want . . . me?” he repeats, almost in disbelief.

“No,” I say, more firmly. “I don’t want to see you again. I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want to be anywhere near you.”

His face tightens. The warmth drains from it. He steps closer, so close that I can feel his breath on my skin.

“I wonder . . .” he murmurs, voice low and venomous, “what your father would think. About you letting someone lift your skirt and finger you . . . taste your breasts . . .”

I don’t let him finish. My hand flies.

Slap.

He staggers, tongue darting out to lick the blood from his lip. For a long moment, he says nothing.