Page 56 of The Honor Society

“Yes.”

“Sleeping.”

“Yes.”

“With my tongue down your throat.”

“A favorable memory I keep rewinding in my mind, the lovely taste of your tongue, and yes, you’re right.”

She rolls her eyes and looks around the room. “Kidnapping, murder, I’m sure a poisoning or two and this is where you draw the line? Your identity? Who am I going to tell? The wall? You don’t even have a goldfish.”

“Rules are rules.” He turns.

“What are you so afraid I’ll see?” I ask.

He grips me by the wrist and shoves me back against the counter. “My identity puts you at an even greater risk, Famine. You’ll be in danger.”

I tilt my head and trace my finger down the bottom of his mask, hoping to set him on edge, to get him to break a bit, to play into our close proximity again. “But you marked me.”

“Yes.” He seems like he’s barely breathing.

“What does that mean? No lies. Absolute truth.”

He swallows, slowly, the movement of his throat does something to me, something I’m afraid to explore. Axel. I need Axel not The Proctor so why does his neck remind me of him? “It means if anyone discovers my identity, they will naturally start with the person I have the most weakness for.”

He barely moves. “Me. I’m your weakness.”

“No.” He drops my hand.

“Kind of sounds like it.” I walk after him.

He picks up his pace. “You’re delusional.”

“You cooked me steak.” I point out.

“Your stomach was growling so loud the East Coast could have heard it and I was trying to keep us safe.” He quickens his strides back into the kitchen.

“Gave me your good wine too.”

“Temporary lapse in judgement. Stop following me. Go to bed, Charlie.” He goes to the bottle of wine and looks into it, only a glass left and he can’t take off his mask. I almost laugh.

And that’s when I realize something about his gait. When he’s unfocused he walks different than Proctor he almost has a slouch.

No, that can’t be right. Can it?

Do I really throw him off his game that much?

I watch him pour the wine into the glass and then slowly looking away from me lift his mask just enough to take a sip.

“May as well get a straw, Proctor.”

He spits out his wine and I imagine he’s shooting daggers through his mask. “I’m a monster not an animal, Charlie. Never say straw and wine in the same sentence again.”

Because he’d just drank, part of his voice modulation was cut off.

And when he said my name.

It was familiar.