Little Lies

Her eyes dart around, and she keeps trying to twist her head away.

“Stop fighting and look at me,” I demand.

She stills, her breath coming hard and fast. I’m sure she’s on the verge of a panic attack, and I doubt she expected this when she came in here looking for me. I didn’t expect it to go this way either. Her body trembles. But her eyes, those bright blue eyes that haunt me relentlessly, finally meet mine—so full of fear and more pitifully, weak threads of hope.

I’m about to sever those forever.

Bile rises in my throat, but I force myself to continue. “I reject you time and time again, and still you want me.”

Her mouth forms the words please don’t but I can’t stop now. I need to nail the lid on this coffin. I need to be sure this is never going to happen again, because I won’t be able to say no next time, and I cannot take that risk with her.

“I need you to hear me, Lavender. Really listen to what I’m telling you.” I can’t stop myself from sweeping away her tears as they start to fall. Her chin trembles, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip, right where the scar is.

I tug at her lip with my thumb, not wanting her to cause more damage—other than what I’m about to do to her heart, anyway. “We aren’t good for each other.” I’m not good for you. “Say it back so I know you’re hearing me.”

She shakes her head and more tears fall, too fast for me to catch now.

“Yes, Lavender. You and me? Together, we’re toxic.” I will poison your pure soul. “Say it.”

She sucks in a shaky, gasping breath. She opens and closes her mouth three times before she finally whispers, so quiet it’s barely a sound, “We’re toxic.”

“That’s right.” I nod my approval, and my stomach churns. “You’re too needy, and I can’t deal with it.” I will drown you with my dependency.

She makes a tortured sound, her face crumpling, and I feel like I’m being stabbed through the heart with every breath she fights for. “I’m too needy.” This time it’s the shape of the words, with no sound.

I keep pushing, forcing the words out, even though it makes me feel like I’m being skinned alive. “We make each other worse, not better.” I don’t know how to love you without hurting you.

She starts sobbing, soundlessly, as is Lavender’s way. Her entire body quakes, and she tries to put her head down. It takes a full minute for her to compose herself enough to stutter out the words. “W-w-we m-make e-e-each other worse.”

“Good girl.” The praise is in direct opposition to the horrible lies I force her to repeat. “It was bad enough when we were kids. I can’t go through this shit again.” I won’t survive you leaving me, and that’s inevitable. “I don’t want you, and I never will.” I will never get over what I’m doing to you.

I can feel her caving in on me.

“I need to hear it, Lavender.” I fight not to stroke her cheek, not to press my lips to hers.

“Y-y-you don’t want me.”

“I can’t love you.” I will never stop loving you.

Lavender goes eerily still, and the light in her eyes dies, like a candle being snuffed by the wind. A terrifying calm settles around us. Her breath comes slow and even, unlike mine.

“Do you understand, Lavender?” The words feel like acid in my mouth.

“Fuck you, Kodiak.” Her voice is surprisingly steady.

“Not a chance in hell. Then I’ll never get rid of you.” I’ll never be able to let you go.

I don’t expect the slap across the face. But I relish the sting and the force behind it. It means I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.

I let go of her, and she clambers off the bed. Her feet get tangled up in the comforter, and she lands in a heap on the floor. I fist the sheets to keep myself from helping her. She picks herself up clumsily and yanks the door open, rushing down the hall, desperate to escape me and the lies I forced on her.

Lavender is everyone’s Achilles’ heel.

And I just sliced mine to the bone.Chapter Twenty-ThreeNo Control

Kodiak

Present day

LAVENDER’S DORM EXPERIENCE lasts less than thirty-six hours. I don’t ask what happened, and no one offers an explanation. In the almost two days since she moved back in, I haven’t seen much of her, but I’ve heard her.

Her anger comes out in the relentless, aggressive drone of her sewing machine and the music she listens to. I want to reach through the walls and absorb her pain, since I’m the one who created it. I don’t know how much longer I can sit here in the acid bath of my regrets without losing my mind.