All the Truths (Lies & Truths 2)

She stares at the camera as if she knew it was there all along. My palms turn clammy at the vacant, empty look in her eyes.

That’s not a person; that’s a monster.

“This world is too small for me.”

The screen goes black, but I keep staring at it. A tear slides down my cheek, then another follows and another. I can’t stop them even if I wanted to.

I loved Arianna. I thought of her as some sort of replacement for Reina, but she never once cared for me. All she was interested in was proving herself by manipulating mine and Asher’s love for her.

And Jason…

Shit.

He’s been in on it since the beginning. He shared Ari’s brand of crazy and made me think Asher was my worst enemy, and while he was in some ways, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t do it because he truly hated me; he did it because he was compelled to.

I would’ve done the same if I were in his shoes.

It’s such an ugly position to be in.

I reach for the remote to turn off the TV then a large presence appears in my peripheral vision. I gasp, the remote falling from my fingers and clattering to the ground.

Asher stands at the entrance of the bedroom, only wearing boxer briefs. He’s still staring at the blank screen like I was a few seconds ago.

From his blank expression, it seems he watched it—or at least most of it. He continues focusing on the TV as if Arianna is still there, saying she never cared for us, saying her brother who sacrificed his youth for her happiness and matured early to become her parent and her support was easy to fool, saying all she cared about was destroying him.

God, he’s not reacting—not at all.

It’s even scarier than if he trashed the place.

Even his hands fall on either side of him like lifeless body parts. There’s no clenching of his fists or ticking of his jaw.

He’s gone numb.

No, I won’t let her take him away from me. Not again.

Arianna won’t peek her head out from the grave to ruin our lives once more. She succeeded in the past, but that won’t be happening again.

I stagger on unsteady feet and tiptoe toward him as if afraid he’ll snap any second. He doesn’t move, not even when I stand in front of him, my toes almost touching his.

“Ash…” I coax.

No answer.

I take his hand in mine. It’s heavy and unmoving and…cold. So damn cold.

“Ash, look at me.”

His gaze strays from the TV to mine. There’s so much pain in there, so many years lost on hate, revenge, violence.

So much missed time.

“It wasn’t your fault.” My voice is emotional despite my attempt to speak in a neutral tone. “It wasn’t our fault. We just loved her too much to notice it.”

He says nothing, but his jaw tightens so hard I’m scared something will happen to him.

What if I lose him?

What if she succeeded and this is the end?